REMEMBERING JOHN TERRY

 

His name was John Terry. He came from the deep South. He was a heavy set black man, ancient at 26 years old compared to the rest of us 17 and 18 year old's who enlisted in the USMC in 1969 in the middle of an unpopular war. 

We called him Pappy. He could run, but sounded like a freight train on sprints. Somehow, the Drill Instructors in Platoon 3042 at Parris Island found out his father was a Minister, the same as they found my dad was a cop. We were in our 3rd or 4th week of recruit training, and all of us were homesick. The drill instructor would have us hit our racks for sleep just as a bugler blew taps and it echoed across the island. 

This time, the DI called Pvt Terry out of his rack to stand at attention in the middle of the squad bay. We all wondered if he was in trouble for some offense. But the DI then ordered him to sing the Lord's prayer.  He sang in a deep baritone, as we lay at attention, and the bugle notes sounded through the night air. Mario Lanza couldn't have sounded better.             

Our father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory, for ever and ever, amen. 

Every night after that, he sang us to sleep with the Lord's prayer.  Now, 52 years later, when I close my eyes, late at night, I am there again, and I hear his beautiful voice. After we graduated from recruit training, I never saw him again. I heard he died in Vietnam, in a fierce firefight, in I Corps, and was decorated for heroism. I hope the Nation hasn't forgotten him. I know I never will.

COPIED......