Forks: The Life of One Marine

By Clyde O Childress

THOMAS M. WHALING Attorney at Law
You will r emember Forest Gump's ability t o turn u p just i n time for the great
events in history. Clyde Childress is not Forest Gump, but instead a driven, disciplined
genius. Clyde Childress is both a Marine Aviation Warrior and business
tycoon with a special gift for turning up just in time for events that made history.
His life has been a thrill a minute and seems to grow more entertaining and exciting
with time. An Outstanding read!
JOE WADEL Colonel, USMCR, ret
FORKS is an excellent book about the life adventures of a highly decorated
Marine Corps o fficer. It candidly depicts difficult circumstances from Clydes
early years that reveal his dreams and expectations; his early passion for flying as
Virginia's youngest licensed pilot and his distinguished career as a Marine Corps
aviator evident throughout his book. H is account of actual combat experiences
are both captivating and spellbinding events that, few people will ever experience
in a lifetime. It is a true miracle.
TED KOOPMAN, CDR USN, ret
Clyde O Childress, Major, USMC ret. is one of the most remarkable men I have
ever met. He is a true and genuine Patriot who l oves America and has served
gallantly in combat. Clydes patriotism continues with his on-going efforts to help
veterans, especially those who have suffered in action. His story is one of the most
remarkable I have ever read because of his unique ability to overcome obstacles
that stop most people cold. Clyde is an inspiration to everyone who meets him. His
'never give up' attitude and willingness to go out of his way to help anyone proves
that gallantry exists both in and out of combat. Major Childress' candid story also
proves that the American Dream is alive and well, and "Forks" provides the reader
a rare, personal glimpse into the life of a rare individual .
PAUL GALANTI, CDR, USN ret.
Commissioner, Dept of Veterans Affairs
Commonweath of Virginia

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465337115

Clyde O Childress

Clyde Childress has recounted, in highly inspirational narrative, the hand of God providentially having directed this truly American hero. God's rewards are found in his wife, Connie, the friends whose lives have been impacted by knowing him and the spiritual growth of his interior life. "Forks" is an easy read of fascinating experiences (love, family, youth, and combat) that few ever experience, but which contribute to knowing one of God's exceptional people.

Book preview

Copyright © 2011 by Clyde O Childress.

Library of Congress Control Number:  2011912216

ISBN: Hardcover    978-1-4653-3710-8

ISBN: Softcover      978-1-4653-3709-2

ISBN: Ebook           978-1-4653-3711-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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96873

CONTENTS

PART I

An Introduction

PART II

My Life As I Remember It

PART III

Life After The Marine Corps

Dedication

It is with deep humility and gratitude that I dedicate my autobiography to those who have influenced the many forks in the road of life that I have chosen. Most especially, I wish to thank my beloved wife, Cornelia (Connie), for her unwavering love and devotion that, for all these many years, have encouraged the best in me and have made my life complete. After more than thirty-nine years together, Connie still takes my breath away.

To my brothers and sisters, who still deal with their own share of dark childhood memories because of our father’s cruelty. After reading my manuscript, some of them said that, in my recounting of events, I was too soft on him.

Also for my dear mother, Margaret, who has surely earned a special place next to God in heaven. I hope that Mama is looking over my shoulder, even now, as she did throughout my life.

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Clyde and Connie

In loving memory of Margaret Lucy McCall Childress

PREFACE

This is the story of my life as I remember it. I have used real names of people and places, and the words I have used herein express my own feelings and memories of those experiences. Throughout the years, I have forged friendships with many men in the military who have become lifelong friends, and I hope that I have portrayed them as the friends they were and still are.

The myriad events and experiences that represent my last seventy-four years run through my memory as a series of vignettes; some of them were significant and life defining, others trivial, and many violent. Although it will be difficult to recount each one, I will be as faithful to the integral facts as I know and remember them. I also promise my readers an unflinching look into some of my most difficult and personal experiences and do so with the consent of my wife and siblings. For reasons of respect and privacy for others, however, I have omitted certain details.

Combat is the most defining event in the life of anyone who has endured it. Vietnam was my war, and though more than forty-five years have passed since I lived those events, they have become seared into my mind forever and have composed a large part of my life’s story.

