A Genuine “Crippled Eagle”

Was I paranoid or just beginning to break through the wall of bible doctrine that I carefully constructed to block my view?  Let’s review:  I went from a comfortable life in a  secular-Jewish home to the cauldron of political and social strife at University of Wisconsin.  Then, I began that experimentation with hallucinogens resulting in the ultimate bad trip where I thought I was God and I was ending the world.  That end was just a beginning as a Jesus Freak.  A few months later I was in Navy basic training and then back to Madison as a naive Jesus Freak.  Soon it was on to Houston as a devotee of Thieme’s teaching which led me to Rhodesia, basic training again and the chaplaincy.

Whew! I am dizzy just writing that paragraph!  All of this happened over just a few years.  No wonder I was a bit confused again.  And now I was faced with the frightening reality of a three year commitment as a Rhodesian soldier, but totally at a loss for how I would spend the next 23 months of that commitment.  

In the midst of this, I had the opportunity to meet another American.  Keith Nelson had served in the US Special Forces.  Having arrived in Rhodesia about a year before me, he went through RLI training and had seen extensive combat in the Commandos.  As with all American Green Berets, he had two specialities.  In his case, it was his second specialty as a medic that resulted in his assignment as commando-medic in RLI.  

On one Fire Force engagement, he stepped on a Russian-made land mine, losing both legs and a finger.  I visited him at the home of his Rhodesian fiancee just before the two of them left for a short visit back to his home in Illinois.  I was totally caught off-guard by Keith’s quiet demeanor as he recounted his story from his wheelchair.  And, despite his wounds, he intended to marry and settle in Rhodesia.  

Robin Moore had named all of us Americans serving in Rhodesia, “The Crippled Eagles.”  In his mind, we were crippled by our own government’s refusal to recognize and support the Rhodesian struggle for freedom from Communist-backed terrorists.  But, my tiny ankle injury was a scratch compared to Keith’s wounds.  And my own rapidly disintegrating worldview, fueled by bible doctrine, was insignificant in the face of Keith’s very real courage and determination.

He was a real Crippled Eagle.   [Photo of Keith at a reunion decades later.]

As I rode back to Kalanyoni on my motorcycle, my mind kept returning to the image of Keith in that wheelchair, sitting in the parlor of his soon-to-be in-laws.  I was humbled and ashamed, yet relieved that my own minor misfortune had kept me from such a horrific wound.  So, did I want to be a soldier or what?  Or was I just a dreamer, who when faced with the reality, was freaking out again?

The next day Col Wood asked to speak with me.  He confirmed that he would be leaving the Chaplain Corps and that Capt Dodgen would be the new Chaplain General.  Sensing my concern, he suggested that it might be good for me to have a new assignment outside of the daily scrutiny of Dodgen.  He said that he wanted to move me to the National Service Training Centre at Llewellin Barracks outside of Bulawayo.  He thought that being the actual base chaplain for all the young Rhodesians undergoing basic training might be a good fit for me.  In addition, Bulawayo was a good five hours by car and should keep me away from the personality conflict that I had with Capt Dodgen.

This sounded interesting, and although we loved our home at Kalanyoni and would miss some of our friends such as the Phelps and our neighbor friends from Alex Park, a fresh start sounded like a good idea.  Col Wood invited Pegi and me to join him on a trip to Bulawayo by car.  We would also be stopping at the home base of the Rhodesian African Rifles (RAR) at Balla Balla (Mbala Mbala).  The RAR was an elite unit of all African volunteer soldiers.  Until recently, they had white officers, but the first group of black officers had begun to take platoon leadership.  I would be able to visit the RAR from time to time from our new home in Bulawayo.

In addition to being the base chaplain at Llewellyn Barracks, he had another special assignment for me.  I was to meet with Maj Gen Derry MacIntyre, the Army chief of staff.  He wanted me to report to him directly with regard to the morale of American and other foreign soldiers.  Well, that sounded interesting!

Next:  Tea with the General