Group chaplain had different perspective on D-Day

  • Published
  • By Corporal Ira Nelson
  • 442nd Troop Carrier Group
WHITEMAN AIR FORCE BASE, Mo. --  Editor's Note: 442nd Troop Carrier Group Chaplain Robert W. Tindall ... affectionately called Chaplain Bob ... was a shepherd very passionate about his flock. He deftly employed humor as a tool to build morale and to better get to know each group member. If any event during the war affected Chaplain Bob the most, it was D-day. What follows below is a verbatim narrative written by his assistant, Corporal Ira Nelson, 65 years ago.

Well, sir, by the time "D" day came along, things were really "on the Beam" around camp; how well the fellows remember the Chaplain sticking so close to them for the several days prior to "the" day. At the numerous gatherings of combat crews, in the mess halls, playing his favorite "jive" records, and generally being on the spot. He was the "last" man to shake the hand of each man before the "take off" that night when history itself "stood still" - he was the fellow who wandered among the planes as they "warmed up"; he had the latest "poop from the group" to spread. Colonels and sergeants alike came under his jibes - each man "alive" with nerves - each so alone with his thoughts. Yes sir, the last wave of a hand from the ground was the Chaplain's, and from each ship as she roared up into the night, we could see the returning wave of hands, probably "shaking" hands, but waving just the same.

Old Chappie slept on a wrestling mat that night, until an hour before the returning of the "boys", and it was then that we saw him, walking "alone" out on the landing field, as another day was beginning to dawn; a day that was to mean "new life" for all of God's Creation; there he was, alone, pacing up and down the field, watching the skies for those he loved, and those who loved him. At long last, there was heard the distant hum of airplanes, and soon the field was alive with those who had to "remain behind," but over it all the old Chappie was hollering hell bent for election - his "boys" had come back "home." As ever, his was the "first" hand the returning heroes shook; his were the wet eyes that never noticed their tears of joy; for some damned reason he never cracked a single joke - just chawed the stub of a nickel cigar and spit - and watched the clouds for "more" ships - the ones who had made the (final) ''Great Mission'' - those boys whom the Great (Grim) Reaper had gathered into the sheave.

For days he was wild; his senses dulled, he lived "apart" in a world of thoughts; his patter gone, smoking endless cigarettes, bouncing from one job to another; never still for a moment; laughing one moment, swearing the next; the worst "sham" we ever saw. That guy was "down,'' for once in our careers in the army, we saw a Chaplain "on the ground," his hair down. It couldn't last forever, we told each other, but this is some time after, and he still "remembers." None of us dare get "close" to him again, but there are those of us who pray for him each night, and pray that he will be released from the burning Hell deep within his soul. Listen, guys, not all the heroes of this war were present in France "that night!"

Following World War II, Chaplain Bob Tindall, remained in the military and retired from the Air Force in 1971. Following his death on Sept. 6, 1992, he was interred, on Chaplain Hill in Arlington National Cemetery.