I am going to jump ahead a little bit in my Vietnam chronicle because today marks the 40th anniversary of one of the most memorable World Series games of my lifetime—and I never saw it. The laughingstock New York Mets reached the 1969 World Series after only 7 years of existence. And 40 years ago, they won it all.
As a part of life at An Hoa, the officers of the unit responsible for part of the defensive of the perimeter, which stretched approximately 4 miles, were routinely assigned as Officer of the Day for their unit’s sector. 1/5 manned Alfa Sector on the southwest part of the line. There were a number of sand bagged 3-man bunkers on the line, manned by riflemen and machine gunners waiting for the nearly nightly probe of the line by VC and NVA sapper units. They spent the night looking out over barbed wire, a minefield, and other assorted barriers including foogas positions.
Foogas was simply napalm loaded in a 55 gallon drum. The drum was buried in the ground at about a 10 to 15 degree angle. A blasting cap was inserted and when the hell box was clicked, a great gout of jellied gasoline flamed outward, cooking anyone caught in its arc.
The OD’s post was a prefabricated wooden bunker covered with sandbags about 30 meters to the rear of the center of the line. It was about 10 feet square and had room for the OD, the Sergeant of the Guard, and a radio operator. There was another position manned by three Marines a few meters to the rear of the bunker, covering the approach to its door.
On the night of 16 October, I was OD. We had an FM radio in the bunker, tuned to AFVN (Armed Forces Radio Network Vietnam) and—courtesy of the international date line--were listening to the live broadcast of the Mets-Orioles game being played that afternoon in New York. The Mets held a three game to one lead in the Series.
In about the third inning, the world exploded in our adjacent sector. Echo Sector was manned by Battery E, 2/11. Sappers had gotten into their wire and began chucking satchel charges to blow holes in the wire. They wanted to destroy those 105mm cannon and they wanted to do it tonight. I headed out to the line, pulling one of the riflemen from the guard bunker to follow me.
My first job was to make sure that we manned positions that could fire into Echo Sector if necessary, to prevent the enemy from turning our flank. That meant spreading troops out and that took some time. There is a maxim in the Corps: “Every Marine a rifleman.” The troops on the line were not infantrymen. They were supply men and, cooks, truck drivers and clerks. But they were Marines and they were in the line. I spent some time moving from position to position, calming them down and making sure they were alert.
After a couple of hours, the “all clear” was sounded and I headed back for my bunker, anxious to hear how the game was going. As I entered, all I could hear was a terrible “static.”
“Aw, damn, what happened,” I asked? “Did we lose the signal?”
“Nosir, that ain’t static. Lieutenant, you ain’t gonna believe this, but the New York [universal modifier] Mets just won the World [universal modifier] Series.” What I had mistaken for static was 50,000 crazed Mets fans screaming their lungs out!
Now, I am a life-long Cardinals fan, and since that improbable season in 1993 when a group of happy misfits gave us a summer of joy, I have learned to love the Phillies. In both cities, the Mets are the enemy. I confess that I take joy from every Met loss.
But here’s to the Amazing Mets, the boys of summer of 1969. Bless ‘em all.
16 October 2009
14 October 2009
REMF
When last we revisited my little part of Vietnam in 1969, I had just been pulled out of the bush and sent back to An Hoa to become Executive Officer (XO) of Charlie Company. I settled in to the routine of life on the combat base. To the troops in the field, we were known as REMF’s: “rear echelon…., well, you get the picture. For the first time in months, I could shower daily—if you got to the shower point when it opened at 1900 (7pm) and if had been a sunny day, the water was hot while it came out of the above-ground storage tank.
The worst part of being in An Hoa was that it was a fixed target. We were rocketed or mortared nearly daily. You never left your bunker without a flak jacket, helmet, rifle, and gas mask. There were nights in the monsoon season when we went to the shower point buck naked, except for our flak jackets, helmets, rifles and knee waders. The mud was that deep.
I was assigned a couple of JAG Manual investigations into missing equipment and First Sergeant Lee kept up my reading assignments, including the Marine Corps Correspondence Manual, the Assignment, Classification and Testing Manual (ACTS Manual), and other administrative publications. In later years of my career, this early introduction to administrative procedures stood me in good stead.
After about 10 days, the Battalion XO informed me that I was being sent to Okinawa for 30 days to attend Embarkation School, after which, I would become the S-4 of the Battalion. I was stunned. The S-4 was a Captain’s billet. He is the staff officer responsible for logistics: communications, supply, motor transport, medical, and embarkation. But there it was.
I went to Danang on the 25th of June and caught a C-130 to Okinawa the next morning. As I was running for the chopper to Danang, it off-loaded a couple of Charlie Company troops coming in from the Arizonza.
“Everything OK with the Company,” I asked?
“Yessir, but Bravo 6 was KIA last night.” Damn! Captain Castagnetti. But by now, I had learned to compartmentalize death.
It was as if I had been teleported to a strange world. I had changed. The first shock was being required to turn in my weapon at the battalion armory. I had been armed with a loaded weapon never further than I could reach for over 7 months. I felt naked and exposed.
At Kadena AFB, I caught a shuttle bus to Camp Hansen, the pre-war home of the 9th Marines. We had passed through in December, but now I was not a transient. Schools Battalion checked me in and I was assigned a room in the Bachelor Officers Quarters (BOQ). For the next month or so, I would have a real bed, a desk, reading lamp, chair, and I would share a head with one other officer. I was livin’ in tall cotton!
The next morning, I heard someone in the shower. After he left the head, I showered with unlimited hot water (my 5th shower in 18 hours).
As I was dressing, there was a knock at the door. It turned out that my roommate was Tom Kerrigan, a classmate from TBS. We soon learned that Chris Rodatz and Pat Murphy from our class were also in Embark School.
That afternoon, when I returned to my room, I heard the toilet flush in the head. It flushed again…and again…and again…and……
“Hey, Tommy. You OK?”
The door opened. Tom flushed the commode again. “Oh, damn, Mac. Will you look at that?” As I said, a strange new world.
The school was interesting—sort of an accounting course: debit the beach and credit the ship. We learned the storage capacity and characteristics of various classes of amphibious shipping, how to prepare a detailed loading plan, and were introduced to the new computerized loading system with its 80 column pads and punch card decks. For those of you younger than 30, we were using the computer version of a slate board.
Friday nights were special. We usually went to the Iha Castle Hotel out in town for dinner. The Iha Castle was built by Continental and Pa Am airlines as billeting for their crews that were taking troops to and from Vietnam. The restaurant had a great surf and turf dinner on Friday for $2.50. The best part was the 40 foot salad bar. Every vegetable you can imagine--there were nights when I never got to the surf and turf.
We had Saturdays and Sundays off, but Kin Blue Beach was within walking distance and Kerrigan and I spent long hours there sunning. Since May, I had had a festering sore on my left ankle. Doc had prescribed Bacitracin, but the darn thing stayed ugly. There was no way to keep it clean. By July, it was a jellied white.
In Oki, I took a couple of showers a day, and the salt water soaks seemed to help. Finally, a little piece of shrapnel worked its way out of the sore and after that, it started to heal. By September, all I had was a scar.
On Monday morning, 17 July, we started our final exam. We had to prepare a complete loading plan for a ship, using the Operation Order as our guide. The instructors told us that we had until 1630 on Friday to finish, but we could turn our plans in whenever we were done. Kerrigan and I wanted to visit the southern tip of the island to see Suicide Cliffs, so we decided to work so as to have Friday off.
