As we were entering the mid-sixties, the conflict in South East Asia (Vietnam) was escalating into a full blown war. There was “scuttle-but” (gossip) being heard around, that the Marine Corps might be planning an invasion. I was still based at Camp Lejeune, and healing well from the ambush by the redneck rebels. I needed a break from the routine maneuvers and exercises there that had become repetitious and boring. And, the top brass had recommended that I put in for a transfer (considering the repercussions of the beating incident), in that I might get myself into more trouble there. Their point was well taken. I put in for a transfer to Okinawa for two reasons, one; because I was influenced by the stories that Joe (Grace’s Marine friend) had told me, about all the beautiful naisons (bar girls) there and the cheap booze. He told me that you could buy a “typhoon fifth” of booze for about five bucks at the post-exchange. That’s about a half gallon! The other reason I volunteered to go to Okinawa, was because of the conflict brewing in Vietnam. I wanted to see some real action before I was discharged. I suppose...I became what they call “gung-ho” at that time. After sharpening my bayonet for close combat in Cuba, and it turning out to be a no-show; I had one more chance to see real combat...in Vietnam, during my last active duty year as a Marine.
The transfer was approved, and I was given a thirty day (leave-of-absence) pass to visit home before being shipped out. I was excited about the adventure that lay ahead of me. I checked around the base camp to see if any of the other Marines were scheduled to go up north on leave during my scheduled time. There was a sergeant (Gentry) who had a car and also was planning the trip with a few other Marines. He lived in Hudson, New York, which is just up the river from Poughkeepsie. There was room for me! We all got our gear together and piled into the sergeant’s brand new, four door, Dodge dart--the one with that drive shaft “hump” in the center. We were on our way to upstate New York and to our families’ homes. The sergeant did all the driving--he wouldn’t let anyone else drive his shiny new car. Sergeant Gentry was a decorated war hero. He had several rows of ribbons from the battles he fought in the Pacific and Korea. His Purple Heart medal had a star that signified he had been awarded three of them. He was planning on retiring as a “twenty-year-man”, soon. The ride was long and tiresome. Especially from being cramped on top of that transmission hump with my knees elevated. I will always remember that “chemical stink” in the air as we passed through New Jersey, on I-95. Back then, there were many oil refineries and plastics factories along the coast of New Jersey.
The thirty day leave was a welcome relief for my wretched soul. Since it was the month of December, many of the hometown folk were preparing for Christmas. All of the season's decorations and colorful tree lights made my homecoming somewhat of a poignant one, since I hadn't been home for Christmas for the previous two years. I visited many of my home town buddies, and of course there was Grace! During my time away; Joe had been arrested on some assault charges and theft in the city. I did have one late-night rendezvous with Grace, and it was at that time that my conscience was seared and I realized the seriousness of my attraction to her, in that I was committing adultery with her and betraying my friendship to Adolf. Yes. I had a twinge-of-conscience and I vowed to end the affair. That “conscience” thing was probably a direct result of my being baptized by a Baptist preacher, while on Vieques Island, and his instilling some RELIGION into my heathenistic lifestyle. (Little did I know then, that, that baptism would only be the second in my life, along with the few others that would follow during the course of my life.)
The furlough at home went by too fast. It came time to return to the base, pick up my orders, and the passage chits for the long train ride across the country to San Diego, California. There, I would board a Navy troop ship for the one month, ocean voyage to Okinawa.
Sergeant Gentry arrived on schedule from his home in Hudson. The other three Marines were asleep in the back seat. I threw my sea bag in the trunk and we were off. On the way back, as we passed through Virginia, on I-95 in the darkness of the overcast night, it began to rain, and then it became a downpour. The wipers were going full speed and the windshield was fogging. I would occasionally wipe it with my handkerchief. We had the radio playing to help the sergeant stay awake while driving. He looked exhausted! Occasionally, his head would nod and snap back from drowsing off. I did get a little worried. I was doing the same! This was not a good situation. The three Marines in the back seat were sound asleep and leaning over each other. I asked the sergeant if he would let me drive a little. He said: “No son...not my new car.”
The rain was coming down heavy and noisy on the car’s roof. It had a lulling effect on two (already tired) Marines. The traffic was slowed slightly, and up ahead I could see this Marine, dressed in full uniform, standing on the side of the interstate. He was soaked! He had one arm over his shoulder, holding his clothing bag, and with the other, he was trying to hitch a ride. I immediately told the sergeant to pull over and pick up the poor guy. I felt sorry for him; out there in the downpour and trying to get back to the base. I opened the door to let him in, and I attempted to get out, so as to let him be the one in the middle with that annoying “hump” to deal with. A little voice in my head said: “Don’t be so mean. The poor guy is discomforted enough! You sit in the middle and let him have the more comfortable seat, by the door to lean on.” In an instant, I changed my mind and got back in to let him have the door seat. I recall that I never really looked him in the face at any time. However, I did notice the single Private’s chevron on his overcoat sleeve. He became the mysterious Marine, who suddenly appeared out of the night. Incidentally, I don’t recall that he ever spoke to any of us. He just sat there quietly, resting his head on the door.