I had originally entitled my story Semper Fi because of the twenty-one years I proudly served in the United States Marine Corps. But as I considered each of the major crossroads that I encountered along the way and their impact on my life, I have chosen another title that seems to more accurately describe the process of cause and effect, choice and outcome.

Yogi Berra, famous major league baseball catcher, outfielder, and manager once said, When you come to a fork in the road, take it. Each of us becomes who we are because of the decisions we make along the way—everyday decisions that affect the rest of our lives. If we choose a certain action, one future awaits; if we choose another, we can expect an entirely different outcome. I call these decisions forks and have, therefore, chosen that as the most appropriate title for my own story.

My great appreciation goes to my editor, Carol Hummel, who not only ensured that all the t’s were crossed and the i’s dotted but also convinced me that my story should be published. Carol flew from California to Virginia to spend time with us in an effort to see what makes me tick.

Before I begin, I must make a disclaimer as it pertains to certain language or ideas that might, by today’s standards, seem politically incorrect. It is not my intention to offend anyone or any group of people. However, I feel that I must use my own words to convey the integrity of the feelings I had at the time. I, therefore, ask your forbearance as you read my story.

Clyde O Childress

PART I

AN INTRODUCTION

Tuesday, March 7, 1972

Corona del Mar, California

1810 hours

Connie Newton—the most beautiful woman in the world—opened the door when I knocked that evening. At five feet ten, blond and slim, Connie was a double for the movie star Doris Day. Through the open door, I saw some very interesting items (a grand piano and a six-inch reflector telescope), but I could not take my eyes off this beautiful girl. I stood there almost in disbelief and stammered, I-I’ve never been late before. Late for a blind date! Wonderful first impression, I thought. Probably because I had written the directions backward, left for right and so forth; however, I managed to arrive only a few minutes late.

After eleven years of marriage and one beautiful daughter, my divorce from my first wife, Ruby, felt like the tragedy of my life, but Connie had also been married before (for twenty-one years), and she had two great sons.

Between us, we had gone through some rough times, yet when Connie opened the door on that incredibly fortuitous day, things would never be the same.

Connie had become a member of Parents without Partners (PWP)—an organization for divorced parents with no attachments—and I had just recently joined. New members to PWP were customarily assigned an amigo (a special volunteer assigned to integrate the new member into the group), and Connie had asked to be mine (more on that later).

She had called a few times to introduce herself and had invited me to various PWP functions. On each of those occasions, either I had made a previous engagement, or it was my scheduled weekend with my daughter.

After several unsuccessful attempts on Connie’s part, I felt it was only fair for me to invite her out to dinner. On that very momentous occasion, we went to the El Toro Officer’s Club and doodled math problems to each other. Truly romantic stuff, huh? The following week we went out again, and when we arrived back at Connie’s apartment, we just parked, sat inside my 1970 Pontiac, and talked for hours as soft classical music played in the background on my new eight-track tape player.

When the horizon began to lighten, Connie looked at the sky and, with some alarm, asked what was happening. We laughed because we had been so focused on learning about each other that the night had flown by and the sun had begun to rise.

During that long, lovely evening, Connie confided to me that when my resume was first discussed at a Parents without Partners meeting, several members of the committee had volunteered to be my amigo, but her own interest had also been piqued especially when some of my particular interests were mentioned, like astronomy, classical music, and math puzzles. Connie said her hand shot up almost involuntarily. When she heard that I was also an officer in the United States Marine Corps and a member of the Masons (as was her father), Connie was convinced that I must be a decent man. She all but demanded to be my amigo. Connie confessed that she had never demanded anything so strongly before; she felt that God had pushed her hand up.

I believed her because almost immediately, I had begun to feel as though I’d known Connie forever.

At the time, Connie was working as an office manager for a psychiatrist and did some tutoring in elementary math, algebra, and geometry for Corona del Mar High School students. She was also a member of the Orange Coast Astronomical Association and a classical pianist. Impressive, to be sure, but I also learned that Connie had built the telescope I had seen through the door of her apartment on our first date. Connie was everything I had ever dreamed of in a woman and so much more!

I was then a major in the United States Marine Corps—a naval aviator to be exact—with two tours as an attack helicopter pilot in Vietnam.

