Ask Augustine



            by Paul A. Tambrino







Some years ago you gave us the story of the four chaplains of World War II.

Since February 3 was Four Chaplain's Day and tomorrow, February 5 will
be Four Chaplain's Sunday, would you again remind us of their
sacrifice?







February 3 marks the anniversary of the sacrifice of the four chaplains.

One was Methodist, one was Roman Catholic, one was Jewish and one was
a Calvinist.  Lest we forget their inspiring story let me take you
back to January 22, 1943.

The S.S. Dorchester once luxury cruise liner, accommodating 314 cabin
passengers in style and opulence, was now guttered and refitted.  She
became a troop ship.  This trim little coastal steamer seemed too
small and too slow for hazardous duty, but with Nazi submarines
sinking Allied ships faster than they could be replaced, every
available craft had to be pressed into service.

This night 904 soldiers were berthed below deck in bunks stacked four-high.

Four Army chaplains, Lieutenants Fox, Goode, Poling and Washington
were aboard the Dorchester.  For Lt. George Fox, it was the second
time around.

George Lansing Fox was not old enough when President Wilson called the
nation to arms back in the spring of 1917, but Fox tells officials he
is 18.

Two days before Armistice, Fox is caught in an artillery barrage.  His
back is riddled with shrapnel and he is decorated with a Silver Star,
a Purple Heart and the French Cross.

He returns to civilian life and gets a job as an accountant in his
native state of Vermont, but feels a call to preach and enrolls in a
Bible Institute in Chicago.  He meets his future wife; they marry and
have two children.  At age 34 he is ordained by the Methodist Church
and rides the circuit of half a dozen villages.  He is content until
the Japanese attack Pearl Harbor.  Now past 40, he volunteers for the
Corps of Chaplains.

On Saturday, January 23, 1943 the Dorchester joins a convoy of
freighters, troopships, tankers and naval escorts steaming east
through the swelling gray-green seas.  After seasickness, the most
compelling preoccupation was guessing where the ship was bound.  "Hey
come on Rabbi," someone called to Lt. Goode, "Tell us where we are
going."  Pledged to secrecy, Goode replied, "Vot!  Und spoil da
surprise?"

On November 11, 1921, a ten-year-old Alexander David Goode stands at
the edge of a crowd and watches a soldier laid to rest.  No one knows
his name, he is America's unknown soldier whose name is known but to
God.  Tears fill young Goode's eyes as his heart swells with love for
his country.

In high school, Goode joins the National Guard.  Alex Goode becomes a
rabbi like his father, grandfather and great-grandfather.  When WW II
breaks, Goode joins the Chaplain's Corps and puts in for overseas
duty.



On Saturday, January 30, 1943, at a fueling stop in Newfoundland, the
soldiers no longer doubted their destination.  As the Dorchester left
Newfoundland, three Coast Guard cutters escorted it.  Two patrolled
its flanks, while the third, the Tampa, was 3,000 yards out front. 
They were entering the dangerous waters where dozens of ships had been
blasted to the bottom by German U-boats.

It turned bitterly cold.  The sea rose and smashed against the ships. 
Ice began building up on the decks slowing the Dorchester to ten knots
as the bulkheads groaned and the steering chain clanked with every
correction, the ships continued north through gale-force winds.

Clark Poling's family had a long tradition in the ministry, dating
back seven generations.  As a young man, Clark tells his father Daniel
Poling (a noted clergyman of his day) that he is going to break family
tradition and become a lawyer.

At Hope College in Holland, Michigan, Clark gets into mischief, and
his grades suffer.  During his sophomore year he tells his father,
"Dad, I am going to preach.  I can't deny the calling."  Clark enters
Yale Divinity School, is ordained in 1938, and is called to the First
Reformed Church in Schenectady, New York.  When WWII comes, Clark is
married, has a two year old son and his wife is expecting.  "Don't
pray for my safe return," he tells his father, "Pray that I do my
duty."

On Tuesday, February 2, 1943 the Tampa dropped back and swept the
periphery but failed to detect the sub's position.  In evening she
returns to patrol the area up front as the other ships scrupulously
follow.

