Hugh's News & Commentary

It was the summer of 1962, I had finished my second year at Asbury Theological Seminary. I had been commissioned a second lieutenant in the Army Chaplain Candidate Program and was doing my training at Fort Slocum, NY, on David's Island out in Long Island Sound off the shore of New Rochelle, NY. We had to take a 30-minute ferry boat to the island.

Chaplain Charlie Brown, the Commandant of the Chaplains Center and School, was promoted to be the Chief of Army Chaplains, and he gave us a long weekend off to celebrate.

So, in order to take advantage of a wonderul opportunity to see Melvine who was staying with her parents in Draper, NC, while I was in Chaplains School, I took the train from Grand Central Station to Union Station in Washington, DC, where Melvine met me. I had not seen her in about six weeks. Our good friends, Daneel and Betty le Roux brought Melvine to DC, so I could spend the weekend with her and our friends. We all attended worship at the National Pentecostal Holiness Church when Harry Correll was pastor and Ellen Robinson was the organist. Melvine was pregnant with our first daughter, Julia Frances Morgan, who died in child birth later on that fall.

I had purchased a brand new Summer Tan dress uniform. It was sharp and tailored to fit a Marine body that I had in those days, 6 feet 4 inches tall, and weighed about 180 pounds.

Unfortunately, I had not eaten lunch that day when I went into New York City to catch a train, and was awfully hungry. I would not sit down with the coat of the uniform on, because I didn't want it to wrinkle.

I was starving. So, I walked down to the Dinner Car and there was only one seat empty. It was next to the window where three ladies were seated at the other chairs. They had already ordered their salads. Each one had a wedge of lettuce with French dressing covering it. The lady in front of me, sliced down on that wedge of lettuce and it flew through the air, and like a rifle bullet hit my uniform right in the middle of my chest. It splattered French dressing all over my new uniform. I was stunned and speechless.

The dear lady began to apologize profusely, and I could not find any word or response that would be kind and understanding. I was thinking only of a ruined new uniform. I am sure I was in a state of shock. I should have kept my mouth shut. But no, I opened my big mouth and said, "Mame, I am sure I have had worse things happen to me in my life, but right now, I can't think of any."

The ladies did their best to clean up my new uniform, but it got worse. I do remember that finally I offered her my forgiveness.

When Melvine saw me at the train station in DC, later that evening, she shouted, "You look terrible." What could I say. I hung my head and wanted to cry, but couldn't. What could I say to that. I wanted to look good, but I failed miserably. At least Melvine thought so. It didn't take long to recover. Melvine saw to that. She is a motivator and has helped me all of our married life to get through some tough times.

The good news is that the cleaners st Fort Slocum were able to remove all the stains, and it looked as good as new.

Malcolm Herndon's message on the empty chair reminded me of my experience and that I wasn't a good witness for the Lord. I failed the test. I am glad that the uniform of a chaplain candidate doesn't have a cross on it.