Unnecessary Loss
Saturday afternoon 25 March should have remained uneventful on Camp Coalminer. The day certainly started off that way. In my opinion and wishful thinking it should have remained uneventful. But 25 March was not uneventful. Our Quick Response Force (QRF) had spent a night out escorting a convoy and did not get back until the early hours of the morning. The members had come back tired and ready for bed. QRF soldiers volunteered for this team. They are our defenders and are the most soldierly of us who mostly work maintenance, support and logistics.
The members of the team live in SWA huts--three or four to a hut. As individuals got up mid day and went and showered and then went to eat, one 25 year-old decided to return to his hut. Early in the afternoon the medics received a call that someone in B-10 had a heart-attack. I was standing outside the Medics station when the call arrived. Naturally, my thoughts went to some of our more senior and overweight members, not a young, happy, energetic man like SPC C.
I found Hargrave quickly and we were only moments behind the Ambo’s arrival at the SSTP (Surgical Shock Trauma Platoon). When I walked toward the tent, a number of our soldiers were standing outside. I unzipped the door of the tent as a Marine questioned who I was. There was no issue as soon as I identified myself as SPC C’s chaplain.
On the far table lay the body of SPC C’s body. There were at least six medics around him working intently. His head was pulled back for ventilating. A priest was anointing him. I asked the priest, “Is he (Roman) Catholic, Father?” His reply was, “I was called down here.” This irritated me a bit because I was sure that SPC C wasn’t. But it would not have been seemly for two chaplains to get into a squabble in the middle of an emergency room. (Personal history says otherwise, however.) I came closer and touched the leg of SPC C. He had tattoos on various areas. Later I learned that he had a new one put right over his heart with the name of his new baby.
The physician stated in clinical terms all that had been attempted. He asked the crew for any ideas that could be attempted. From what we learned later on SPC C’s heart was probably stopped for an hour before he was found slumped in a crouching position. The story that was eventually pieced together was that SPC C had come back with the other members of the QRF in the early morning hours. He was last seen in the shower and then went back to his four occupant hut. The other three stepped out and he remained behind. He was not seen for over an hour until one of his roommates found him.
From the start there were questions about his death. Was he taking steroids? Or other performance enhancers? Were there any illicit drugs involved? Was he doing inhalants? These questions weren’t said out loud usually, they hung in the background and occasionally one would be dealt out as if from a hand of poker. Autopsies are done in Dover, DE along with any toxicology. Oddly enough, the information I was given was that autopsy reports are only released to the family. (I don’t know if this is accurate, but it sounds strange enough to be Army policy.) There is a chance that the unit may never be told the entire story.
I liked SPC C. He was competent. He was a bit cocky, like many good soldiers. I later found out that he was a cook who volunteered for the QRF. That told me a bit about his identity and his desires. Several times I rode in the vehicle where he was Trip Commander. He seemed totally in his element on the radio and got along well with the rest of the crew. There was good camaraderie among them. The three tended to be a little cliquish. One short and very stocky Hispanic hardly ever gave me eye contact. He manned the crew served weapon. The third was a shaved headed white boy with stars in his eyes who smiled and joked. All three worked out in the gym religiously strutting in their green or brown Under Armor--all pecs, lats, and biceps. They were young man trying to put on manhood.
As I left the tent, my expression and a few words told the story to those of the 228th waiting outside. I told SPC Hargrave that there was nothing else we could do at the SSTP and that the ministry now was handling the needs of the unit back at camp. Later that evening, I invited the XO and SPC C’s Company Commander to Mortuary Affairs (PRP—Personnel Recovery Platoon) where the usual ramp ceremony scene played out, but this time with a lot more hitting us home. There was something wrong here; the waste, the mystery and the unfairness of it all.
On top of this, I had a run in with the MA chaplain. Up until now all my relationships with chaplains—especially MA chaplains—had been excellent. CH O from the beginning had been a bit intrusive. Right before the ramp ceremony he decided to take me aside and proceed to tell me that we would conduct this one jointly. “Negative” was my response. I guess I could have been a bit diplomatic. At this, CH O asked that we go inside his office. I indicated that I would not and that it would be best to discuss these matters out in the open. I don’t remember all the details of the conversation, but the upshot was this: 1) CH O did not call us. Hargrave remembered him saying at the SSTP, “I was going to call you.” I thought he said, “I tried to call you.” Either way, the result was the same. 2) CH O called a Roman Catholic priest to perform last rites when he didn’t ascertain whether SPC C was RC or not. He rationalized his actions by saying it was a ministry the medic team. I told him he screwed twice and I was not going to let him screw this up. He outranked me and started to refer to me as “Lieutenant.” I told him that he could take this as high as he wanted; I was not going to back down. He marched out. Ultimately, I was in the right on all scores, but I alienated CH O a bit. This is not the best thing in our business. There are so few of us, but conflicts are inevitable in the tricky area of religion, military custom, and protocol. (Whether or not one likes it, the arena is political. And I am not one to sugar coat what is not palatable to begin with.)
The day after there was a convoy. I was asked to be at the convoy briefing. The sadness was evident on mostly everyone’s faces. Off to the one side were SPC C’s buddies and team. One, a short and very stocky Hispanic was stone faced. Another young man with a shaved head and an open face was in tears. The third, a black soldier entering his manhood, looked stunned. After the briefing, I offered a brief prayer. Dozens of soldiers gathered around me in a circle. I asked them to each put their hand on the shoulder of the soldier next to him/her. I felt a real human ache, the reaching out of many for meaning. In my prayer I reminded them to take care of each other.
