This account is one of a kind - and I salute the good Colonel.

Thanks to my friend Lt.Col Rod MacBride, US Army, for this.
A Marine's toughest duty.
by LtCol George Goodson, USMC

In my 76th year the events of my life come to me as a series of vignettes, some significant, most not. War is the seminal event in the life of anyone who's endured it. I was in Korea and the Dominican Republic and was wounded there, but Vietnam was my war. Now I rarely think of those days in Cambodia,Laos,and the panhandle of North Vietnam where small teams of Americans and Montangards fought much larger elements of the North Vietnamese Army. Instead I recall the smell of Nuc Mam,the heat,dust,humidity. The blue exhaust of cycles clogging the streets. Elephants moving silently through tall grass. The hard eyes behind the smiles of the villagers. Standing on a mountain in Laos and hearing a tiger roar. A young girl squeezing my hand as a medic delivered her baby. The flowing Ao Dais of the young women biking down Tran Hung Dao. Then stateside, my duty as Casualty Notification Officer. Late '67 I returned after 18 months in Vietnam. I moved my family from Indianapolis to Norfolk, VA, enrolled my children in their 5th new school, and bought a 2nd car. A week later I put on my uniform and drove 10 miles to Little Creek, Virginia. I hesitated before entering my new office. Appearance is important to career Marines. I was no longer a poster Marine. I had returned from my 3rd tour in Vietnam only 30 days before. At 5'9", I weighed 128 lbs.-37 pounds below normal weight. My uniforms didn't fit, my skin was yellow from malaria medication and I had a twitch. I straightened my shoulders, walked into the office, looked at the nameplate on a non-com's desk and said, "Staff Sergeant Jolly, I'm Lt.Colonel Goodson. Here are my orders and my Qualification Jacket." He stood, looked me over carefully, took my orders, shook my hand. "How long were you there Colonel?" I replied "18 months this time." Jolly breathed, "you must be a slow learner Colonel." I smiled. He said, "I'll show you to your office and bring in the Sergeant Major." I said, "No, let's just go to his office." Jolly nodded but said, "Colonel, the Sergeant Major's been here 2 years. He's packed pretty tight. I'm worried about him." I nodded. Jolly escorted me into the Sergeant Major's office. "Sergeant Major, this is the new C.O." The Sergeant Major stood, extended his hand and said, "Good to see you again Colonel." I responded, "Hello Walt, how are you?" Jolly raised an eyebrow, walked out and closed the door. I sat down and we had the obligatory cup of coffee and talked about old friends. His stress was palpable. Finally I said, "Walt, what the hell's wrong?" He turned his chair, looked out the window and said, "George, you'll wish you were back in 'Nam before you leave here. I've been a Marine since '39. In the Pacific 36 months, Korea for 14 months, and Vietnam for 12 months. Now I bury kids and I can't take it." I said, "Walt, if you're sure I'll endorse your request for retirement and push it through HQ." He retired 12 weeks later-a good Marine for 28 years, but he'd seen too much death and suffering. He was used up. In the next 16 months, I conducted 28 death notifications and 28 military funerals, 30 notifications to the families of Marines that were severely wounded or missing in action. Thankfully, most of the details of those times have now faded from memory. 4 remain. My 3rd day there I was notified of the death of a 19 yr. old Marine. This came by phone from HQ Marine Corps. His family lived in No.Carolina, 60 miles away. I drove a Marine Corps staff car. Crossing the state line into No. Carolina I stopped at a small country store/service station/Post Office to ask directions. 3 people were in the store. A man and woman approached the small Post Office window. The man held a package. The owner addressed them by name, "Hello John. Good morning Mrs. Cooper." I was stunned. he was my casualty's next-of-kin. I hesitated, then stepped forward and said, "I beg your pardon. Are you Mr. and Mrs. John Cooper of (address.)?" I was in uniform. The father looked at me then bent at the waist and vomited. His wife looked horrified, first at him and then at me. Understanding came into her eyes and she collapsed in slow motion. I caught her before she hit the floor. The owner produced a bottle of whiskey and Mr. Cooper drank. I drove them home in my staff car. The store owner locked the store and followed in their truck. We stayed until the family began arriving. I drove the store owner back. He thanked me and said, "Mister, I wouldn't have your job for a million dollars." I vaguely remember the drive back to Norfolk . Violating 5 different regs I drove the staff car straight to my house. I sat with my family at dinner then went into the den, closed the door, and sat there all night alone. I'd made my first death notification. My men steered clear of me for several days. Weeks passed. More notifications, more funerals. I taught Marines from the local Reserve unit to conduct a military funeral. How to carry a casket, fire the volleys, fold the flag. When I presented the flag to the mother, wife, or father, I always said, "All Marines share in your grief." I'd been told to say, "On behalf of a grateful nation." but I didn't think the nation was grateful. Sometimes I couldn't speak. When that happened I gave them the flag and just touched a shoulder. They would look at me and nod. Once a mother said to me, "I'm so sorry you have this terrible job." My eyes filled with tears and I leaned over and kissed her. it was 6 weeks after my 1st notification before I had another, a young PFC. I drove to his mother's house. As always I was in uniform and driving a staff car. I parked in front of the house, took a deep breath and walked towards the house. Suddenly the door flew open and a woman rushed out. She looked at me and ran across the yard, screaming "NO! NO! NO! NO!" then she collapsed. I ran to her, grabbed her, and whispered stupid things to her. I picked her up and carried her into the house. 