[I am now 20 installments in to the Chaplain Van story, with no end anywhere in sight. In truth, once it was clear that I wouldn't finish this very quickly, I thought about the whole thing being a kind of Veterans Day project. We're 20 in, and he hasn't really heard a bullet whizzing by. Not only that, for a while at least, the preacher at De Motte, Indiana in 1944 is about to be graced in relative luxury in one of Paris's best hotels, right downtown. Stay with him.
For the record, he's amazed, but not particularly happy.
Why am I doing this? It's a kind of guilt trip, I suppose--we laughed a lot at Magoo up there in front trying to get his hand-held mike to work through the speaker he carted into class every morning. I'm not proud of that.
But I knew nothing of this, his war experience---and there's more to come, believe me.
There's a reason for me to do what I'm doing: I owe him the favor of my respect even though the man, Prof. Van Schouwen, is long gone.
There's another reason. I was once told that General George Patton, the GIs' favorite--they would push through machine gun nests on every side, if he'd as much as nod at his men. Patton the man, Patton the legend, it's rumored, once asked Chaplain Van to be his personal chaplain, a move that would have kept him from getting anywhere near to enemy fire, put him in an enviable position.
The story goes, he turned down Patton because the General swore way too much.
That's the story. After reading as much of the diaries as I have, it's clear that if the story had no merit, it most certainly fit.
But I'll keep looking. When he gets there, the diaries' chapter heading reads simply
Paris.
September 16:
The convoy for Paris left at 8:00 a.m. I saw many villages in rubble. The road was pitted with bomb craters, wrecked tanks, trucks along the way. The hedge rows continued quite a ways out of Normandy; the French people seem to be very friendly.
I arrived in Paris HQ Communication Zone at about 7:00 p.m. A billeting officer directed me to a hotel. With the help of several MP I finally found the hotel. Here I am with field equipment, field uniform, leggings, gas mask, and rations in a swanky hotel in Paris!
There are few exclamation points in the diaries. Here's one. It finishes one of the few jokes in what Chaplain Van wrote. He can't help but giggle at the strange mix of his new battle uniform in a plush--"swanky"-- hotel in "gay Paree."
Even the stern Calvinist preacher has to chuckle at the irony.
1 comment:
There are many ironies in war. Capt. Van’s war deprivations, according to your account, were suddenly and unexpectantly replaced by the luxuries of a swanky Paris hotel. Reminds me of one of the final episodes of the HBO series “Band of Brothers.” The 101st Airborne Easy Company, after the bitter cold and blood-letting of the Battle of the Bulge, eventually battled their way to Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest, high in the beautiful Alp’s enjoying pristine air, and getting wasted on cases of Herman Goering’s finest wine and Champagne collection. From the depths of hell to the heights of heaven, they must have thought.
War is a strange thing indeed.
As to the possibility of being Patton’s chaplain? Man, I would have jumped on it. But given Payton’s colossal ego, views on reincarnation, tension with fellow generals, short temper, slapping incident of a soldier suffering from an obvious case of PTSD, and foul mouth, maybe Capt Van thought things could go quickly south for him. Maybe he wasn’t being overly righteous, but simply prescient given Patton’s reputation.
Which leaves me with this thought: Sometimes your account of Capt Van’s WW 2 service raises more questions than answers. I suppose this is one of the reasons why your series on Capt Van is so intriguing and thought-provoking. Keep going!
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