Starts
on HBO Saturday evening, February 21st.
The following article was written by LtCol M.R. Strobl USMC who served
as the officer who escorted the remains of PFC C. Phelps USMC from Dover AFB,
DE to his home. PFC Phelps was assigned to 3d Bn,
11th Marines – an artillery unit functioning as a provisional infantry
battalion during Operation IRAQI FREEDOM 2. PFC Phelps was killed in action
from a gunshot wound received on 9 Apr 04 during combat operations west of
Chance Phelps was wearing his Saint Christopher medal when he was
killed on Good Friday. Eight days later, I handed the medallion to his mother.
I didn’t know Chance before he died. Today, I miss him.
Over a year ago, I volunteered to escort the remains of Marines
killed in
Thankfully, I hadn’t been called on to be an escort since
Operation Iraqi Freedom began. The first few weeks of April, however, had been
a tough month for the Marines. On the Monday after Easter I was reviewing
Department of Defense press releases when I saw that a Private First Class
Chance Phelps was killed in action outside of
I didn’t hear back the rest of Monday and all day Tuesday
until 1800. The Battalion duty NCO called my cell phone and said I needed to be
ready to leave for Dover Air Force Base at 1900 in order to escort the remains
of PFC Phelps.
Before leaving for
With two other escorts from
I was wondering about Chance Phelps. I didn’t know anything
about him; not even what he looked like. I wondered about his family and what
it would be like to meet them. I did pushups in my room until I couldn’t
do any more.
On Thursday morning I reported back to the mortuary. This time
there was a new group of Army escorts and a couple of the Marines who had been
there Wednesday. There was also an Air Force captain there to escort his
brother home to
We received a brief covering our duties, the proper handling of
the remains, the procedures for draping a flag over a casket, and of course,
the paperwork attendant to our task. We were shown pictures of the shipping
container and told that each one contained, in addition to the casket, a flag.
I was given an extra flag since Phelps’s parents were divorced. This way
they would each get one. I didn’t like the idea of stuffing the flag into
my luggage but I couldn’t see carrying a large flag, folded for
presentation to the next of kin, through an airport while in my Alpha uniform.
It barely fit into my suitcase.
It turned out that I was the last escort to leave on Thursday.
This meant that I repeatedly got to participate in the small ceremonies that
mark all departures from the Dover AFB mortuary.
Most of the remains are taken from Dover AFB by hearse to the
airport in
On this day there were some civilian workers doing construction on
the mortuary grounds. As each hearse passed, they would stop working and place
their hard hats over their hearts. This was my first sign that my mission with
PFC Phelps was larger than the Marine Corps and that his family and friends
were not grieving alone.
Eventually I was the last escort remaining in the lounge. The Marine Master
Gunnery Sergeant in charge of the Marine liaison there came to see me. He had
Chance Phelps’s personal effects. He removed each item; a large watch, a
wooden cross with a lanyard, two loose dog tags, two dog tags on a chain, and a
Saint Christopher medal on a silver chain. Although we had been briefed that we
might be carrying some personal effects of the deceased, this set me aback.
Holding his personal effects, I was starting to get to know Chance Phelps.
Finally we were ready. I grabbed my bags and went outside. I was
somewhat startled when I saw the shipping container, loaded three-quarters of
the way in to the back of a black Chevy Suburban that had been modified to
carry such cargo. This was the first time I saw my “cargo” and I
was surprised at how large the shipping container was. The Master Gunnery
Sergeant and I verified that the name on the container was Phelps’s then
they pushed him the rest of the way in and we left. Now it was PFC Chance
Phelps’s turn to receive the military—and construction
workers’—honors. He was finally moving towards home.
As I chatted with the driver on the hour-long trip to
When we got to the Northwest Airlines cargo terminal at the
As I walked up to the ticketing counter in my uniform, a Northwest
employee started to ask me if I knew how to use the automated boarding pass
dispenser. Before she could finish another ticketing agent interrupted her. He
told me to go straight to the counter then explained to the woman that I was a
military escort. She seemed embarrassed. The woman behind the counter already
had tears in her eyes as I was pulling out my government travel voucher. She
struggled to find words but managed to express her sympathy for the family and
thank me for my service. She upgraded my ticket to first class.