Aboard the Dorchester, Capt. Hans J. Danielson ordered the men to
sleep in their clothing with life jackets close at hand.  They were
only 150 miles from their destination and with daylight there would be
cover from the American base.

All four chaplains are summoned to pierce the gloom that is growing
among the men.  Lt. Washington jokingly announced that God was
prepared to forgive the poker players for raising the stakes from
pennies to quarters.  One soldier slyly asked him to bless his hand. 
Father Washington looked at the cards and stated loudly, "Bless a
measly pair of deuces?"  The men began laughing and the tension broke.

John Washington was the first of seven children born to Irish Catholic

immigrant parents in Newark, New Jersey.   At age 12, John is stricken
with a severe throat infection and the parish priest is called to
administer the last rites.  But John survives and tells his sister,
Anna, "God must have something special He wants me to do."

John becomes a Roman Catholic priest, and in 1937 is assigned to St.
Stephen 's in Arlington, New Jersey.  He has served there five years
and when the Second World War comes, Father John applies for a
chaplaincy.  He now knows what God wants of him.

On Wednesday, February 3, 1943, just after midnight, very few of the
men were asleep and even fewer were wearing their clothes despite the
orders.

Down in the hold it was just too hot.

At 12:55 a.m. a German U-boat caught the Dorchester in its cross
hairs.  The Dorchester was torpedoed.  Men poured up out of the
gangways, stunned and disoriented.  The wound to the Dorchester was
mortal; the ship took on water rapidly and began listing to starboard.

Without power, the radio was silenced.  No one thought to send up a
distress flare.  The escort vessels pushed on into the darkness,
unaware that the Dorchester was sinking.  Overcrowded lifeboats
capsized.  Rafts drifted away before anyone could reach them.



The men milled around the deck.   Many had come up from the hold
without life jackets; others wearing nothing but underwear, felt the
artic blasts and knew they had only minutes to live.

The testimonies of the survivors tell us that the sole order in that
ferment of struggling men, that the only fragment of hope,  came from
the four chaplains who suddenly appeared on the sloping starboard
side.  Calmly they guided men to their boat stations, opened a storage
locker and distributed life jackets.  They coaxed men, frozen with
fear, over the side.

One of the survivors, Coast Guard CPO John J. Mahoney (a Catholic),
realized he had forgotten his gloves and started back to his cabin. 
He was stopped by Chaplain Goode, "Never mind," Goode said, "Take
these; I have two pairs."

Later Mahoney realized the truth.  A man preparing to abandon ship
doesn't carry extra gloves.  Rabbi Goode had already decided he was
not leaving the Dorchester.

Another survivor, Engineer Grady Clark saw the chaplains coolly
handing out life jackets until there were no more left.  Then he
watched in awe as they gave away their own.  By now the rail was awash
and Engineer Clark slipped into the frigid water.  Looking back as he
swam away, he saw the chaplains standing, their arms linked, braced
against the slanting deck.  They were praying.

Other men drew close.  There were no more outcries, no panic, just
words of prayer in Hebrew, in Latin and in English, addressed to the
same God as the Dorchester slid down into the sea.

Of the 904 men aboard the troop carrier, 605 were lost.  Those who
lived will never forget the chaplains' heroism.  By vote of Congress
on January 18, 1961, a Special Medal of Heroism, the only one ever
given, was posthumously given to the four chaplains.  February 3
became Four Chaplains Observance Day.

The heroism of these four chaplains continues to speak to something
deep in our hearts.  Father Washington did not call out for a Catholic
when he handed over his life jacket, nor did Rabbi Goode for a Jew,
nor did Fox for a Methodist, nor did Poling for a Calvinist.  They
gave them to the next soldier in line, and then stood shoulder to
shoulder in mutually supporting faith.  "Greater love has no one than
this, that one lay down his life for his friends," and that is what
the four chaplains did.



--
The Rev. Charles A. Collins, Jr., S.B.R.
Assisting Presbyter, New Israel Reformed Episcopal Church, Charleston, SC
Correspondent, The Christian Observer

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