I worked from 0800 to about 2300 each day. By Thursday evening at 2100, I was almost done. Then I realized that I could not account for one 3 cubic foot box. It took me another 4 hours and a revision of my load to fix it. The problem with a two dimensional plan for loading a three dimensional ship is that, on paper, you can stack boxes higher than the overhead in the compartment in which they are stowed. That’s what I had done. At 0100, I went to bed.
At 0500, I got up and headed over to the Officers Club to watch a miracle happen. The Club was jammed. Neal Armstrong walked on the Moon. Then we all went back to bed.
The next week’s classes were pro forma. I was honor grad, the only officer to have a completely workable plan.
A few nights later, we were back at Kadena, anxious to get back to Vietnam before midnight on 31 July.
“Huh,” you say?
One small advantage to being in Vietnam was that Congress saw fit to make our pay exempt from Federal income taxation for any month or part of a month spent within the confines of the “combat zone.” By getting into Country before midnight on the 31st, even if by only 5 minutes, July’s pay was tax free. We made it by three hours.
The next morning, I got a ride to 5th Marines (Rear) at 11th Motor transport Battalion and caught a chopper ride back to An Hoa. From the LZ, I trudged back up to the 1/5 BOQ tent. As I started up the steps, the screen door opened and I damn near fainted. There stood Gino Castagnetti.
“What’s the matter, Mac,” he asked?
“You’re dead, Sir. They told me.”
“Sorry, young lieutenant, but it just ain’t so. C’mon in and take a load off.”
Ah, the fog of war. And I was back in the middle of it.
The worst part of being in An Hoa was that it was a fixed target. We were rocketed or mortared nearly daily. You never left your bunker without a flak jacket, helmet, rifle, and gas mask. There were nights in the monsoon season when we went to the shower point buck naked, except for our flak jackets, helmets, rifles and knee waders. The mud was that deep.
I was assigned a couple of JAG Manual investigations into missing equipment and First Sergeant Lee kept up my reading assignments, including the Marine Corps Correspondence Manual, the Assignment, Classification and Testing Manual (ACTS Manual), and other administrative publications. In later years of my career, this early introduction to administrative procedures stood me in good stead.
After about 10 days, the Battalion XO informed me that I was being sent to Okinawa for 30 days to attend Embarkation School, after which, I would become the S-4 of the Battalion. I was stunned. The S-4 was a Captain’s billet. He is the staff officer responsible for logistics: communications, supply, motor transport, medical, and embarkation. But there it was.
I went to Danang on the 25th of June and caught a C-130 to Okinawa the next morning. As I was running for the chopper to Danang, it off-loaded a couple of Charlie Company troops coming in from the Arizonza.
“Everything OK with the Company,” I asked?
“Yessir, but Bravo 6 was KIA last night.” Damn! Captain Castagnetti. But by now, I had learned to compartmentalize death.
It was as if I had been teleported to a strange world. I had changed. The first shock was being required to turn in my weapon at the battalion armory. I had been armed with a loaded weapon never further than I could reach for over 7 months. I felt naked and exposed.
At Kadena AFB, I caught a shuttle bus to Camp Hansen, the pre-war home of the 9th Marines. We had passed through in December, but now I was not a transient. Schools Battalion checked me in and I was assigned a room in the Bachelor Officers Quarters (BOQ). For the next month or so, I would have a real bed, a desk, reading lamp, chair, and I would share a head with one other officer. I was livin’ in tall cotton!
The next morning, I heard someone in the shower. After he left the head, I showered with unlimited hot water (my 5th shower in 18 hours).
As I was dressing, there was a knock at the door. It turned out that my roommate was Tom Kerrigan, a classmate from TBS. We soon learned that Chris Rodatz and Pat Murphy from our class were also in Embark School.
That afternoon, when I returned to my room, I heard the toilet flush in the head. It flushed again…and again…and again…and……
“Hey, Tommy. You OK?”
The door opened. Tom flushed the commode again. “Oh, damn, Mac. Will you look at that?” As I said, a strange new world.
The school was interesting—sort of an accounting course: debit the beach and credit the ship. We learned the storage capacity and characteristics of various classes of amphibious shipping, how to prepare a detailed loading plan, and were introduced to the new computerized loading system with its 80 column pads and punch card decks. For those of you younger than 30, we were using the computer version of a slate board.
Friday nights were special. We usually went to the Iha Castle Hotel out in town for dinner. The Iha Castle was built by Continental and Pa Am airlines as billeting for their crews that were taking troops to and from Vietnam. The restaurant had a great surf and turf dinner on Friday for $2.50. The best part was the 40 foot salad bar. Every vegetable you can imagine--there were nights when I never got to the surf and turf.
We had Saturdays and Sundays off, but Kin Blue Beach was within walking distance and Kerrigan and I spent long hours there sunning. Since May, I had had a festering sore on my left ankle. Doc had prescribed Bacitracin, but the darn thing stayed ugly. There was no way to keep it clean. By July, it was a jellied white.
In Oki, I took a couple of showers a day, and the salt water soaks seemed to help. Finally, a little piece of shrapnel worked its way out of the sore and after that, it started to heal. By September, all I had was a scar.
On Monday morning, 17 July, we started our final exam. We had to prepare a complete loading plan for a ship, using the Operation Order as our guide. The instructors told us that we had until 1630 on Friday to finish, but we could turn our plans in whenever we were done. Kerrigan and I wanted to visit the southern tip of the island to see Suicide Cliffs, so we decided to work so as to have Friday off.
I worked from 0800 to about 2300 each day. By Thursday evening at 2100, I was almost done. Then I realized that I could not account for one 3 cubic foot box. It took me another 4 hours and a revision of my load to fix it. The problem with a two dimensional plan for loading a three dimensional ship is that, on paper, you can stack boxes higher than the overhead in the compartment in which they are stowed. That’s what I had done. At 0100, I went to bed.
At 0500, I got up and headed over to the Officers Club to watch a miracle happen. The Club was jammed. Neal Armstrong walked on the Moon. Then we all went back to bed.
The next week’s classes were pro forma. I was honor grad, the only officer to have a completely workable plan.
A few nights later, we were back at Kadena, anxious to get back to Vietnam before midnight on 31 July.
“Huh,” you say?
One small advantage to being in Vietnam was that Congress saw fit to make our pay exempt from Federal income taxation for any month or part of a month spent within the confines of the “combat zone.” By getting into Country before midnight on the 31st, even if by only 5 minutes, July’s pay was tax free. We made it by three hours.
The next morning, I got a ride to 5th Marines (Rear) at 11th Motor transport Battalion and caught a chopper ride back to An Hoa. From the LZ, I trudged back up to the 1/5 BOQ tent. As I started up the steps, the screen door opened and I damn near fainted. There stood Gino Castagnetti.
“What’s the matter, Mac,” he asked?
“You’re dead, Sir. They told me.”
“Sorry, young lieutenant, but it just ain’t so. C’mon in and take a load off.”
Ah, the fog of war. And I was back in the middle of it.
13 October 2009
NEVER SAY DIE—THE FIGHTIN’ PHILS (2009)
Baseball is an intense game. The situation changes with every pitch. Witness the knife fight in a phone booth that took place at Coors Field last night. In the 2009 season, the Colorado Rockies lost only one game in which they led after the 8th inning and their ace reliever, Houston Street, had blown only two saves all season. But those never say die Phils came roaring back after a disastrous 8th to take what we hope will be the first of three post-season blue ribbons.
And what a trip it was. Sunday’s game was called on account of snow, and Monday night’s game started when the temperature was already below freezing. The gods of television must be appeased, and the idea of an afternoon game—a staple of my youth and one of the reasons we all hoped to have gym in the 6th and 7th periods in the Fall—has gone the way of the buggy whip. (Jumper Girl, my 12 year old, sighs and says, “You’re just old!!!!)
