I never knew the man yet...
There are so many times I'd like to call him and hear his voice
saying...something... anything, so long as it was from his home,
in the midst of his family, and those he loves. There have been so
many sunsets that I have gazed upon, hoping and praying, that
this one would find him home. Yet, each time the sun rises, I know
he is not here, so I pray that the next sunset will be one that he
will share with someone who knows him for the Man and Marine
that he is.

 

The following Letter to Lawrence, was sent to me on August 14th
of '98 from a Marine that had served with Lawrence. I am pleased
to put this here as the first Letter to Lawrence, as it reflects the
kind of pride and power that Lawrence showed in becoming a Marine
and serving his country. It is my fervent hope, that many such letters
will follow, from friends and perhaps family. Until then...

Semper Fi Lawrence!

Date: Fri, 14 Aug 1998 23:38:47 -0700 (PDT)
From: bb377@scn.org (Edward J. Begley)
 

You asked me about Mr. Helber?
On my living room wall is a walnut plaque with a Black Knights (VMF (AW)-314) shield over six GI dog tags, one for each of the men and officers lost in Viet Nam. Lawrence Helber's dog tag is top center.

A few years ago, one of my college age sons brought a male classmate home with him for a brief visit. After introductions, the young man glanced around the room. Then his eyes stopped, fixed on the walnut plaque with it's brass shield and six dog tags. Without thinking he asked, "What are these?" The flash of anger came over me without warning. I bolted out of my seat, and was half way across the room before I realized that he couldn't know, couldn't understand, and could never relate to what those tags represented. Then, embarrassed and unsure what to do or say next, I turned and picked up my empty coffee cup, and walked into the kitchen while he continued to study the dog tags.

"Were they friends of yours?"

Standing at the sink, trying to pour the coffee with trembling hands, I struggled with an answer.

"Yea." I lied... They weren't just friends, they were family. And like family, some were liked more than others, some were even disliked, but all were loved... With that love born of a common cause, heritage, and kinship.

The young man continued, "They're all dead?

"Yea, just long dead Marines." Without any realization, I had finally admitted that they were dead, really dead.

"I'm sorry."

"That's okay." Then, accepting what I had done, I added, "Nobody cares anymore."

Sensing the pain in my voice, he turned from the plaque to face me, and seeing the tears running down my cheeks, the blood running from my lower lip, he replied, "Somebody cares... Very much."

And you asked me about Mr. Helber.

Gunner (Chief Warrant Officer) Helber was regarded as a stickler for military courtesy. He could, and frequently did, quote the LPM (Landing Party Manual) when required.

I recall an incident in which he corrected a young captain who had just given me an incorrect order regarding saluting. I had a broken right hand in a cast, and had saluted the captain as best I could with the cast... Sling and all. The captain told me salute with my left hand rather than the cast. Gunner Helber stepped up and told the captain, "That's incorrect, Captain. There is no provision in the LPM for a left handed salute." The captain responded that he was probably right. Then, to me, the gunner said, "Just avoid situations where you would normally salute, at least until you can get rid of the sling. In other words, don't wear your cover on the hangar deck."

His instruction created another situation since at the time I assigned as ASDO (Assistant Squadron Duty Officer), and was under arms, which meant that I was to be covered (wearing a cover... cap) at all times. When I pointed out the problem to the gunner, he replied, "Leave it to me. I'll also see about getting you relieved of that pistol." That with a smirk. We both chuckled at the fact that I was wearing a .45 on my right hip, with my right hand in a cast and sling... Not many members of the command had missed the incongruity of wearing a weapon I could not possibly use, and I'd already heard several smart remarks about it.

A half hour later the gunner came out of the ready room, and told me, "Lose the pistol and cover. No officer in this command will bother you about saluting."

Bear in mind that our relationship was always friendly, but never familiar. I was a corporal at the time, and he was an officer. I had made the choice early in my career to neither like or dislike any officer. With Gunner Helber, that was easy because he was the same way. Some of the other young officers were not so easy to keep at arms length. They'd want to tell me jokes, or get into bull sessions when we were on duty, but I was very uncomfortable, and would just smile at their jokes, and find something else to do... like an unscheduled patrol around the hangar, or making a pot of coffee.

Many of the younger enlisted men in the command didn't like Mr. Helber because he wouldn't hesitate to tell them to shine their shoes, or wash their clothes, square away a cover, or whatever. Behind his back, they called him "Mary Jane." I don't know where he got the nickname, but know it was meant to be derogatory. It probably had it's roots in his continual nitpicking over regulations. I didn't have any problem with him because I enjoyed looking sharp... brass and shoes shined every day... sharp creases in my uniforms. Most of the officers and senior NCO's didn't give a damn if men wore fluff dried uniforms, or shined their shoes with peanut butter, but Mr. Helber did, so we saw eye to eye on most issues. If they were going to wear the title, he expected them to be Marines.

He called me down once over a missed salute. The regulation was to salute within six to 30 paces, but it was common to wait until an officer was about three or four paces away before rendering a hand salute.

In that particular incident, we were approaching each other on the street when he turned down a sidewalk. I assumed that because he had turned aside, no salute was required. He glanced over his shoulder at me, and I started to salute, but when he turned his head away, I dropped my hand without saluting. He suddenly stopped and spun around. "Corporal Begley, come here." I approached to about two paces from him, stopped, came to attention, and saluted. He said, "You are required to salute when a officer approached to within 30 paces. Come with me." I fell in beside him, and we paced off the distance to where I had been when he turned off the street... 28 paces. Then, he continued, "I know you have only one eye, but a lack of depth perception is no excuse for not rendering proper military courtesy. And, I know you recognized me because you started to salute. Don't let it happen again."

Perhaps, that explains why he was not a popular officer in the command. I made it a point to salute him at the maximum distance from then on.

As to Mr. Helber's rank when he became MIA, I don't know. He was still a CWO (Chief Warrant Officer) when I last saw him in November of '64. If he was selected for 1st Lt. in '65, he could well have made captain by '68.

From a distance, he didn't appear to have any military bearing. He was neither tall, nor ramrod stiff, but he made up for it with his attitude. I heard that he had been a Staff Sgt., with about ten years service when selected for his Warrant.

I also heard in late 1968 that the crew of a rescue helicopter "thought" they saw his body, or the body of his pilot hanging limp in his parachute from a tree, but were under intense fire, and could not make a rescue attempt. The pilot was also declared MIA. I also heard that they had been hit by ground fire at such a low level that they ejected into the trees. Another Phantom and it's crew was lost in the same action.

Bear in mind that most of what I've heard is nothing more than rumor. I don't put much faith in third hand stories, and neither should you.

Sometimes, sitting alone in the middle of the night, I find my attention focused on that simple walnut plaque with it's brass shield and six dog tags. Then, I realize that there are tears on my face. I shake my head, let the tears dry, and tell myself, "Each tear is a monument. Let them come. They are the living proof that some of us have not forgotten."

And, even after all these years, the question, "Perhaps if I had been there? At least we'd all be together again for a walk in the sun."

You asked me about Mr. Helber? Now, you know about me and Mr. Helber.

Semper fi.,

Ed Begley