After clearing security, I was met by another Northwest Airline
employee at the gate. She told me a representative from cargo would be up to
take me down to the tarmac to observe the movement and loading of PFC Phelps. I
hadn’t really told any of them what my mission was but they all knew.
When the man from the cargo crew met me, he, too, struggled for
words. On the tarmac, he told me stories of his childhood as a military brat
and repeatedly told me that he was sorry for my loss. I was starting to
understand that, even here in
On the tarmac, the cargo crew was silent except for occasional
instructions to each other. I stood to the side and saluted as the conveyor
moved Chance to the aircraft. I was relieved when he was finally settled into
place. The rest of the bags were loaded and I watched them shut the cargo bay
door before heading back up to board the aircraft.
One of the pilots had taken my carry-on bag himself and had it stored next to
the cockpit door so he could watch it while I was on the tarmac. As I boarded
the plane, I could tell immediately that the flight attendants had already been
informed of my mission. They seemed a little choked up as they led me to my
seat.
About 45 minutes into our flight I still hadn’t spoken to
anyone except to tell the first class flight attendant that I would prefer
water. I was surprised when the flight attendant from the back of the plane
suddenly appeared and leaned down to grab my hands. She said, “I want you
to have this” as she pushed a small gold crucifix, with a relief of
Jesus, into my hand. It was her lapel pin and it looked somewhat worn. I
suspected it had been hers for quite some time. That was the only thing she
said to me the entire flight.
When we landed in
My trip with Chance was going to be somewhat unusual in that we
were going to have an overnight stopover. We had a late start out of
I was concerned about leaving him overnight in the
Once I was satisfied that all would be okay for the night, I asked
one of the cargo crew if he would take me back to the terminal so that I could
catch my hotel’s shuttle. Instead, he drove me straight to the hotel
himself. At the hotel, the Lieutenant Colonel called me and said he would
personally pick me up in the morning and bring me back to the cargo area.
Before leaving the airport, I had told the cargo crew that I
wanted to come back to the cargo area in the morning rather than go straight to
the passenger terminal. I felt bad for leaving Chance overnight and wanted to
see the shipping container where I had left it for the night. It was fine.
The Lieutenant Colonel made a few phone calls then drove me around
to the passenger terminal. I was met again by a man from the cargo crew and escorted
down to the tarmac. The pilot of the plane joined me as I waited for them to
bring Chance from the cargo area. The pilot and I talked of his service in the
Air Force and how he missed it.
I saluted as Chance was moved up the conveyor and onto the plane. It was to be
a while before the luggage was to be loaded so the pilot took me up to the
board the plane where I could watch the tarmac from a window. With no other
passengers yet on board, I talked with the flight attendants and one of the
cargo guys. He had been in the Navy and one of the attendants had been in the
Air Force. Everywhere I went, people were continuing
to tell me their relationship to the military. After all the baggage was
aboard, I went back down to the tarmac, inspected the cargo bay, and watched
them secure the door.
When we arrived at
We moved Chance to a secluded cargo area. Now it was time for me
to remove the shipping container and drape the flag over the casket. I had
predicted that this would choke me up but I found I was more concerned with
proper flag etiquette than the solemnity of the moment. Once the flag was in
place, I stood by and saluted as Chance was loaded onto the van from the
funeral home. I was thankful that we were in a small airport and the event seemed
to go mostly unnoticed. I picked up my rental car and followed Chance for five
hours until we reached Riverton. During the long trip I imagined how my meeting
with Chance’s parents would go. I was very nervous about that.
When we finally arrived at the funeral home, I had my first face
to face meeting with the Casualty Assistance Call Officer. It had been his duty
to inform the family of Chance’s death. He was on the
Inspector/Instructor staff of an infantry company in
Inside I gave the funeral director some of the paperwork from
Earlier in the day I wasn’t sure how I’d handle this
moment. Suddenly, the casket was open and I got my first look at Chance Phelps.
His uniform was immaculate—a tribute to the professionalism of the Marines
at
The next morning, I wore my dress blues and followed the hearse
for the trip up to Dubois. This was the most difficult leg of our trip for me.
I was bracing for the moment when I would meet his parents and hoping I would
find the right words as I presented them with Chance’s personal effects.
We got to the high school gym about four hours before the service
was to begin. The gym floor was covered with folding chairs neatly lined in
rows. There were a few townspeople making final preparations when I stood next
to the hearse and saluted as Chance was moved out of the hearse. The sight of a
flag-draped coffin was overwhelming to some of the ladies.
