Autopsy of War; A Personal History

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An imprint of St. Martins Press.

: . Copyright 2012 by John A. Parrish, M.D. All

rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address

St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

Copyright Piet Hein Grooks: THE NOBLE ART, page xv. Reprinted with kind

permission from Piet Hein a/s, DK-5500 Middelfart, Denmark.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.stmartins.com

Map design by Paul J. Pugliese

Cover design by Steve SniderCover photograph by Sami Sarkis/Getty Images

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Parrish, John A. (John Albert), 1939

Autopsy of war : a personal history / John A. Parrish.1st ed.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-312-65496-2 (hardback)

ISBN 978-1-4299-4104-4 (e-book)

1. Vietnam War, 19611975Personal narratives, American. 2. UnitedStates. Marine Corps. Division, 3rd. Medical Battalion, 3rdBiography.

3. PhysiciansUnited StatesBiography. 4. Vietnam War, 19611975Medical

care. 5. Vietnam War, 19611975Psychological aspects. 6. Vietnam War,

19611975VeteransUnited StatesBiography. 7. Post-traumatic stress

disorderPatientsBiography. 8. Combat. I. Title.

DS559.5.44.P35 2012

959.704'37dc23

[B]

2011050610

First Edition: June 2012

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1


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My rst memory of my father is seeing him in a white dress mili-tary uniform, standing at the pulpit in his church, parishioners fanned

out before him and looking up in adoration, as he spoke of sin, Jesus,

and love. I was four, perhaps ve years old.

War frames my earliest memories, and war was a major force that

lifted my extended family from the poverty and ignorance of the Deep

South in the years surrounding the Great Depression. By the time I

began school all the men in my extended family had gone to war. I

would follow them. Service in the military was the single event we all

shared that determined the future course of our lives.

My mothers father was an itinerant farmer in Tennessee, and al-

though he never served, during World War I he left the farm to work

at a munitions plant in Spring Hill, just south of Nashville. There he

learned a trade, becoming a brick mason, and earned a steady wage for

the rst time in his life. Soon after the war ended, so did his job. In 1923,

during the Florida building boom, he hitchhiked to West Palm Beach

to look for work. A year later, he sent for his wife and four children:

the identical twins, Jack and Earl, age ten; Claude, age six; and my

mother, Lucile, who was still an infant.

They took the train to Florida and arrived with no possessions ex-

cept the clothes they wore and moved in with my grandfather in one


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AUTOPSY OF WAR:

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room of a boardinghouse. The three boys slept in the attic, and my

mother slept with her parents. My mothers strong-willed mother, my

grandmother Mama Blair, worked as laundress, secretary, bookkeeper,

or housekeeper, raised four children, and saw that they went to church.

Staying just ahead of bill collectors, the family moved a dozen times

over the next ve or six years. The day after they ed one apartment

to avoid overdue rent payments, the building was destroyed by the 1928

hurricane. My mothers father did not often have steady work. When

he did, he usually left most of his paycheck in a bar.

The twins never enrolled in school in Florida. Instead, they worked

various odd jobs to help the family. Handsome, charismatic, and ath-

letic, they became motorcycle policemen in the winter and in the sum-

mer played semipro baseball. In 1942, when the twins were in their late

twenties, both boys and their younger brother, Claude, were drafted.

Soon afterward my grandfather got drunk and left home for good.

Claude was the good boy. He joined the Boy Scouts, helped rescue

victims of the 1928 hurricane, got involved in the church, and stayed

in school. He graduated from high school as president of the student

body and valedictorian and lettered in four sports despite working

twenty hours a week with AT&T, rst as a lineman and then in an of-

ce job. Even though he had no military experience, AT&T arranged

for him to be an offi cer in the Army Signal Corps. He thrived in the

military, eventually becoming an intelligence offi cer. In between mili-

tary stints he returned to AT&T and simultaneously earned a law de-

gree. Recalled to the service during the Korean War, he left active duty

in 1953 as a major and rejoined AT&T. In rapid sequence he became vice

president in charge of the Telstar Satellite Program, then president of

Ohio Bell, president of Pacic Northwest Bell, and nally president

and chairman of the National City Bank Corporation. He died at age

ninety-seven. The headline of his obituary in thePalm Beach Daily News

referred to him as bank chairman and veteran.