Why not equalize the two leagues at 16 teams each? One division in each could be the pre-expansion leagues: Cards, Phils, Cubs, Pirates, Reds, Braves, Dodgers and Giants in the senior circuit and Yanks, Red Sox, White Sox, Indians, Tigers Orioles, A’s, and Twins (successors to the Senators) in the AL. Then go back to a 154 game season with a League Championship and the World Series. But the loss of a low estimate of 1,280,000 in attendance and 128 games that could be televised and the accompanying revenue will trump common sense, so expect to see November baseball for the foreseeable future.
Ah,but I digress: back to last night. The Rockies need not hang their heads. They are a very good team and will continue to be heard from in the National League. But those scrappy, tenacious Fightins just don’t quit, and that bodes well for the Division series.
Harry Kalas began calling the games of the HC 9 this year (trivia buffs????), but we know there is joy in Heaven because his beloved Fightins are once again playing exciting fall ball. (And we all thank our benevolent God that He allowed Harry to call last year's Series before He recruited HK for the ultimate big league.)
Side note: I was spared the ultimate schizophrenic experience when them Bums did in my beloved Cardinals. A St. Louis-Philadelphia three game series in the regular season sends me hiding under the bed. To see them battling each other to go the Series would have necessitated commitment proceedings! I will consider this season penance for 1964.
And what a trip it was. Sunday’s game was called on account of snow, and Monday night’s game started when the temperature was already below freezing. The gods of television must be appeased, and the idea of an afternoon game—a staple of my youth and one of the reasons we all hoped to have gym in the 6th and 7th periods in the Fall—has gone the way of the buggy whip. (Jumper Girl, my 12 year old, sighs and says, “You’re just old!!!!)
Why not equalize the two leagues at 16 teams each? One division in each could be the pre-expansion leagues: Cards, Phils, Cubs, Pirates, Reds, Braves, Dodgers and Giants in the senior circuit and Yanks, Red Sox, White Sox, Indians, Tigers Orioles, A’s, and Twins (successors to the Senators) in the AL. Then go back to a 154 game season with a League Championship and the World Series. But the loss of a low estimate of 1,280,000 in attendance and 128 games that could be televised and the accompanying revenue will trump common sense, so expect to see November baseball for the foreseeable future.
Ah,but I digress: back to last night. The Rockies need not hang their heads. They are a very good team and will continue to be heard from in the National League. But those scrappy, tenacious Fightins just don’t quit, and that bodes well for the Division series.
Harry Kalas began calling the games of the HC 9 this year (trivia buffs????), but we know there is joy in Heaven because his beloved Fightins are once again playing exciting fall ball. (And we all thank our benevolent God that He allowed Harry to call last year's Series before He recruited HK for the ultimate big league.)
Side note: I was spared the ultimate schizophrenic experience when them Bums did in my beloved Cardinals. A St. Louis-Philadelphia three game series in the regular season sends me hiding under the bed. To see them battling each other to go the Series would have necessitated commitment proceedings! I will consider this season penance for 1964.
09 October 2009
OF NOBEL PEACE PRIZES AND NOBLE RECIPIENTS
As an American, I am proud whenever one of our countrymen is singled out by a prestigious international group for recognition. Barack Obama is the only president we have and we should be proud of him when he acts in a manner worthy of our respect. Thus, I am proud of our president, for whom I did not vote and with whom I disagree on almost every issue, as he is selected to receive the Nobel peace prize.
He is a leader, although he is leading our country along paths I consider to be dangerous to our Republic. I give him credit for admitting that he probably does not deserve this recognition at this time.
My larger concern is that the Nobel Peace Prize is now being prostituted by its stewards into a weapon meant to insult and embarrass America. Consider some of the "world leaders" who have received the prize in the past 25 years: Al Gore (2007), Jimmy Carter (2002), Yasser Arafat, Shimon Peres, Yitzhak Rabin (1994), and Mikhail Gorbachev (1990).
Gore is a no load whose theories on global warning are increasingly being demonstrated to be based on faulty science. He got his award because he was willing to embarrass his Country while refusing to hold the real polluters (China and the Third World) to a similar standard. Carter, the weakest and most ineffective president in my life time, a man who demanded a written guarantee that no Iranians would be hurt in a raid to recover our hostages, got the award because he kowtowed to the anti-Israeli policies of the Third World. Arafat, Peres, and Rabin, three world-class terrorists (think PLO and Irgun), were at least arguably repentant of their violent pasts.
And then there was Gorbachev who was recognized for failing to incinerate the world in a nuclear war when the USSR collapsed. Oh, that’s not what they said. He was a great leader for world peace who led Russia out of the wilderness of communism, but let’s face it, he just got out in front of the tidal wave of history that did in the failed experiment in Marxist Leninism. The real architect of that feat—Ronald Reagan—was ignored.
Had it not been for President Reagan’s decision to stand firm against the hideous excesses of Soviet Communism, we would still be “five minutes from midnight.” But a strong, patriotic American was unacceptable to the weak wristed Scandanavians who administer Nobel’s will. A weak sister like Carter or a no load like Gore are just what they want.
So I congratulate the President on his selection. Thank God for his daughters who keep him humble. I pray that he does not succumb to those who counsel for a weak America, one who places its security second to the desires of nations such as France, the Low Countries, and others whom we have had to rescue thrice in the past Century—in two hot wars and a cold one.
He could start by meeting with his fellow peace prize recipient, the Dalai Lama (1989), despite the demands of the Red Chinese that he not do so. It would be easy: the Dalai Lama is in Washington, DC today.
That would speak volumes about what real world peace means.
He is a leader, although he is leading our country along paths I consider to be dangerous to our Republic. I give him credit for admitting that he probably does not deserve this recognition at this time.
My larger concern is that the Nobel Peace Prize is now being prostituted by its stewards into a weapon meant to insult and embarrass America. Consider some of the "world leaders" who have received the prize in the past 25 years: Al Gore (2007), Jimmy Carter (2002), Yasser Arafat, Shimon Peres, Yitzhak Rabin (1994), and Mikhail Gorbachev (1990).
Gore is a no load whose theories on global warning are increasingly being demonstrated to be based on faulty science. He got his award because he was willing to embarrass his Country while refusing to hold the real polluters (China and the Third World) to a similar standard. Carter, the weakest and most ineffective president in my life time, a man who demanded a written guarantee that no Iranians would be hurt in a raid to recover our hostages, got the award because he kowtowed to the anti-Israeli policies of the Third World. Arafat, Peres, and Rabin, three world-class terrorists (think PLO and Irgun), were at least arguably repentant of their violent pasts.
And then there was Gorbachev who was recognized for failing to incinerate the world in a nuclear war when the USSR collapsed. Oh, that’s not what they said. He was a great leader for world peace who led Russia out of the wilderness of communism, but let’s face it, he just got out in front of the tidal wave of history that did in the failed experiment in Marxist Leninism. The real architect of that feat—Ronald Reagan—was ignored.
Had it not been for President Reagan’s decision to stand firm against the hideous excesses of Soviet Communism, we would still be “five minutes from midnight.” But a strong, patriotic American was unacceptable to the weak wristed Scandanavians who administer Nobel’s will. A weak sister like Carter or a no load like Gore are just what they want.
So I congratulate the President on his selection. Thank God for his daughters who keep him humble. I pray that he does not succumb to those who counsel for a weak America, one who places its security second to the desires of nations such as France, the Low Countries, and others whom we have had to rescue thrice in the past Century—in two hot wars and a cold one.
He could start by meeting with his fellow peace prize recipient, the Dalai Lama (1989), despite the demands of the Red Chinese that he not do so. It would be easy: the Dalai Lama is in Washington, DC today.