We moved Chance into the gym to the place of honor. A Marine sergeant,
the command representative from Chance’s battalion, met me at the gym.
His eyes were watery as he relieved me of watching Chance so that I could go
eat lunch and find my hotel.
At the restaurant, the table had a flier announcing Chance’s service.
I drove back to the gym at a quarter after one. I could’ve
walked—you could walk to just about anywhere in Dubois in ten minutes. I
had planned to find a quiet room where I could take his things out of their
pouch and untangle the chain of the Saint Christopher medal from the dog tag
chains and arrange everything before his parents came in. I had twice before
removed the items from the pouch to ensure they were all there—even
though there was no chance anything could’ve fallen out. Each time, the
two chains had been quite tangled. I didn’t want to be fumbling around
trying to untangle them in front of his parents. Our meeting, however,
didn’t go as expected.
I practically bumped into Chance’s step-mom accidentally and
our introductions began in the noisy hallway outside the gym. In short order I
had met Chance’s step-mom and father followed by his step-dad and, at
last, his mom. I didn’t know how to express to these people my sympathy
for their loss and my gratitude for their sacrifice. Now, however, they were
repeatedly thanking me for bringing their son home and for my service. I was
humbled beyond words.
I told them that I had some of Chance’s things and asked if
we could try to find a quiet place. The five of us ended up in what appeared to
be a computer lab—not what I had envisioned for this occasion.
After we had arranged five chairs around a small table, I told
them about our trip. I told them how, at every step, Chance was treated with
respect, dignity, and honor. I told them about the staff at
Finally, it was time to open the pouch. The first item I happened
to pull out was Chance’s large watch. It was still set to
By 1400 most of the seats on the gym floor were filled and people
were finding seats in the fixed bleachers high above the gym floor. There were
a surprising number of people in military uniform. Many Marines had come up
from
It turned out that Chance’s sister, a Petty Officer in the
Navy, worked for a Rear Admiral—the Chief of Naval Intelligence—at
the Pentagon. The Admiral had brought many of the sailors on his staff with him
to Dubois pay respects to Chance and support his
sister. After a few songs and some words from a Navy Chaplain, the Admiral took
the microphone and told us how Chance had died.
Chance was an artillery cannoneer and
his unit was acting as provisional military police outside of
Then the commander of the local VFW post read some of the letters
Chance had written home. In letters to his mom he talked of the mosquitoes and
the heat. In letters to his stepfather he told of the dangers of convoy
operations and of receiving fire.
The service was a fitting tribute to this hero. When it was over,
we stood as the casket was wheeled out with the family following. The casket
was placed onto a horse-drawn carriage for the mile-long trip from the gym,
down the main street, then up the steep hill to the cemetery. I stood alone and
saluted as the carriage departed the high school. I found my car and joined
Chance’s convoy.
The town seemingly went from the gym to the street. All along the
route, the people had lined the street and were waving small American flags.
The flags that were otherwise posted were all at half-staff. For the last
quarter mile up the hill, local boy scouts, spaced about 20 feet apart, all in
uniform, held large flags. At the foot of the hill, I could look up and back
and see the enormity of our procession. I wondered how many people would be at
this funeral if it were in, say,
The carriage stopped about 15 yards from the grave and the
military pall bearers and the family waited until the men of the VFW and Marine
Corps league were formed up and school busses had arrived carrying many of the
people from the procession route. Once the entire crowd was in place, the
pallbearers came to attention and began to remove the casket from the caisson.
As I had done all week, I came to attention and executed a slow ceremonial
salute as Chance was being transferred from one mode of transport to another.
From
Then they put him down above his grave. He had stopped moving.
Although my mission had been officially complete once I turned him
over to the funeral director at the
The chaplain said some words that I couldn’t hear and two
Marines removed the flag from the casket and slowly folded it for presentation
to his mother. When the ceremony was over, Chance’s father placed a
ribbon from his service in
Finally, we all went back to the gym for a reception. There was
enough food to feed the entire population for a few days. In one corner of the
gym there was a table set up with lots of pictures of Chance and some of his
sports awards. People were continually approaching me and the other Marines to
thank us for our service. Almost all of them had some story to tell about their
connection to the military. About an hour into the reception, I had the
impression that every man in
It seemed like every time I saw Chance’s mom she was hugging
a different well wisher. As time passed, I began to hear people laughing. We
were starting to heal.