The twins, Jack and Earl, received formal training as military po-

licemen and, although both had stateside assignments, were separated

for the rst time in their lives. After the war, they returned to the Palm


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Beach police force and reunited, their reputations enhanced and bur-

nished by their service for their country. They always worked together

and provided security for the growing number of extremely wealthy

and powerful residents with winter homes in Palm Beach, families

like the Woolworths, Rockefellers, Astors, and Kennedys. The Blair

twins were very close to the Kennedys, especially Joe Sr. and, before

he was killed in World War II, Joe Jr. On more than one occasion they

acted as watch-out or helped provide cover for a Kennedy when he

cavorted with a married woman.

To show real class, one could display the twins as security for very

small dinner parties, and the rich and famous often planned social

events around the availability of the Blair brothers. Standing next

to their shiny giant motorcycles on either side of a mansions front

entrance, they were treated more like guests than workers. Increas-

ingly, however, they acted as private detectives and personal secret

agents, cultivating contacts to arrange anything legal or illegal for a

growing list of clients.

Eventually they bought a large hotel and started a rental car busi-

ness as a legitimate front for one of Palm Beachs largest gambling

and prostitution rings. For decades the twins were powerful enough

to keep major rental car companies and organized crime out of Palm

Beach. A small band of men without last names was always around

when needed, and Mama Blair was hired as a bookkeeper for a gas

station they operated on the rental car lot. Executives from all over the

United States and Europe could place discreet phone calls to one of the

twins and by the time they arrived at the West Palm Beach airport

whatever they wanted would be waiting: a car, a driver, women, hotel

rooms, drugs, other entertainment, and gambling options. When

clients were returned to the airport, their bill would be scrubbed to

simulate a business trip, or there would be no paperwork at all show-

ing that the client had ever been in Palm Beach.

My father, James Parrish, grew up in the poverty, ignorance, and

bigotry of the Deep South in Sylvester, Georgia. His mother bled to

death when she delivered her third child. As was the custom in his clan,


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his father, also named James, an alcoholic who occasionally worked as

a reman, actor, salesman, or barber, married the sister of his deceased

wife. As the oldest (age ve) child, my father assumed responsibility

for the care and feeding of his family and tried to protect his two

younger siblings from their genuinely evil stepmother. Doing odd jobs

and stealing, my father provided the only steady source of food. He

worshipped his father, who was most generous, attentive, and loving

when he was sober and working and was dramatic, entertaining, and

demonstrably affectionate when he was drinking. His frequent binges

lasted days or weeks.

Crawling under porches and going through trash to nd cigarette

butts, my father began smoking at age six. He also joined his father,

and further bonded with him, in binge drinking by the time he was

ten years old. Because Prohibition started when my father was six

years old, the liquor he made or stole was not only illegal but some-

times downright poisonous. During binges he would sometimes be

deathly ill.

He went to school just enough to keep the truant offi cers at bay

but forced his siblings to attend regularly and do their schoolwork. He

swept streets or cleaned buildings before school, stocked groceries

after school, and worked in a drugstore in the evenings. Although he

was tough and easily provoked, his strong work ethic endeared him

to his growing list of employers.

His father died when he was thirteen, and he became the offi cial

head of the household.

After school one day, to defend his brother from harassment, my

father took on the school bully, who was two or three years his senior

and considerably bigger. He beat him so severely that classmates pulled

him away. For money or any reason, he could ght anyone anytime

and most often won by sheer will. At 130 pounds, ve feet nine inches,

he was the starting offensive center and defensive nose guard on

the high school football team. His teammates called him pissant.

After his siblings needs were met, my father spent his time drinking,


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smoking, moving with a tough gang, and chasing girls. Secretly he was

sleeping with at least one older married woman.

The summer after he nally graduated from high school, he had his

rst serious depression and suicidal thoughts. He was awarded a foot-

ball scholarship to a small college but was too drunk to matriculate.