8 or 9 neighbors followed. 10 or 15 mins. later the father came in followed by ambulance personnel. I don't recall leaving. The funeral took place about 2 weeks later. We went through the drill. The mother never looked at me. The father looked at me once and shook his head sadly. Later, as I walked in the office the phone was ringing. Sergeant Jolly held it up and said, "You've got another one, Colonel." I nodded and walked into my office to take the call. Jolly came in with a special telephone directory that translates phone numbers into the person's address and place of employment. The father of this casualty was a longshoreman. He lived a mile away. I called the Longshoreman's Union Office and asked for the Business Manager. I identified myself and asked for the father's schedule. The manager asked, "is it his son?" I said nothing. After a moment he said softly, "Tom's at home today." I said, "Don't call him. I'll take care of that." The manager said, "Aye Aye Sir," and then, "Tom and I are Marines. WW2." I drove to the house and knocked. A woman in her forties answered. She was clueless. I asked, "Is Mr. Smith home?" She smiled pleasantly and responded, "Yes, but he's eating breakfast now. Can you come back later?" I said, "I'm sorry. It's important. I need to see him now." She nodded, stepped back into the beach house and said, "Tom, it's for you." A moment later, a ruddy man in his late forties, appeared at the door. He looked at me, turned absolutely pale, steadied himself, and said, "Jesus Christ man, he's only been there 3 weeks!" Months passed. More notifications and more funerals. One day while I was running, Sergeant Jolly stepped outside the building and gave a loud whistle and held an imaginary phone to his ear. Another call from HQ Marine Corps. I took notes, said,"Got it." and hung up. I had stopped saying "Thank You" long ago. Jolly said, "Where?" "Eastern Shore of Maryland. The father is a retired Navy Chief. The brother will accompany the body back from 'Nam." Jolly shook his head slowly, straightened, and then said, "This time of day it'll take hours to get there and back. I'll call the Naval Air Station for a helicopter and I'll have Captain Tolliver get one of his men to drive you to the Chief's home." He did and 40 minutes later I was knocking on the father's door. He opened the door, looked at me, then looked at the Marine standing at parade rest beside the car, and asked, "Which one of my boys is it, Colonel?" I stayed awhile, gave him all my info: my office and home numbers and told him to call me anytime. And he did that evening at 2300 hrs. "I've gone through my boy's papers and found his will. He wants a burial at sea. Can you make that happen?" I said, "Yes I can Chief. And I will." My wife, who'd been listening said, "Can you do that?" I told her, "I have no idea but I'll bust my ass trying." I called Lt. General Alpha Bowser, Commanding General,Fleet Marine Force Atlantic, at home about 2330 and explained the situation. "General, can you get me an appointment with the Admiral at Atlantic Fleet Headquarters?" General Bowser said," George, you be there tomorrow at 0900. He'll see you." I was and he did. He said coldly, "How can the Navy help the Marine Corps?" I told him. He turned to his Chief of Staff and said, "Which is the sharpest destroyer in port?" The Chief of Staff responded and the Admiral called the ship, "Captain you're doing a burial at sea. You'll report to Lieutenant Colonel Goodson until this mission is completed." He hung up, looked at me, and said, "Next time you need a ship call me. You don't have to sic Al Bowser on my ass." I said "Aye aye Sir!" and got the hell out of his office. I went to the ship and met with the Captain, Executive Officer, and the Senior Chief. Sergeant Jolly and I trained the ship's crew for 4 days. Then Jolly raised a question none of us had thought of. "These G.I. caskets are airtight. How do we keep it from floating?" All the high priced help including me sat there looking dumb. The Senior Chief stood and said, "C'mon Jolly. I know a bar where guys from World War II hang out." They returned a couple of hours later, slightly worse for wear, and said, "We cut four 2" holes in the outer shell of the casket on each side and put 300 lbs of lead in the foot end of the casket. No sweat." The day arrived. The ship and the sailors looked razor sharp. Lt.Gen.Bowser, the Admiral, a US Senator, and a Navy band were aboard. The casket was brought aboard and taken below for modification. We got underway to the 12-fathom depth. The sun was hot. The ocean flat. The casket was brought aft and placed on a catafalque. The Chaplain spoke, volleys were fired, the flag removed and folded. I gave it to the father. The band played "Eternal Father Strong to Save." The casket was raised slightly at the head and it slid into the sea. It plunged straight down about 6 feet. The incoming water collided with the air pockets in the outer shell and it stopped abruptly, rose straight out of the water 3 feet, then slowly slipped back into the sea. The bubbles rising from the sinking casket sparkled in the sun as it disappeared from sight forever. The next morning I called a friend, Lieutenant General Oscar Peatross, at H.Q. Marine Corps and said, "I can't take this anymore." I was transferred 2 weeks later. I was a good Marine but after 17 years I'd seen too much death and suffering. Now I was used up. Vacating the house, my family and I drove to the office in a two-car convoy. I said my goodbyes. Sergeant Jolly walked out with me. He waved at my family, looked at me with tears in his eyes, came to attention, saluted, and said "Well Done, Colonel. Well Done." I felt like I'd received the Medal of Honor. Semper Fi.