After a few hours at the gym, I went back to the hotel to change
out of my dress blues. The local VFW post had invited everyone over to
“celebrate Chance’s life.” The Post was on the other end of
town from my hotel and the drive took less than two minutes. The crowd was
somewhat smaller than what had been at the gym but the Post was packed.
Marines were playing pool at the two tables near the entrance and
most of the VFW members were at the bar or around the tables in the bar area.
The largest room in the Post was a banquet/dinning/dancing area and it was now
called “The Chance Phelps Room.” Above the entry were two items: a
large portrait of Chance in his dress blues and the Eagle, Globe & Anchor.
In one corner of the room there was another memorial to Chance. There were
candles burning around another picture of him in his blues. On the table
surrounding his photo were his Purple Heart citation and his Purple Heart
medal. There was also a framed copy of an excerpt from the Congressional
Record. This was an elegant tribute to Chance Phelps delivered on the floor of
the United States House of Representatives by Congressman Scott McInnis of
I did not buy a drink that night. As had been happening all day,
indeed all week, people were thanking me for my service and for bringing Chance
home. Now, in addition to words and handshakes, they were thanking me with
beer. I fell in with the men who had handled the horses and horse-drawn
carriage. I learned that they had worked through the night to groom and prepare
the horses for Chance’s last ride. They were all very grateful that they
were able to contribute.
After a while we all gathered in the Chance Phelps room for the
formal dedication. The Post commander told us of how Chance had been so looking
forward to becoming a Life Member of the VFW. Now, in the Chance Phelps Room of
the Dubois,
Later, as I was walking toward the pool tables, a Staff Sergeant
from the Reserve unit in
As the Lance Corporal started to talk, an older man joined our
circle. He wore a baseball cap that indicated he had been with the 1st Marine
Division in
So, there I was, standing in a circle with three Marines recently
returned from fighting with the 1st Marine Division in Iraq and one not so
recently returned from fighting with the 1st Marine Division in Korea. I, who
had fought with the 1st Marine Division in
The young Lance Corporal began to tell us his story. At that
moment, in this circle of current and former Marines, the differences in our
ages and ranks dissipated—we were all simply Marines.
His squad had been on a patrol through a city street. They had taken
small arms fire and had literally dodged an RPG round that sailed between two
Marines. At one point they received fire from behind a wall and had neutralized
the sniper with a SMAW round. The back blast of the SMAW, however, kicked up a
substantial rock that hammered the Lance Corporal in the thigh; only missing
his groin because he had reflexively turned his body sideways at the shot.
Their squad had suffered some wounded and was receiving more
sniper fire when suddenly he was hit in the head by an AK-47 round. I was
stunned as he told us how he felt like a baseball bat had been slammed into his
head. He had spun around and fell unconscious. When he came to, he had a severe
scalp wound but his Kevlar helmet had saved his life. He continued with his unit
for a few days before realizing he was suffering the effects of a severe
concussion.
As I stood there in the circle with the old man and the other
Marines, the Staff Sergeant finished the story. He told of how this Lance
Corporal had begged and pleaded with the Battalion surgeon to let him stay with
his unit. In the end, the doctor said there was just no way—he had
suffered a severe and traumatic head wound and would have to be med’evaced.
The Marine Corps is a special fraternity. There are moments when
we are reminded of this. Interestingly, those moments don’t always happen
at awards ceremonies or in dress blues at Birthday Balls. I have found, rather,
that they occur at unexpected times and places: next to a loaded moving van at
After the story was done, the Lance Corporal stepped over to the
old man, put his arm over the man’s shoulder and told him that he, the
Korean War vet, was his hero. The two of them stood there with their arms over
each other’s shoulders and we were all silent for a moment. When they let
go, I told the Lance Corporal that there were recruits down on the yellow
footprints tonight that would soon be learning his story.
I was finished drinking beer and telling stories. I found
Chance’s father and shook his hand one more time. Chance’s mom had
already left and I deeply regretted not being able to tell her goodbye.
I left Dubois in the morning before sunrise for my long drive back
to
I miss him.
Regards,
LtCol Strobl
Eastern
time:
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