Category Archives: Obituaries

Second of the third

My friend Russell Wheat crossing a rice paddy on patrol west of Saigon sometime in 1968-69. A brave man doing his duty.

The leader of 3rd platoon, B Company, 2nd Battalion, 3rd Infantry of the 199th Light Infantry Brigade was wounded in both legs and sent to Japan where he recovered and was sent back to the field to complete his tour. He was the lucky one.

How this 2nd Lieutenant of Military Intelligence got to be leading an infantry platoon is a story worthy of our famous funnyman. He told it to me and a few others at breakfast at our Infantry OCS class reunion in San Antonio in 2005. I took notes.

It seems that in late 1968, after graduating from OCS and completing MI Basic, he got a cushy job in G2, division intelligence, 1st Logistical Command, Long Binh, north of Saigon. Sometimes he was a briefer to generals and other visiting dignitaries. He was, of course, known for his humor.

Sometimes it edged towards the smart-ass. The culminating instance was a briefing for a major general and his orbiting entourage of colonels, majors and captains. 2Lt Wheat closed out the strategic and tactical briefing by enumerating some weapons recently captured. One was an AK-54, the machine gun version of the AK-47. But the general didn’t know what it was and he interrupted Wheat to ask about it.

Wheat was in a mood. Obviously. “Sir,” Wheat recalled saying, “the AK-54 is an AK-47 with seven years of service.”

Silence. The humorless general visibly ground his teeth. His face got redder when someone in the back laughed.

And thus our Wheat reported for duty to Bravo Company, 2nd of the 3rd of the 199th, which operated west of Saigon to the Cambodian border. He was assigned to 3rd platoon. I asked him once how many of his men were killed. He stiffened. “Not an inordinate number,” he replied.

Two years after the reunion, I ran across a Google link to a pdf of the Methodist Children’s Home, a Waco orphanage. There I found that Wheat was a frequent donor and in 2007 had donated several thousand dollars “in memory of thirty-seven men of 3rd Platoon, B Company, 2nd Battalion, 3rd Infantry, killed in action in Viet Nam 1968-1969.”

In 2011, when I visited Israel for the first time, Wheat, a church-going Methodist whose father was a Methodist minister, asked me to place a prayer paper “memorializing” the 3rd Platoon in a crevice of the Western Wall of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, a Jewish tradition for two thousand years. I had an Israeli friend take a picture of me doing it and sent the picture to Wheat.

Maybe the thirty-seven are the reason Wheat, a native Texan and graduate of the University of Texas, made a post-war career at the Veteran’s Administration hospital in Marlin, south of Waco. He had failed at medical school before he was drafted. He retired directing a lab at the hospital.

He was found deceased shortly before Christmas by a Methodist pastor making a wellness visit to his home in Canyon Lake. He was 81.

Adios, Amigo

My old friend, Russell Huntley Wheat, was 81 and living with diabetes when he passed away shortly before Xmas. Can’t be more precise as his Methodist pastor found his body on a wellness visit the week of the 15th. Apparently there was a memorial service on the 20th but there’s no evidence of it on the Web.

Russ, who lived in Canyon Lake just down the road from the mini-rancho, was the funnyman in Infantry OCS, always telling a joke before class with the permission of the tactical officers who enjoyed them as much as the rest of us. We who strained to hear him in a class of a hundred candidates. Never dirty, just funny.

He was perversely proud of his Purple Heart, for which he had a license plate on his truck, from leg wounds suffered in his days with the 199th Light Infantry Brigade in Viet Nam. He always sent a Hanukkah card and until recently a funky gift (army teeshirt, etc.) for Mr. Boy whom he had met when Mr. B was still eating in a high chair.

No more separating the Wheat from the chaff was my joke which I promised to tell at the end of our lives. And so it is.

Dustbury, adios

“The Charles G. Hill Web Pages, HTML/PHP Bad Example and Bandwidth Wastage Station Dustbury, Oklahoma, USA”

…is no more. The proprietor having died from (apparently) spinal injuries sustained in a car accident on or about Sept. 3. Chas was a pioneer blogger who was a sometime commenter hereabouts and his sometimes, on the weather, the texas-oklahoma rivalry and software woes will be missed.

He especially warmed my heart in various comments on the illness and dying and death from cancer of Mrs. Charm, such as “…this must be hard on you. Be strong.” and “…if there truly is a next world, surely it must be a nicer place than what this one is trying to become.” I agree.

Good luck in the nicer place, Charles.

Via Dustbury

Grief all around

Awoke today to bad news from Seton hospital: Barbara Ellen’s best friend is dying after a series of strokes. She’s falling deeper and deeper into sleep, says the neurologist.

Meanwhile, my sister’s beloved dog Kipling was run over. Grief all around.

UPDATE Bar’s chatter got her to open her eyes and respond. Then she gave a grandchild a happy birthday. Kipling, alas, is no more.

Reprise: The Falling Man

In memoriam, September 11, 2001.

So runs my dream, but what am I? An infant crying in the night, An infant crying for the light, And with no language but a cry. –Lord Tennyson

The dead kiddie didler

“Anyone can come up with conspiracy theories. But there is no escaping the fact that [Jeffrey] Epstein’s career was one long conspiracy of mysterious money, a private island, the subversion of justice systems in three states, and the federal system, followed by a death that should have been impossible.

“A corrupt system enabled Jeffrey Epstein to abuse numerous girls. And now a corrupt system, somewhere in the shadowy maze of Civic Center, has drawn a final curtain over his death.”

Via Sultan Knish

D+2 Omaha Beach

Several days beyond the 75th commemoration I suddenly remember my cousin Dallasite Jerry Stover who went ashore on Omaha Beach on D+2. He was an Army signal officer with the advance HQ of the Ninth Air Force.

Jerry, who passed in 2012 at the age of 92, would go on to do such things as help liberate the Dachau concentration camp near Munich. But on the beach at Normandy he helped set up combat communications—after connecting with his uncle William Edward Matchett, my maternal grandfather’s brother, a Navy communications officer who’d gone ashore on the first deadly day.

“It was much quieter when I waded in on D+2,” Jerry wrote, “but the grim carnage had me very concerned about Bill…I found him safe! When he was deployed back to USA a week later, Bill left me his Navy jeep. A great gift! I used it to carry our radio sets across France!”

Via 6th Beach Battalion