That would speak volumes about what real world peace means.
02 October 2009
“PRIVATE JEFFERSON DIED ON THE FIELD OF HONOR, SIR.”
I first visited New Market in 1981 with Camper and Moleson. I had just reported to Marine Corps Base, Quantico, and they were then in the 4th and 2d grades, attending Archibald Henderson Elementary School aboard base.
Now, my late first wife was a product of Catholic Schools in Chicago. Her grasp of history left something to be desired. (“What do you expect,” she asked? “My history book was Holy Days And Holidays.”)
It was on Columbus day, when the Feds had a holiday that the rest of the Nation ignored. She asked “What are you going to do with a day off?”
“I’ll take the boys to New Market.”
“New Market? What’s that?”
Moleson looked up from his dinner. “Mom? New Market?” (Puzzled look from Mom.) “The boys of New Market?” (Not a glimmer!) “Mom—the field of lost shoes?” (Sheer exasperation.)
I stepped in to end the confusion. “It’s a Civil War battlefield.”
“Oh,” she said. “I thought it was a shopping center!” (To Moleson): “Where did you hear about this place?”
In a voice dripping with awe, he said “My teacher is a graduate of ‘the Institute.’ He’s told us all about ‘the boys of New Market.’”
The Battle of New Market, 15 May 1864, was one of the many battles fought in “the [Shenandoah] Valley.” It is remarkable because it was the only time in our nation's history that an entire student body fought as a unit in combat.
The Valley was the breadbasket of the Confederacy. In 1864, Grant ordered Major General Franz Sigel's army of 10,000 to secure the Valley. In response, General (and former Vice President of the United States) John C. Breckinridge, CSA, cobbled together all available forces to throw back the Yankees. The VMI Cadet Corps, over half of whom were first year students, were called to join Breckinridge and his army of 4,500 veterans. The 257 cadets, aged 15 to 21, under the command of Commandant of Cadets Lt. Col. Scott Ship (VMI ’59), marched 80 miles in four days to join Breckinridge's force. While the first day’s march was completed in good weather, thereafter, spring rains drenched the column as it approached the village of New Market.
As the two armies met on a farm owned by Jacob Bushong, the Union forces held a low ridge perhaps 500 yards north of the house. Massed fire from Federal units and their supporting artillery, crashed into the 51st, 30th, and 62nd Virginia infantry regiments, opening a gap of over 100 meters. Sigel then ordered an attack.
Breckenridge had to quickly restore the line or leave the field to the enemy. One of his staff asked if he should commit the cadets who were Breckenridge’s only reserve.. "I will not do it," he replied.
"General, you have no choice!"
"Put the boys in," Breckinridge ordered, "and may God forgive me for the order ..."
Col. Ship ordered the Corps to “fix bayonets” and then moved his troops into the gap just as the 34th Massachusetts started its attack. Ship was knocked unconscious and feared mortally wounded by an artillery explosion shortly afterward. (One cadet’s rifle, on display in the Visitor’s center, was struck by shrapnel. The top 18 inches of the barrel are bent at a right angle to the rest of the weapon! Although wounded, he survived, as did Col. Ship.)
Captain Henry Wise assumed command and led the cadets as they turned back the Union charge. The entire Confederate line then surged forward over the rain-soaked and recently plowed wheat field. It is known to history as the "Field of Lost Shoes" because many cadets had their shoes sucked from their feet by the mud. The Corps captured an artillery piece and sent the Union forces reeling as Sigel ordered a retreat northward to Strasburg.
The Corps of Cadets suffered 10 KIA and 47 WIA, more than 20% of the unit. One of the KIA, Cadet Private Thomas Garland Jefferson ’67, Company B, was a descendant of President Thomas Jefferson.
Today, as I drove south through the Valley en route to Chattanooga and the 6th Convocation of the New Wineskins Association of Churches, I-81 took me through the center of the battlefield. Of course I had to stop.
The Hall of Valor (Visitors Center) was as impressive as ever. Since last I was there, the original grave markers of the 6 cadets buried on the campus of Virginia Military Institute, heavily weathered, have been moved to New Market. Their graves, at the foot of the statue of “Virginia Mourning Her Dead” on the campus of the Institute, have new markers now.
Everywhere in the visitors center, we are reminded of the response to the roll call conducted on 15 May of each year at the Institute. Because they engaged in combat as a unit, the Corps is entitled to parade with bayonets fixed. As the names of the 10 cadets who were killed in action or later died of wounds are read, a current cadet from the same company steps forth and responds “Sir, First Sergeant (or Corporal or Private) ____ died on the field of honor, Sir.”
I wonder if there are any colleges in America today—other than at West Point, Annapolis, Colorado Springs, the Institute, or the Citadel—whose student body would respond as well as did the boys of New Market to “duty’s claim and Country’s call”?
Now, my late first wife was a product of Catholic Schools in Chicago. Her grasp of history left something to be desired. (“What do you expect,” she asked? “My history book was Holy Days And Holidays.”)
It was on Columbus day, when the Feds had a holiday that the rest of the Nation ignored. She asked “What are you going to do with a day off?”
“I’ll take the boys to New Market.”
“New Market? What’s that?”
Moleson looked up from his dinner. “Mom? New Market?” (Puzzled look from Mom.) “The boys of New Market?” (Not a glimmer!) “Mom—the field of lost shoes?” (Sheer exasperation.)
I stepped in to end the confusion. “It’s a Civil War battlefield.”
“Oh,” she said. “I thought it was a shopping center!” (To Moleson): “Where did you hear about this place?”
In a voice dripping with awe, he said “My teacher is a graduate of ‘the Institute.’ He’s told us all about ‘the boys of New Market.’”
The Battle of New Market, 15 May 1864, was one of the many battles fought in “the [Shenandoah] Valley.” It is remarkable because it was the only time in our nation's history that an entire student body fought as a unit in combat.
The Valley was the breadbasket of the Confederacy. In 1864, Grant ordered Major General Franz Sigel's army of 10,000 to secure the Valley. In response, General (and former Vice President of the United States) John C. Breckinridge, CSA, cobbled together all available forces to throw back the Yankees. The VMI Cadet Corps, over half of whom were first year students, were called to join Breckinridge and his army of 4,500 veterans. The 257 cadets, aged 15 to 21, under the command of Commandant of Cadets Lt. Col. Scott Ship (VMI ’59), marched 80 miles in four days to join Breckinridge's force. While the first day’s march was completed in good weather, thereafter, spring rains drenched the column as it approached the village of New Market.
As the two armies met on a farm owned by Jacob Bushong, the Union forces held a low ridge perhaps 500 yards north of the house. Massed fire from Federal units and their supporting artillery, crashed into the 51st, 30th, and 62nd Virginia infantry regiments, opening a gap of over 100 meters. Sigel then ordered an attack.
Breckenridge had to quickly restore the line or leave the field to the enemy. One of his staff asked if he should commit the cadets who were Breckenridge’s only reserve.. "I will not do it," he replied.
"General, you have no choice!"
"Put the boys in," Breckinridge ordered, "and may God forgive me for the order ..."
Col. Ship ordered the Corps to “fix bayonets” and then moved his troops into the gap just as the 34th Massachusetts started its attack. Ship was knocked unconscious and feared mortally wounded by an artillery explosion shortly afterward. (One cadet’s rifle, on display in the Visitor’s center, was struck by shrapnel. The top 18 inches of the barrel are bent at a right angle to the rest of the weapon! Although wounded, he survived, as did Col. Ship.)