To get closer to one particular girl, he attended a Southern Baptist

church and was soon adopted by a deacon who took particular in-

terest and, by overpaying him for odd jobs, provided enough money

for my fathers siblings and stepmother. My father had long talks with

this man, began to attend church regularly, and became close to the

re-and-brimstone preacher. After a powerful conversion experience,

my father was saved from sin by the grace of Jesus Christ and com-

mitted his life to Gods will. He stopped drinking completely, stopped

volunteering for stghts, and left his gang to be in the church com-

munity. His church mentors and hard work made it possible for my

father to become the rst of his generation to go to college, attending

Stetson University, a Baptist school in DeLand, Florida. He was elected

president of the student body, not because of his athletic prowess or

classroom performance but because he was an effective orator, giving

speeches at school events, civic organizations, churches, and anywhere

else he was invited. He met and fell in love with my mother, a gentle,

quiet, attractive classmate who had a part-time job playing saxophone

in a local dance band. She gave up her music because my father associ-

ated it with sindancing and alcohol.

They married, and after graduation he earned a doctor of divinity

degree at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville,

studying and practicing oratory by preaching at local churches. My

older brother, James, was born while my father was in college; I was

born during his years in the seminary; and my sister, Mary Blair, was

born while he was the minister of a small church in Florida. He claimed

to be in ecstasy when he was preaching. He was loved by his ock,

who provided housing, a small salary, and a black maid to do house-

work and child care. The local car dealer gave him a car, and all the


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storekeepers gave him special deals on groceries, clothing, appliances,

haircuts, and baseball tickets.

An American dream was launched. Every two or three years my

father was called by bigger churches and Jesus to move us to differ-

ent cities in the Deep South. He began to travel all over the South to

conduct revivalsa week of daily evening services designed for the

already saved to celebrate with singing, testimonials, and a powerful,

emotional re-and-brimstone sermon designed to bring new converts

into the church. My father was apparently very good at creating the

emotion and energy required to bring people to accept Jesus as their

personal savior. When Jesus concurred, in 1940 my father accepted

the invitation to become pastor at a small church in Plant City, Florida.

He proudly never helped with household chores or family care

we were there to care for him and serve as decoration, brought out for

show and tell before my fathers friends and acquaintances from

church, but otherwise left alone. If I happened to be around, to dem-

onstrate what a great parent he was he would pull me close to him

and pinch my cheek and say, This is my little Bubba, this is my little

John Albert. Prefaced by Gimme some sugar, my father was always

kissing the preschool children of his congregation, signs of affection

that were withheld from the rest of us.

Except for my older brother, James W. Parrish Jr., the rstborn

child, called Little Jimmie. Even when it seemed inappropriate, my

father took Little Jimmie with him to civic meetings and adult gather-

ings, publicly smothered him with kisses, and wore him as a badge of

family and fatherly love.

In 1942, when I was three years old, with great drama and patri-

otic virtue, my father announced to his congregation that when a

certain number of church members joined the war effort, he, too,

would go. He did. My mother was stunned. My father had never dis-

cussed this with her, but in our household, all decisions were his

alone to make.

After attending chaplain school at William and Mary in Virginia,

my father became a navy offi cer on active duty from early 1942 until


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V-J Day in 1945. As chaplain, he served aboard the USS Hamptontroop

transport ship, was temporarily assigned to the Seabees in Iwo Jima,

and was stationed at bases in Hawaii and the Great Lakes Naval Base.

He was once assigned as the chaplain to a black military unit stationed

at Norfolk, Virginia, and founded a black Southern Baptist church in

the community. His love of preaching was stronger than his strong

racism.

While my father was caring for our boys overseas, his home bil-

let frequently changed. Although my father was never with us, my

mother faithfully moved us by car to ve different military bases in ve

different states. California, New England, Michigan, and other places I

cannot remember.

I loved being in the crowded car with my mother, my younger

sister, my older brother, and all of our possessions. We had an old car,

and my mother drove very slowly. If it was a long trip, we would sleep

together in one room in a cheap motel. Usually, when the manager

Jimmie and Lucile Parrish, 1943.


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discovered my father was in the military he lowered the rate or gave

us the night for free.

On these trips we had a tire malfunction almost every daya

gradual at, a large blister, or a blowout. My mother would pull over,

stand passively next to the car, and wait for someone to stop. She was

stately, almost regaltall and thin, very beautiful, with dark hair that

was always perfectly in place. Inevitably some nice man would stop

and change the tire, and then we would nd a gas station and wait

again while the torn tire was resealed or replaced.

One day while she was driving, a cow walking alongside the high-

way suddenly decided to cross the road. We struck the cow broadside,

and I was thrown against the back of the front seat and cut my lip. I

liked the salty taste of my blood.