So now I am in the middle, with my knees up in my chest and looking more like I am in the “fetal” position, with me hugging my knees. I was proud of myself, for having the humility to let the drenched Marine be more comfortable. That’s what Marines do!
Sergeant Gentry was dozing at the wheel; the three Marines in the back seat were sleeping like babies; the unknown Marine was sleeping with his head leaning on the door window, and I was in the middle, straddled atop that hump, trying to stay awake to keep watch for danger. There we were cruising down Interstate 95, on our way to home base, in a raging downpour. My head was now nodding down and jerking back up as I tried to stay awake. When I was just about at the end of my rope, in trying, my head dropped quickly onto my knees, and then the next thing I recall: “all Hell broke loose!” There was a huge crunch, followed by the sound of metal and glass fragments swirling around me, like a tornado! Then there was the sound of brakes screeching and along with that came the strong heavy scent of burnt rubber. Yes! I began to pray, at that instant. This time my prayers were more like a request to God. “Please God...don’t let me die. Please shield me Jesus. Please protect me Jesus!” And in those split seconds of prayer, I did feel the presence of God’s supernatural force. I vividly recall the feeling of being surrounded by some kind of clear, impregnable shield around me. I will never forget that very specific feeling! The next sensation I recall, is that of spinning around, like being on a merry-go-round. And then, in an instant, everything came to a grinding stop, and I could feel the car rocking from side to side, as it settled by the side of the highway.
I reluctantly opened my eyes, as I raised my head slowly from the crouched position. I noticed; there wasn’t any roof on the car! The rain made me feel like I was under a shower. It whipped against me, every time a truck or car sped pass us on the Interstate. I turned to my right, and it was then that I became aware that there was a torn head hanging over my right shoulder, and my gray wind-breaker jacket was drenched in blood. That unknown Marine was partially decapitated. I recall pushing his bloody head off of my shoulder, and then I turned to my left side. I could see the sergeant was leaning forward and the steering wheel column was pressed deep into his chest. His head was bleeding profusely. It was at that moment that I heard what sounded like moans coming from the back seat. They were very faint and muffled! I didn’t want to look around. The fear and reality of what just happened was taking hold of me. I began to tremble uncontrollably.
I needed to get out of what was left of that car. The only way out was up and straight forward; the bodies surrounded me. The cold rain, hitting my bloodied face, had an exhilarating effect on me; I was alive! I shimmied my way up onto the seat, and then noticed that the car was crushed so much so, that I didn’t have to step but a foot or so to get out and over the dashboard. As strange as it may seem, the radio was still playing—-only not as loud. I walked over the hood and then jumped down off the car. By now there were flashing lights everywhere and sirens screaming all around. I stood there and looked back at the car and what I saw shocked me even more. The car was squashed down to within a couple of feet from the ground. The roof was completely peeled back, along with part of the front seat. You couldn’t even see where the wheel wells were! Then I noticed the arms and legs protruding out through the mangled wreckage. Blood was everywhere and running down the passenger side’s shriveled metal, mingled with the rain water. It was a surrealistic sight to behold.
The next thing that I recall; a man and a woman ran over to me and wrapped a blanket around me. My whole body was trembling and my teeth were rattling uncontrollably. They ushered me over to their car and sat me down in the back seat. The woman kept wiping my head and face with a cloth, while trying to calm me down. With all the high powered lights illuminating the crash site, I could see the back end of this tractor trailer, truck. There was what looked like part of our car’s roof sticking out of the back and wedged up under it between the tandem wheels--that were still smoking. Besides the smell of burnt rubber, there was the nauseating odor of gasoline in the air. (Considering that the car was sliding on the concrete highway, after being ejected from the tractor-trailer, and that there must have been sparks and flames due to the friction; it was a miracle that the car didn't explode in flames and burn us all alive while being pinned in.)
A state trooper came over and asked the couple if they would take me to the nearest hospital; and he gave them directions. The husband sped us away to a nearby Army hospital that was just off of the next exit. Along the way, I noticed a highway sign that read (Welcome to Petersburg—-Population....). I was admitted in the emergency room, and there, as I laid face-up on that gurney, they cut away all my clothes and were dabbing cotton swabs in my eyes to remove glass fragments. I do remember the nurse saying: “Try not to blink your eyes...Please!”
I was given an intravenous tranquilizer and didn’t wake up until the next morning. Since all my injuries were minor, with only a few stitches here and there, the doctors released me. On the way down the hall, I saw one of the Marines in a full body cast, with his arms and legs suspended by cables. I wasn’t that interested in finding out what happened to the other Marines. I didn’t want to know any more. However, I did find out that the Marine sitting next to me, in the car, was undergoing major surgeries in an effort to save his life. They did not expect him to survive the massive injuries he received. He was only referred to as “the Private.”