Captain Henry Wise assumed command and led the cadets as they turned back the Union charge. The entire Confederate line then surged forward over the rain-soaked and recently plowed wheat field. It is known to history as the "Field of Lost Shoes" because many cadets had their shoes sucked from their feet by the mud. The Corps captured an artillery piece and sent the Union forces reeling as Sigel ordered a retreat northward to Strasburg.
The Corps of Cadets suffered 10 KIA and 47 WIA, more than 20% of the unit. One of the KIA, Cadet Private Thomas Garland Jefferson ’67, Company B, was a descendant of President Thomas Jefferson.
Today, as I drove south through the Valley en route to Chattanooga and the 6th Convocation of the New Wineskins Association of Churches, I-81 took me through the center of the battlefield. Of course I had to stop.
The Hall of Valor (Visitors Center) was as impressive as ever. Since last I was there, the original grave markers of the 6 cadets buried on the campus of Virginia Military Institute, heavily weathered, have been moved to New Market. Their graves, at the foot of the statue of “Virginia Mourning Her Dead” on the campus of the Institute, have new markers now.
Everywhere in the visitors center, we are reminded of the response to the roll call conducted on 15 May of each year at the Institute. Because they engaged in combat as a unit, the Corps is entitled to parade with bayonets fixed. As the names of the 10 cadets who were killed in action or later died of wounds are read, a current cadet from the same company steps forth and responds “Sir, First Sergeant (or Corporal or Private) ____ died on the field of honor, Sir.”
I wonder if there are any colleges in America today—other than at West Point, Annapolis, Colorado Springs, the Institute, or the Citadel—whose student body would respond as well as did the boys of New Market to “duty’s claim and Country’s call”?
30 September 2009
OF SHOES AND SHIPS AND SAILING WAX … AND TRUCKS AND THE CIVIL WAR
Well, the Chevy is history. The Good Guys Insurance Company (honest, it is—just ask anyone who has ever served in the Armed Forces and is insured by a well known, military-oriented insurer) called with the news on Monday. Jumper Girl, who had selected the Chevy for me based on one important feature—a trailer hitch—was devastated.
Yesterday, we began the search anew. First stop, the place we got the Chevy. SWMBO said “Now, it is really unlikely that they will have another truck we can afford.” Wailing ensued from the back seat.
We drove in, and there it was. JG had her “Aha” moment. “Look, it has the big cab and a trailer hitch, and everything!” It was a year newer than the Chevy, had fewer miles, and all the features I wanted, irrelevant as they might be. And it was $35 more than GGIC had paid to settle my claim. There will be no living with a 12 year old who is always right!
I leave on Friday for Chattanooga, Tennessee for the 6th Convocation of the New Wineskins Association of Churches which convenes with worship at Signal Mountain Presbyterian Church on Sunday evening. I’m leaving early so that I can visit the Chickamauga Battlefield just across the Georgia line. My great grandfather fought there as a 12 year old drummer boy under the Command of General George H. Thomas. I have never been there before and it is time.
Thomas, “The Rock of Chickamauga,” is not well known outside of the ranks of Civil War buffs. It was a battle that also involved another of my favorites, “Fighting Joe” Wheeler, a Confederate cavalryman who was the commander of US forces in Cuba in 1898, where while suffering from a fever, he was heard to admonish subordinates to attack and punish “those damn Yankees!”
So, Saturday will be a fun day for me.
My great grandfather was right in the middle of our family’s military line. Two of my ancestors fought in the Revolutionary War, one in the War of 1812, three in the Civil War (2 generations), one in WWII, my war in Vietnam, and Moleson’s forays into the Gulf make for 7 generations and 9 combat veterans in our history. Only two were killed in action, both in the Civil War.
According to my great grandmother, Lieutenant William Jack, 10th Ohio Cavalry, was WIA near Nashville, Tennessee, on June 19, 1863, and died some 10 days later. The drummer boy of Chickamauga, John Kennedy, later married Effie Rankin Jack, the orphan of Ebenezer Jack.
On April 7, 1863, my great, great grandfather, Quartermaster Sergeant Pleasant Fountain, 6th Kansas Volunteer Cavalry, was KIA in an action against “skirmishers” near Fidelity Missouri. My great, great grandmother was informed that he had been wounded and that she should come to Fort Scott, Kansas from far northeast Hiawatha, Kansas to take him home to recuperate. Loading her four children into a wagon, she set off, spending the nights with scattered homesteads. After a five day journey to Fort Scott, she learned that her husband was dead.
She headed back home with her three sons, ages 10, 8, and 6, and one daughter, age 2—my great grandmother. Late on the second afternoon of her return trip, they approached a farm at which they had stayed only a few days earlier. Something alerted her, and she stopped the wagon in a small draw.
She took the 10-year old aside. “I am going to that farm,” she said. “Now, no matter what you see or hear, if I don’t come back to get you, you hide here, and then get these children home.” (They were about 60 miles from Hiawatha.)
She went up to the farm to find the entire family dead, killed by the skirmishers who had won for Kansas the soubriquet “Bloody Kansas.” She returned to her children, and they drove on into the night.
Setting up a “cold camp,” they settled in for a long dark night. About an hour later, a band of armed men rode into her camp and demanded that she cook for them. She watched as they butchered a cow that she recognized as coming from the devastated farm. An hour before sun up, the men mounted up and rode away, never to be seen by her again. Family tradition has it that she “entertained” part of the force led by Captain William Quantrill. If so, it probably did not include “Bloody Bill” Anderson who would have killed even a defenseless widow and the children of a Yankee.
And then we meet as a presbytery…….
Yesterday, we began the search anew. First stop, the place we got the Chevy. SWMBO said “Now, it is really unlikely that they will have another truck we can afford.” Wailing ensued from the back seat.
We drove in, and there it was. JG had her “Aha” moment. “Look, it has the big cab and a trailer hitch, and everything!” It was a year newer than the Chevy, had fewer miles, and all the features I wanted, irrelevant as they might be. And it was $35 more than GGIC had paid to settle my claim. There will be no living with a 12 year old who is always right!
I leave on Friday for Chattanooga, Tennessee for the 6th Convocation of the New Wineskins Association of Churches which convenes with worship at Signal Mountain Presbyterian Church on Sunday evening. I’m leaving early so that I can visit the Chickamauga Battlefield just across the Georgia line. My great grandfather fought there as a 12 year old drummer boy under the Command of General George H. Thomas. I have never been there before and it is time.
Thomas, “The Rock of Chickamauga,” is not well known outside of the ranks of Civil War buffs. It was a battle that also involved another of my favorites, “Fighting Joe” Wheeler, a Confederate cavalryman who was the commander of US forces in Cuba in 1898, where while suffering from a fever, he was heard to admonish subordinates to attack and punish “those damn Yankees!”
So, Saturday will be a fun day for me.
My great grandfather was right in the middle of our family’s military line. Two of my ancestors fought in the Revolutionary War, one in the War of 1812, three in the Civil War (2 generations), one in WWII, my war in Vietnam, and Moleson’s forays into the Gulf make for 7 generations and 9 combat veterans in our history. Only two were killed in action, both in the Civil War.
According to my great grandmother, Lieutenant William Jack, 10th Ohio Cavalry, was WIA near Nashville, Tennessee, on June 19, 1863, and died some 10 days later. The drummer boy of Chickamauga, John Kennedy, later married Effie Rankin Jack, the orphan of Ebenezer Jack.
On April 7, 1863, my great, great grandfather, Quartermaster Sergeant Pleasant Fountain, 6th Kansas Volunteer Cavalry, was KIA in an action against “skirmishers” near Fidelity Missouri. My great, great grandmother was informed that he had been wounded and that she should come to Fort Scott, Kansas from far northeast Hiawatha, Kansas to take him home to recuperate. Loading her four children into a wagon, she set off, spending the nights with scattered homesteads. After a five day journey to Fort Scott, she learned that her husband was dead.