Although I always thought of my mother as fragile, on this occa-

sion she took total charge. She told us to stay in the car while she talked

to people who had stopped in the road. Apart from my split lip no one

was hurt, although the car was badly damaged. She nally let us out of

the car to see what was going on. The cow made terrible groaning

moos as it lay injured on the road, unable to stand. When a policeman

arrived, my mother ushered us back into the car so we could not see

what happened next.

The policeman stood next to the cow, took out his gun, and red

it. The blast hurt my ears, and I could feel a shudder in my chest. Sud-

den death dealt by the gun of a uniformed man branded me. I had never

known such violence before, and it made a strong impression. Men in

uniform had the authority to kill.

A farmer attached heavy chains to our car and towed us with his

truck. My mother had to steer and brake to keep the car from rolling

into the back of the truck, but she couldnt quite get the timing right.

The ride was very jerky; if the truck went too fast our heads would jerk

back, and if my mother got too close to the truck she would put on the

brakes and we would bolt forward. She started laughing, and I can still

hear her laugh punctuated by our high-pitched squeals. I wanted the

ride to last forever.


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After several cross-country moves, my father returned briey and

moved us to Albany, Georgia to be near his brother and sister. Then

he left my mother with three small children living through two win-

ters in a tiny old house heated only by a single potbellied furnace. My

dads brother was a soldier stationed nearby, and he came home most

nights and weekends to be with his wife and two infant boys. My fa-

thers sister had a small child, and her socially challenged husband re-

paired tires. He was the only male member of my family who did not

join the military. My father never considered allowing my mother to

live in West Palm Beach, Florida, where her mother and three brothers

could provide support and comfortable living conditions.

In our one-room house my mother cooked on an electric hot plate

and maintained a coal-burning re in the stove. One day my little sis-

ter was severely burned when she sat on the hot plate thinking it was

a potty. For days, she lay on her stomach with her butt uncovered.

When my mother let me apply the ointment, it was the only time my

sister didnt cry. I had the job from that point on.

When the adults were together, my mother was very quiet as the

others spoke nonstop about food, the past and all its people, or the

weaknesses and sins of others. At these times, children were ignored,

and we learned about the world by listening. Even the often repeated

jokes contained lessons. I learned that blacks were stupid, dirty, and

smelly and would eat anything and that the white-only water foun-

tains and bathrooms were to keep us safe from social and biological

contamination. By nature, women were inferior to men and boys, and

their purpose was to raise children and serve men. Divorce was a ma-

jor sin that ruined all members of a family forever. The men constantly

made references to my aunts enormous breasts. The comments made

them laugh and caused me to feel a forbidden pleasure when she

hugged me.

We were taught that Jews had a highly unfounded sense of enti-

tlement, a relentless work ethic, and a selsh and manipulative gift for

making money at the expense of othersit was no wonder the Ger-

mans were killing most of them. Otherwise, Germans and the Japs


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were the embodiment of evil and found great pleasure in torturing

and killing Americans. Catholics were to be distantly tolerated even

though they were pagan worshippers of Jesuss mother. Africans and

Asians, if they did really exist, were pitiful, weird, ignorant people who

were doomed to hell. Missionaries tried to save a few by telling them

about Jesus, but it was a pretty hopeless task. Even though we were

poor, our white, Christian privileged status was obvious to all, and only

we had the comfort of being in Gods grace.

I learned that God knew everything and was all-powerful and that

America was historys most impressive combination of might and

right. America sometimes had to go to war to protect innocents, free

the oppressed, and defeat evil. In death and in life, American soldiers

were heroic and honorable, even though they sometimes drank or

cursed or touched girls in private places. Touching ones own private

parts was evil, and God knew when one did itone was physically

and mentally compromised for the remainder of the day after playing

with genitals. Romantic love with only one predetermined special

person could lead to fulllment on this earth, and death, through tem-

porary and dramatic grief, transitioned into an everlasting life of peace

and joy in heaven.

Some truths were not taught directly but had to be gured out

through observation and trial and error. For instance, parental approval

and love was earned by being quiet, good, industrious, and reliable and

rubbing adults feet whenever asked to do so. One way to manipulate

others and to take a break from the boring routines and monotonous

conversations was to act wounded by some phrase uttered by a family

member. Dramatic pouting and poorly disguised anger could last for

hours.

Documents

Autopsy of War; A Personal History