Chaplain's Corner

By: Chaplain Bill Karabinos
4th Quarter, 2024

THE WAY WE GOT ALONG

We all have a story to tell about our coming home. Most of those stories are about abuse, insult and unappreciation. Burdened with hostile memories we are surprised when strangers smile and tell us: “Welcome Home.”

My welcome home, on the other hand, was a delight, a joy. I landed at Travis Air Force Base in uniform and was saluted and embraced. When I reported to my first stateside duty station, I was the guest of honor at a Prayer Breakfast and sat with then Governor Jimmy Carter. A few days later, I was the grand Marshall in the Veterans Day Parade in Chattanooga. I never realized the resentment or anger that most Vietnam veteran faced.

In civilian life I worked in Washington, sat just three rows back when President Reagan dedicated the Statue of the Three Soldiers. I recall being a proud and pampered veteran celebrating the 1st President Bush’s exhibits on the National Mall and the Parade down Constitution Avenue. Many times, on my way home from the heart of the city, I drove past The Wall and stopped often, not because I was melancholy, but because I was proud. Proud that I had walked or rode a mile or two with those great American lads whose names were etched on that Wall. I never understood the anguish of some of our veterans, the resentment they felt, the sorrow they carried.

That is until one day, in 1994.

I usually ventured outside for lunch each day: two half-smokes (mustard and kraut), a soda and bag of chips from a street vendor for $2.50. I had been noticing a homeless guy for a number of weeks, waking up and down the streets near the Air and Space Museum. He dressed in a red flannel shirt, a bonnie hat, jungle boots and bloused trousers. He looked dirtier than troopers who had walked through a flooded rice paddy and seemed rather young, yet he claimed to be a vet: 1st Cav door gunner in Vietnam. He was setting on a bench close by so I brought him a similar lunch – without the kraut. We sat and talked for a while, but he didn’t want to recall his Brigade, Battalion or Company. He told me he was “messed up on drugs” but assured me wasn’t an alcoholic – “that stuff will kill you.” He wasn’t dumb, but had memory and relationship problems.

Over time, we became friends of a sort, so one day I asked him how he survived on the streets. He assured me he didn’t need any help: that he doubled his money every day. Wow! How? He told me he sold quarters and made 50 cents on every 2 quarters he sold.

In that part of DC, every street parking spot had meters, park twenty minutes for every quarter. And as one car left, two or three were waiting for the slot. Tourists were always short of pocket change and needed quarters. So, my bud, “Jungle Jim” just happened to walk by and offer them quarters: two for a dollar. With Meter Maids visibly present, he made a sale 3 out of 4 times. As he said, he doubled his money every day. Come November, Jim went to Florida and worked the parking meters in Miami.

One afternoon, I convinced him to walk to The Wall. He had not been there, but once we got there, he was reluctant to walk down the vortex. We talked about the VA, but he didn’t want “uncle” messing with his life. He didn’t think much of the benefit programs. He had only heard bad things and Vietnam vets were not in favor during the Clinton era. We walked to Panel 2W and I pointed out some of the lads I had served with. After hearing their stories, he went to the directory and sure enough found a name. I had to go back to work and he stayed and I left Jim at The Wall … never to see him again.

I’m sorry I didn’t do more for him, as I kind of missed his company. I still think of him and pray for him … though I don’t know why. He had assured me, “he doubled his money, every day.”

But you all recall that for a long time, no one liked us. This rag tag bunch who melded together in a distant land far across the sea. We came from many different places, we brought along our baggage. But somehow, we got along. Our food was different: boys from Chicago or Cleveland had never eaten grits. Guys from California or Washington state had never tasted kielbasa or pierogies. Nebraska men expected corn at every meal, while potatoes were common fare for New Englanders. Italian lads traded pasta for Ramen noodles.

Staten Islanders had never double clutched a truck while Kentucky boys thought it a sin to drive a Firebird or Trans AM. Yankees wore khaki pants: Rock and Roll and the Beatles and a guy named Lennon provided their music from Ladysmith, Virginia to the Canadian border … where some of their classmates now lived.

Rebels wore dungarees. Patsy Cline and Nashville, Memphis and Dixieland Jazz were the fare for the boys south of the Grit Line. Yet with all this dichotomy, somehow, they all got along. We kept our different preferences, but we still are Blackhorse brothers. Each of us holding on to those values we brought with us and to the valuable friendships we now have.

Some of these comparisons may or may not be true, but they are worth smiling and laughing about and maybe even singing.

There is an old movie called: “Secondhand Lions.” Robert Duvall, steals the scene as he rocks on the front porch and pontificates with the following monolog:

“Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things that a man needs to believe in the most. That people are basically good. That honor, courage and virtue mean everything.

That power and money, money and power mean nothing; that Good always triumphs over Evil; and I want you to remember this; that love, true love never dies.

Doesn’t matter if any of this is true or not. You see, a man should believe in these things because these are the things worth believing in.”

So, we may not have liked each other at times in days gone by; but we do love you all now: you, the Troopers of the Legendary Blackhorse Regiment.

It is my hope that you’ll remember and pray with me for our brothers who have gone to their rest and for those of us, yet standing, that we may all merrily meet in heaven – or on Fiddlers Green.

Chaplain Blandin “Bill” Karabinos

 

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