She headed back home with her three sons, ages 10, 8, and 6, and one daughter, age 2—my great grandmother. Late on the second afternoon of her return trip, they approached a farm at which they had stayed only a few days earlier. Something alerted her, and she stopped the wagon in a small draw.
She took the 10-year old aside. “I am going to that farm,” she said. “Now, no matter what you see or hear, if I don’t come back to get you, you hide here, and then get these children home.” (They were about 60 miles from Hiawatha.)
She went up to the farm to find the entire family dead, killed by the skirmishers who had won for Kansas the soubriquet “Bloody Kansas.” She returned to her children, and they drove on into the night.
Setting up a “cold camp,” they settled in for a long dark night. About an hour later, a band of armed men rode into her camp and demanded that she cook for them. She watched as they butchered a cow that she recognized as coming from the devastated farm. An hour before sun up, the men mounted up and rode away, never to be seen by her again. Family tradition has it that she “entertained” part of the force led by Captain William Quantrill. If so, it probably did not include “Bloody Bill” Anderson who would have killed even a defenseless widow and the children of a Yankee.
And then we meet as a presbytery…….
18 September 2009
MAN BITES DOG
. . . .or, as SWMBO was heard to say, "Another glorious chapter in the Scuttlebutt family adventure!"
I was driving to pick up my daughter at school yesterday. As I reached to pick up a cough drop on the console, the shoulder that has tricked me before showed that while you can't teach an old shoulder new tricks, it can still play the old ones. For the second time in my life, it completely dislocated. (I stopped counting the partials about 20 years ago.)
I reacted in a manful way, if screaming and spasming is manful, hitting the gas and sending the truck into a tree. A nice petite little lady in a black jump suit came running toward me to help--which I saw as a VC, so I fought my way out of my seat belt, bailed, and played hide and seek with her around the truck until one of my neighbors drove up and called my name.
After a fun few hours in the local ER, they finally knocked me out and the shoulder is back at home in its socket--and sore as can be. God was truly with me and I thank him for his mercies.
Truck may be totalled 8>(. As the bumper sticker says, "My wife ran off with my kids and my truck. Reward for return of truck.>" (Tongue firmly in cheek.)
But I have admit, injury causes wreck seems a lot like man bites dog!
I was driving to pick up my daughter at school yesterday. As I reached to pick up a cough drop on the console, the shoulder that has tricked me before showed that while you can't teach an old shoulder new tricks, it can still play the old ones. For the second time in my life, it completely dislocated. (I stopped counting the partials about 20 years ago.)
I reacted in a manful way, if screaming and spasming is manful, hitting the gas and sending the truck into a tree. A nice petite little lady in a black jump suit came running toward me to help--which I saw as a VC, so I fought my way out of my seat belt, bailed, and played hide and seek with her around the truck until one of my neighbors drove up and called my name.
After a fun few hours in the local ER, they finally knocked me out and the shoulder is back at home in its socket--and sore as can be. God was truly with me and I thank him for his mercies.
Truck may be totalled 8>(. As the bumper sticker says, "My wife ran off with my kids and my truck. Reward for return of truck.>" (Tongue firmly in cheek.)
But I have admit, injury causes wreck seems a lot like man bites dog!
17 September 2009
nFOG Part III: CONSCIENCE BE DAMNED! MANDATORY PER CAPITA IS JUST AROUND THE CORNER
It is the common fate of the indolent to see their rights become prey to the active The condition upon which God hath given liberty to man is eternal vigilance; which conditionif he break, servitude is at once the consequence of his crime and the punishment of his guilt.
-John Philpot Curran, Speech before the Privy Council, July 10, 1790
For many years, withholding per capita has been the only means for churches to register their disapproval of actions of the GA or other courts of the church.
In several cases, those higher courts (now referred to as "councils") have sought to coerce payment of per capita through the institution of disciplinary measures or by limiting the right of congregations to participate in presbytery. For nearly the same amount of time, presbyteries and synods have attempted to make payment of per capita mandatory. Several amendments to the Book of Order added ambiguous language that could be read either way. Nonetheless, in every such instance in which such an attempt has been made, the PJC has reversed such decisions. See, e.g., Johnston v. Heartland Presbytery, Rem. Case 217-2 (GAPJC 2004) (“The Heartland policy improperly turns payment of per capita apportionments or the fulfillment of a mission pledge into a mandate”); Minihan and Richards v. Scioto Valley Presbytery, Remedial Case 216-1 (GAPJC 2003) (1992 amendment to G-9.0404d did not grant a presbytery power to compel a session to transmit the per capita apportionment assigned to it.); Session, Central Presbyterian Church v. Presbytery of Long Island (Minutes, 1992, page 179) (governing body may adopt a per capita system for financing its operations, but a church may neither be compelled to pay nor punished for failure to pay any amounts pursuant to such plan); cf., Westminster United Presbyterian Church of Port Huron, Michigan v. The Presbytery of Detroit (UPC, 1976, p. 228)
The basis for the GA PJC decisions has been the clear language of Book of Order §G-10.0102 , (Responsibilities of the Session), which states in pertinent part,
Because the session alone possesses control of the congregation’s purse, the bureaucrats may not unilaterally overrule the conscience of the congregation.
And they have tried! In 2001, Scioto Valley Presbytery overtured the 213th General Assembly to approve an amendment which proposed to add the following sentences to G-9.0404d:
These decisions are, of course, repugnant to the bureaucracy. When a session of a church that does not agree with the actions of the GA elects to successfully withhold per capita, the lifeblood of the bureaucracy, it encourages other churches to do the same. However, as demonstrated by the example in 2001, an effort to make per capita mandatory would, even today, have a doubtful chance of making it out of the GA.
If, that is, it was presented as a stand-alone amendment. Enter nFOG.2. Hidden in nFOG section 3.02 (THE SESSION) is a new section that provides as follows:
Elsewhere in nFOG, the presbytery is authorized to
The standard for such action remains the same as in the current Book of Order, but by changing payment of per capita into a “particular responsibility” of the session, it will be easy for a presbytery to declare that when a session does not perform that “particular responsibility”, it has demonstrated that it “is unable or unwilling to manage wisely its affairs”. An AC can then come in, take over the checkbook, and send the congregation’s money to Louisville.
So, sessions and congregations beware. If §G-3.0202f is adopted, hang onto your wallets. The GA’s bagmen will be coming.
-John Philpot Curran, Speech before the Privy Council, July 10, 1790
For many years, withholding per capita has been the only means for churches to register their disapproval of actions of the GA or other courts of the church.
In several cases, those higher courts (now referred to as "councils") have sought to coerce payment of per capita through the institution of disciplinary measures or by limiting the right of congregations to participate in presbytery. For nearly the same amount of time, presbyteries and synods have attempted to make payment of per capita mandatory. Several amendments to the Book of Order added ambiguous language that could be read either way. Nonetheless, in every such instance in which such an attempt has been made, the PJC has reversed such decisions. See, e.g., Johnston v. Heartland Presbytery, Rem. Case 217-2 (GAPJC 2004) (“The Heartland policy improperly turns payment of per capita apportionments or the fulfillment of a mission pledge into a mandate”); Minihan and Richards v. Scioto Valley Presbytery, Remedial Case 216-1 (GAPJC 2003) (1992 amendment to G-9.0404d did not grant a presbytery power to compel a session to transmit the per capita apportionment assigned to it.); Session, Central Presbyterian Church v. Presbytery of Long Island (Minutes, 1992, page 179) (governing body may adopt a per capita system for financing its operations, but a church may neither be compelled to pay nor punished for failure to pay any amounts pursuant to such plan); cf., Westminster United Presbyterian Church of Port Huron, Michigan v. The Presbytery of Detroit (UPC, 1976, p. 228)
The basis for the GA PJC decisions has been the clear language of Book of Order §G-10.0102 , (Responsibilities of the Session), which states in pertinent part,
The session is responsible for the mission and government of the particular church. It therefore has the responsibility and power . . . to establish the annual budget, determine the distribution of the church’s benevolences, and order offerings for Christian purposes, providing full information to the congregation of its decisions in such matters . . . §G-10.0102i.