I was able to retrieve my sea-bag, and I took the local bus into the nearest town. Since it was close to an Army base, there was a USO there. I needed a good strong coffee and a doughnut in a bad way. I walked into the USO; it was early in the morning and there was one attendant on duty making coffee. She was a large black woman, slightly obese, and my first impression of her, was that of the “mammy” in the movie (Gone With The Wind). With that reddish colored bandana wrapped around her head, she also reminded me of the “Aunt Jemima” caricature on those pancake boxes. This was the early-sixties, and the “Jim Crow” period was still a part of the southern culture. Those “mammies” were still around then. I sat down at a table and she came over. The first thing she said was: “Good mornin’ honey child. What can I get for yo’all?” She then brought me the coffee and a pastry, and sat down beside me. I liked the way she spoke, with that southern drawl. I drank my coffee slowly as she read the local, early morning news paper.
She startled me with a loud sigh: “My lord...Jesus...what in the....!” I asked her what was wrong. She said: “Look at this car. Can you believe they was six Marines in that thing! Honey...it don’t even looks like a car. And they says that one Marine did live...so far! I asked to see the photo, and I was just as shocked. That car looked like what a car looks like when it is being crushed at a recycling plant. Then she read the names of the Marines: “It says that he's name is PFC John Gasparro Jr.--the one that walked away.”
I reached in my pocket to pull out my military ID card. I handed it to her. That was the first time I ever saw a black person’s skin turn pale. She began to cry, and she said: “You is the Marine!” I said: “Yes I am...mam." We hugged each other very tightly as we cried together.
In hindsight, I left there without taking a copy of the paper. I lived to regret that for years afterwards, until I finally did track down the article in the Petersburg paper. By the grace of God; I was able to put that all behind me and move forward to my goal of getting to Okinawa. I hitch-hiked a ride back to Lejeune and had to explain away the delay and also my wounds and the fact that I looked like I just crawled out of my sea-bag. It took a little convincing, but somehow, I was able to talk my way out of it. Sergeant Gentry and the other Marines were not in my company, so no mention was made of the accident. I made up the excuse that I missed my ride and that I had to hitch-hike a ride back to base in a raging rain-storm. I also feared that there could be an investigation and that it would cancel my orders to go overseas, if I mentioned the specifics. Over the years, since then, I have wondered if any of the other Marines survived. And, I’ll probably never be able to know just who that mysterious, unknown Marine Private was, who took my place in that front seat, on that rainy night in Virginia.
What started as a good-natured buddy helping out fellow Marines certainly turn into a terrible tragedy. I have been riding with for driving when drowsy and it can be quite dangerous. The Sergeant was surely trying to protect his shiny new ride from any damage by continuing to drive himself, but he put you all in harm's way.
When I was alternately hitting the ceiling of my 35 Ford hot rod and then the seat as it rolled over more than 10 times at about 60 miles an hour or more with the door pulled open by centrifugal force, I found myself not thinking about God, but reaching up and grabbing the roof to stop the up and down slamming. And then, again not thinking about God, I pulled my hand and arm inside so they wouldn't be crushed, just as I was being ejected from the car on the last roll. I think your early indoctrination into the Catholic Church, followed by your Baptist baptism, made you think of God during that terrible few seconds of a horrendous crash tangling with a semi tractor trailer.
I believe the Marine you saw in the full body cast may have survived as well, and if he had read this, he certainly would probably try to contact you. I'm very glad you are able to tell the truth to your readers after having to hide it when you return to base for fear of not being shipped out.
Destiny's Daughter by Frances Altman highlights events in the life of Mary Edwards Walker, maverick suffragist, Civil War doctor and only woman Medal of Honor recipient.
As we were entering the mid-sixties, the conflict in South East Asia (Vietnam) was escalating into a full blown war. There was “scuttle-but” (gossip) being heard around, that the Marine Corps might be planning an invasion. I was still based at Camp Lejeune, and healing well from the ambush by the redneck rebels. I needed a break from the routine maneuvers and exercises there that had become repetitious and boring. And, the top brass had recommended that I put in for a transfer (considering the repercussions of the beating incident), in that I might get myself into more trouble there. Their point was well taken. I put in for a transfer to Okinawa for two reasons, one; because I was influenced by the stories that Joe (Grace’s Marine friend) had told me, about all the beautiful naisons (bar girls) there and the cheap booze. He told me that you could buy a “typhoon fifth” of booze for about five bucks at the post-exchange. That’s about a half gallon! The other reason I volunteered to go to Okinawa, was because of the conflict brewing in Vietnam. I wanted to see some real action before I was discharged. I suppose...I became what they call “gung-ho” at that time. After sharpening my bayonet for close combat in Cuba, and it turning out to be a no-show; I had one more chance to see real combat...in Vietnam, during my last active duty year as a Marine.