I lobbied the leadership that I should conduct a memorial service (religious) rather than a simple memorial ceremony (military honors with prayer). I was given the green light and proceeded in attempting to pull together all the players for the service. Accomplishing this and getting us through the memorial service itself was one of the most challenging times in my chaplaincy to that point…
The members of the team live in SWA huts--three or four to a hut. As individuals got up mid day and went and showered and then went to eat, one 25 year-old decided to return to his hut. Early in the afternoon the medics received a call that someone in B-10 had a heart-attack. I was standing outside the Medics station when the call arrived. Naturally, my thoughts went to some of our more senior and overweight members, not a young, happy, energetic man like SPC C.
I found Hargrave quickly and we were only moments behind the Ambo’s arrival at the SSTP (Surgical Shock Trauma Platoon). When I walked toward the tent, a number of our soldiers were standing outside. I unzipped the door of the tent as a Marine questioned who I was. There was no issue as soon as I identified myself as SPC C’s chaplain.
On the far table lay the body of SPC C’s body. There were at least six medics around him working intently. His head was pulled back for ventilating. A priest was anointing him. I asked the priest, “Is he (Roman) Catholic, Father?” His reply was, “I was called down here.” This irritated me a bit because I was sure that SPC C wasn’t. But it would not have been seemly for two chaplains to get into a squabble in the middle of an emergency room. (Personal history says otherwise, however.) I came closer and touched the leg of SPC C. He had tattoos on various areas. Later I learned that he had a new one put right over his heart with the name of his new baby.
The physician stated in clinical terms all that had been attempted. He asked the crew for any ideas that could be attempted. From what we learned later on SPC C’s heart was probably stopped for an hour before he was found slumped in a crouching position. The story that was eventually pieced together was that SPC C had come back with the other members of the QRF in the early morning hours. He was last seen in the shower and then went back to his four occupant hut. The other three stepped out and he remained behind. He was not seen for over an hour until one of his roommates found him.
From the start there were questions about his death. Was he taking steroids? Or other performance enhancers? Were there any illicit drugs involved? Was he doing inhalants? These questions weren’t said out loud usually, they hung in the background and occasionally one would be dealt out as if from a hand of poker. Autopsies are done in Dover, DE along with any toxicology. Oddly enough, the information I was given was that autopsy reports are only released to the family. (I don’t know if this is accurate, but it sounds strange enough to be Army policy.) There is a chance that the unit may never be told the entire story.
I liked SPC C. He was competent. He was a bit cocky, like many good soldiers. I later found out that he was a cook who volunteered for the QRF. That told me a bit about his identity and his desires. Several times I rode in the vehicle where he was Trip Commander. He seemed totally in his element on the radio and got along well with the rest of the crew. There was good camaraderie among them. The three tended to be a little cliquish. One short and very stocky Hispanic hardly ever gave me eye contact. He manned the crew served weapon. The third was a shaved headed white boy with stars in his eyes who smiled and joked. All three worked out in the gym religiously strutting in their green or brown Under Armor--all pecs, lats, and biceps. They were young man trying to put on manhood.
As I left the tent, my expression and a few words told the story to those of the 228th waiting outside. I told SPC Hargrave that there was nothing else we could do at the SSTP and that the ministry now was handling the needs of the unit back at camp. Later that evening, I invited the XO and SPC C’s Company Commander to Mortuary Affairs (PRP—Personnel Recovery Platoon) where the usual ramp ceremony scene played out, but this time with a lot more hitting us home. There was something wrong here; the waste, the mystery and the unfairness of it all.
On top of this, I had a run in with the MA chaplain. Up until now all my relationships with chaplains—especially MA chaplains—had been excellent. CH O from the beginning had been a bit intrusive. Right before the ramp ceremony he decided to take me aside and proceed to tell me that we would conduct this one jointly. “Negative” was my response. I guess I could have been a bit diplomatic. At this, CH O asked that we go inside his office. I indicated that I would not and that it would be best to discuss these matters out in the open. I don’t remember all the details of the conversation, but the upshot was this: 1) CH O did not call us. Hargrave remembered him saying at the SSTP, “I was going to call you.” I thought he said, “I tried to call you.” Either way, the result was the same. 2) CH O called a Roman Catholic priest to perform last rites when he didn’t ascertain whether SPC C was RC or not. He rationalized his actions by saying it was a ministry the medic team. I told him he screwed twice and I was not going to let him screw this up. He outranked me and started to refer to me as “Lieutenant.” I told him that he could take this as high as he wanted; I was not going to back down. He marched out. Ultimately, I was in the right on all scores, but I alienated CH O a bit. This is not the best thing in our business. There are so few of us, but conflicts are inevitable in the tricky area of religion, military custom, and protocol. (Whether or not one likes it, the arena is political. And I am not one to sugar coat what is not palatable to begin with.)
The day after there was a convoy. I was asked to be at the convoy briefing. The sadness was evident on mostly everyone’s faces. Off to the one side were SPC C’s buddies and team. One, a short and very stocky Hispanic was stone faced. Another young man with a shaved head and an open face was in tears. The third, a black soldier entering his manhood, looked stunned. After the briefing, I offered a brief prayer. Dozens of soldiers gathered around me in a circle. I asked them to each put their hand on the shoulder of the soldier next to him/her. I felt a real human ache, the reaching out of many for meaning. In my prayer I reminded them to take care of each other.
I lobbied the leadership that I should conduct a memorial service (religious) rather than a simple memorial ceremony (military honors with prayer). I was given the green light and proceeded in attempting to pull together all the players for the service. Accomplishing this and getting us through the memorial service itself was one of the most challenging times in my chaplaincy to that point…
posted by Chaplain (CPT) Fokas at 8:19 AM