Because the session alone possesses control of the congregation’s purse, the bureaucrats may not unilaterally overrule the conscience of the congregation.
And they have tried! In 2001, Scioto Valley Presbytery overtured the 213th General Assembly to approve an amendment which proposed to add the following sentences to G-9.0404d:
Unless excused by the presbytery, a session shall be responsible for raising and timely transmission of per capita funds to its presbytery. A presbytery may exercise care and oversight over congregations in its bounds that fail to raise or transmit such funds to the presbytery.The 213th General Assembly (2001) disapproved the Overture.
These decisions are, of course, repugnant to the bureaucracy. When a session of a church that does not agree with the actions of the GA elects to successfully withhold per capita, the lifeblood of the bureaucracy, it encourages other churches to do the same. However, as demonstrated by the example in 2001, an effort to make per capita mandatory would, even today, have a doubtful chance of making it out of the GA.
If, that is, it was presented as a stand-alone amendment. Enter nFOG.2. Hidden in nFOG section 3.02 (THE SESSION) is a new section that provides as follows:
3.0202 Relations with Other CouncilsSection G-3.0202f makes payment of per capita a “particular responsibility” of the session.
Sessions have a particular responsibility to participate in the life of the whole church through participation in other councils. It is of particular importance that sessions:. . .
f. send to presbytery and General Assembly requested financial contributions, statistics, and other information according to the requirements of those bodies (emphasis added).
Elsewhere in nFOG, the presbytery is authorized to
assume original jurisdiction in any situation in which it determines that a session cannot exercise its authority. After a thorough investigation, and after full opportunity to be heard has been accorded to the session,the presbytery may conclude that the session of a congregation is unable or unwilling to manage wisely its affairs, and may appoint an administrative commission with the full power of session. This commission shall assume original jurisdiction of the existing session, if any, which shall cease to act until such time as the presbytery shall otherwise direct.” Section G-3.0303e [The Presbytery’s] Relations with Sessions
The standard for such action remains the same as in the current Book of Order, but by changing payment of per capita into a “particular responsibility” of the session, it will be easy for a presbytery to declare that when a session does not perform that “particular responsibility”, it has demonstrated that it “is unable or unwilling to manage wisely its affairs”. An AC can then come in, take over the checkbook, and send the congregation’s money to Louisville.
So, sessions and congregations beware. If §G-3.0202f is adopted, hang onto your wallets. The GA’s bagmen will be coming.
16 September 2009
nFOG Part II: CLOSING THE DOOR
“The true danger is when liberty is nibbled away, for expedients and by parts.” Edmund Burke, April 3, 1777
Edmund Burke was a contemporary of the founders of the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America. The republican form of government adoprted in the Summer of 1787 in Philadelphia by both the PCUSA and the United States in their respective constitutions was no accident. And the fear of strong central governments held by the men of that day can still be found in the words of those constitutions.
The desire and demand of free men for liberty is anathema to despots, and they endeavor by all means to usurp the power that ought belong to the individual. That is especially evident in the restructuring of the Form of Government with respect to the congregations. Rights that have always been conceded by the leadership to reside in the congregations are quietly removed in the hope that the commissioners to the presbyteries will not notice their absence.
Compare, for instance §G-7.0304 of the current Book of Order with the proposed §1.0503 of nFOG.2. Section G-7.0304 declares that
New §1.0503 (“Business Proper to Congregational Meetings”) strips away all of the powers heretofore residing in the congregation and then sets forth a new, very limited authority:
Note the differences. The introductory phrase of §G-7.0304 (“Business to be transacted at meetings of the congregation shall include the following:. . . “) is changed to “Business to be transacted at meetings of the congregation shall be limited to matters related to the following: . .” (emphasis added). From being a constitutional form in which all powers not delegated to the GA belong to the congregations, it has flipped into an oligarchical form in which the oligarchs dole out those few meaningless powers,e.g., to appoint local leadership, that they do not want---yet.
In other words, powers that had previously belonged to the congregation alone have been stripped away. The phrases “shall include” and “such as” in §G-7.0304 clearly connoted that the list that followed was not exclusive and that other powers also resided in the congregation and could be the basis for a congregational meeting.
Because the current Book of Order is ambiguous, and because it was drafted by the GA, in the event of a dispute between a congregation and its presbytery or the GA over the right to disaffiliate, under the legal doctrine contra proferentum, the ambiguity would be construed against the presbytery or GA. Hence the change.
By nibbling away at the rights of the congregation, if nFOG.2 is ratified as written, congregations that previously had the power to disaffiliate will be trapped in the PC(USA) at the mercy of the GA. The right of a congregation to unilaterally disaffiliate from the PC(USA) will be gone.
And, once trapped, there is more. . . . .
Edmund Burke was a contemporary of the founders of the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America. The republican form of government adoprted in the Summer of 1787 in Philadelphia by both the PCUSA and the United States in their respective constitutions was no accident. And the fear of strong central governments held by the men of that day can still be found in the words of those constitutions.
The desire and demand of free men for liberty is anathema to despots, and they endeavor by all means to usurp the power that ought belong to the individual. That is especially evident in the restructuring of the Form of Government with respect to the congregations. Rights that have always been conceded by the leadership to reside in the congregations are quietly removed in the hope that the commissioners to the presbyteries will not notice their absence.
Compare, for instance §G-7.0304 of the current Book of Order with the proposed §1.0503 of nFOG.2. Section G-7.0304 declares that
G-7.0304
Business
a. Business to be transacted at meetings of the congregation shall include the following:
(1) matters related to the electing (sic) of elders, deacons, and trustees;
(2) matters related to the calling of a pastor or pastors;
(3) matters related to the pastoral relationship, such as changing the call, or requesting or consenting or decliningto consent to dissolution;
(4) matters related to buying, mortgaging, or selling real property (G-8.0500);
(5) matters related to the permissive powers of a congregation, such as the desire to lodge all administrative responsibility in the session, or the request to presbytery for exemption from one or more requirements because of limited size.
Limitations b. Business at congregational meetings shall be limited to the foregoing matters (1) through (5). . . . (emphasis added).
New §1.0503 (“Business Proper to Congregational Meetings”) strips away all of the powers heretofore residing in the congregation and then sets forth a new, very limited authority:
1.0503 Business Proper to Congregational Meetings
Business to be transacted at meetings of the congregation shall be limited to matters related to the following:
a. electing ruling elders, deacons, and trustees;
b. calling a pastor, co-pastor, or associate pastor;
c. changing existing pastoral relationships, by such means as reviewing the adequacy of and approving
changes to the terms of call of the pastor or pastors, or requesting, consenting to, or declining to consent to dissolution;
d. buying, mortgaging, or selling real property;
e. requesting the presbytery to grant an exemption as permitted in this Constitution (G-2.0404).
Note the differences. The introductory phrase of §G-7.0304 (“Business to be transacted at meetings of the congregation shall include the following:. . . “) is changed to “Business to be transacted at meetings of the congregation shall be limited to matters related to the following: . .” (emphasis added). From being a constitutional form in which all powers not delegated to the GA belong to the congregations, it has flipped into an oligarchical form in which the oligarchs dole out those few meaningless powers,e.g., to appoint local leadership, that they do not want---yet.
In other words, powers that had previously belonged to the congregation alone have been stripped away. The phrases “shall include” and “such as” in §G-7.0304 clearly connoted that the list that followed was not exclusive and that other powers also resided in the congregation and could be the basis for a congregational meeting.
Because the current Book of Order is ambiguous, and because it was drafted by the GA, in the event of a dispute between a congregation and its presbytery or the GA over the right to disaffiliate, under the legal doctrine contra proferentum, the ambiguity would be construed against the presbytery or GA. Hence the change.
By nibbling away at the rights of the congregation, if nFOG.2 is ratified as written, congregations that previously had the power to disaffiliate will be trapped in the PC(USA) at the mercy of the GA. The right of a congregation to unilaterally disaffiliate from the PC(USA) will be gone.
And, once trapped, there is more. . . . .
15 September 2009
THE nFOG COMES IN ON LITTLE CAT FEET
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
-Carl Sandburg-
SWMBO and the kids are back in school. The cats have settled down for a much needed 18-hour nap after the hard work of eating breakfast, staring out the window at the trash truck, chasing air, and looking beautiful. And I can get back to the blogosphere.
Over at A Classical Presbyterian, Toby Brown has written a very nice cautionary piece about stewardship of emotion and effort, noting that we can often use up our strength on outrage when our energies could be better directed elsewhere. That piece struck home. There was a time when I scoured the web for news from the PC(USA) out of a need to protect our congregation from the depredations of the gang in Louisville. The disclosure of the Louisville Papers over a year after they had been distributed to presbyteries and synods revealed that secrecy and ambush were to be their chosen methods. But I also needed a place to vent against the hijackers of a once great denomination.
Two years ago, our little church on the hill—with other similarly situated congregations—fought our way out. Since that time, we have marveled at the peace, trust, and fellowship that can come from finding a home in a denomination that knows what it stands for and is unafraid to say just that. In the EPC, we found brothers and sisters who are not afraid to declare the sovereignty of God, the divinity of Christ, and the inerrancy of God’s word revealed in Scripture. In the EPC, we don’t need to tear pages or whole chapters out of our Bibles.
I write this by way of preface. My review of the antics and actions taken by the PC(USA) are no longer driven by self defense. I now have the freedom to watch what PC(USA) leadership and its minions are doing simply as an intellectual exercise. And they are making it easy.
The 2006 GA of the PC(USA) commissioned a re-write of its cumbersome Book of Order, but forbade any changes to the ordination standards set forth in §G-6.0106b or the odious unilateral declaration of a so-called property “trust.” The resulting product was released late and met with an uncharacteristic distrust across the denomination. Despite efforts by out-going Stated Clerk Kirkpatrick and his team to get the new form of government through the 2008 GA, it failed. Instead, the GA added some new members to the committee and directed them to take another crack at a re-write.
To their credit, the new committee worked hard to get their proposal out in sufficient time for people to study it. (A major criticism of nFOG.1 was that it was not released for review until just before the 2008 GA. Commissioners were leery of voting on something they had not read and digested—oh that the folks in Congress were so conscientious! But, I digress.) So, now it is out, loaded with booby traps for the unwary, a ticking time-bomb. If the 2010 GA does not reject this effort, and if the presbyteries adopt it, they cannot say that they did not have an opportunity to know what they were doing. And reject this piece of work they should.
As was the case with nFOG.1, nFOG.2 is a plan for reforming the PC(USA) into the Roman Catholic model of church governance. It strips congregations of long-held rights which protected them from unilateral action by the bureaucracy, remodels the “presbyterian” form of government into a hierarchical directorate, adds language that can be used to make payment of per capita mandatory, and adds a “fuehrer oath” for members of congregations.
As a child of the prairies of Illinois, I learned my Sandburg. His description of the fog as a silent predator, creeping into place unnoticed until it is too late for the prey, is an apt comparison to the nFOG that has now been unleashed on the PC(USA). I hope that sessions of the PC(USA) congregations will take responsibility to study nFOG.2 and act accordingly when they send commissioners to presbytery and the GA. If they do not, they have no one to blame but themselves.
-30- (Extra credit to the first one of you boys and girls who can explain this.)
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
-Carl Sandburg-
SWMBO and the kids are back in school. The cats have settled down for a much needed 18-hour nap after the hard work of eating breakfast, staring out the window at the trash truck, chasing air, and looking beautiful. And I can get back to the blogosphere.
Over at A Classical Presbyterian, Toby Brown has written a very nice cautionary piece about stewardship of emotion and effort, noting that we can often use up our strength on outrage when our energies could be better directed elsewhere. That piece struck home. There was a time when I scoured the web for news from the PC(USA) out of a need to protect our congregation from the depredations of the gang in Louisville. The disclosure of the Louisville Papers over a year after they had been distributed to presbyteries and synods revealed that secrecy and ambush were to be their chosen methods. But I also needed a place to vent against the hijackers of a once great denomination.
Two years ago, our little church on the hill—with other similarly situated congregations—fought our way out. Since that time, we have marveled at the peace, trust, and fellowship that can come from finding a home in a denomination that knows what it stands for and is unafraid to say just that. In the EPC, we found brothers and sisters who are not afraid to declare the sovereignty of God, the divinity of Christ, and the inerrancy of God’s word revealed in Scripture. In the EPC, we don’t need to tear pages or whole chapters out of our Bibles.
I write this by way of preface. My review of the antics and actions taken by the PC(USA) are no longer driven by self defense. I now have the freedom to watch what PC(USA) leadership and its minions are doing simply as an intellectual exercise. And they are making it easy.
The 2006 GA of the PC(USA) commissioned a re-write of its cumbersome Book of Order, but forbade any changes to the ordination standards set forth in §G-6.0106b or the odious unilateral declaration of a so-called property “trust.” The resulting product was released late and met with an uncharacteristic distrust across the denomination. Despite efforts by out-going Stated Clerk Kirkpatrick and his team to get the new form of government through the 2008 GA, it failed. Instead, the GA added some new members to the committee and directed them to take another crack at a re-write.
To their credit, the new committee worked hard to get their proposal out in sufficient time for people to study it. (A major criticism of nFOG.1 was that it was not released for review until just before the 2008 GA. Commissioners were leery of voting on something they had not read and digested—oh that the folks in Congress were so conscientious! But, I digress.) So, now it is out, loaded with booby traps for the unwary, a ticking time-bomb. If the 2010 GA does not reject this effort, and if the presbyteries adopt it, they cannot say that they did not have an opportunity to know what they were doing. And reject this piece of work they should.
As was the case with nFOG.1, nFOG.2 is a plan for reforming the PC(USA) into the Roman Catholic model of church governance. It strips congregations of long-held rights which protected them from unilateral action by the bureaucracy, remodels the “presbyterian” form of government into a hierarchical directorate, adds language that can be used to make payment of per capita mandatory, and adds a “fuehrer oath” for members of congregations.
As a child of the prairies of Illinois, I learned my Sandburg. His description of the fog as a silent predator, creeping into place unnoticed until it is too late for the prey, is an apt comparison to the nFOG that has now been unleashed on the PC(USA). I hope that sessions of the PC(USA) congregations will take responsibility to study nFOG.2 and act accordingly when they send commissioners to presbytery and the GA. If they do not, they have no one to blame but themselves.
-30- (Extra credit to the first one of you boys and girls who can explain this.)
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