Vietnam is a place on the map that I will never forget, not only for the horrors of combat that are still with me today, but also for my friends who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country and for the many bonds of comradeship forged on the fields of war.

*     *     *

In April, just a month after having met Connie, I took my young daughter, Cinnamon, to visit my family in Virginia. As soon as I arrived home, I realized that I truly wanted Connie to meet my family even though I hadn’t known her very long.

When I called Connie, she sounded very happy to hear from me and immediately accepted my invitation.

Connie received a short leave from work and flew to Virginia with her son, Jim, to meet my family. At first, I may have been somewhat apprehensive for Connie to meet everyone all at once, but I needn’t have been. My family welcomed Connie as easily as if they’d known her for a lifetime. She particularly liked my mother, Margaret, and I could tell the feeling was mutual. In no time at all, my family was certain I would ask Connie to marry me, and everyone approved.

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My family (left to right): Connie, Me, Mama (holding Sherry), Daddy (holding Gary) Julia Dean, and David

We were walking in the yard one evening, a few days after Connie had arrived, when I asked her to marry me. She said there was something I needed to know first. I was somewhat concerned by her serious tone but urged her to tell me.

I am six years older than you, she confided with a downward glance.

I thought about that for a minute and replied, I think that’s actually a good thing. We will both go to heaven together. Although we had only known each other for a month, I knew right away that she was my soul mate.

While we were in Virginia, we all went to Fairfax, just outside Washington DC, to visit my Uncle Garnet. Mama was telling everyone where to sleep and had arranged for Connie and me to share the same bedroom. I reminded her that we were not yet married, so the sleeping arrangements had to be altered.

(It was a few years after the so-called social revolution of the 1960s, but we were still old-fashioned).

We enjoyed our visit, but another significant life event began to unfold as I was cutting the grass: My hands began to tingle as though they were asleep, and though I didn’t think much about it at the time, I learned the reason for this several weeks later.

The stewardesses on the flight back to California were the same girls who had been on Connie’s outbound flight to Virginia when she had told them that she believed I might pop the question. They were very excited and gave us complimentary champagne to celebrate our engagement.

As soon as we returned, Connie and I immediately began making wedding plans, which included meeting her family.

Connie’s parents were waiting upstairs in her apartment when I went to meet them. As they came down to greet me, I immediately took a liking to them. I had always been told that if you wanted to know what your wife would look when she aged, just take a look at her mother. Mrs. Smith was an attractive and exceedingly charming woman, so I knew that Connie would always be beautiful, no matter at what age (and she still is). Connie’s father, Castleman W. Smith, was a retired dentist with whom I had many interests in common.

Dr. Castleman was a veteran of both world wars and had been an infantry captain with General Patton across North Africa, and in Italy, he was placed in charge of a prisoner of war camp. Dr. Smith and I were both Masons, and before he passed away, we had the wonderful opportunity to sit in lodge together.

As easy as it had been to gain the approval of Connie’s parents, I still had to pass the scrutiny of Great-Aunt Louise Elliott. She was a graduate of Wellesley College, just one of her many admirable distinctions besides the unwritten but undisputed title as matriarch of the family clan. Connie’s mother’s maiden name was Elliott; therefore, she was a direct descendant of Great-Aunt Louise and often deferred (as did the entire family) to her strong views and opinions.

Aunt Louise turned out to be one of most remarkable ladies I had met in years. She had traveled the world and was exceptionally bright and quick-witted. Her husband had been president of the Elliott State Bank in Jacksonville, Illinois. Connie’s great-grandfather had founded the privately held bank and had been known for his reputation as a true conservative.

I purposely mentioned the better points about Aunt Louise first, but not long after our introduction, I thought I was being cross-examined by the gestapo. She asked many personal questions that made me quite uncomfortable because many were plainly none of her business. She wanted to know my social standing, education, income, and religion. In fact, she wanted to know just about everything about me. I guess I passed her inquisition because she allowed us to get married.

Shortly after the family introductions, Connie and I set a wedding date and did all the necessary things, such as taking blood tests, obtaining the marriage license, and so forth. I was as happy as I could be before my world changed for the worst.

My normal, daily routine was to run the Marine Corps physical fitness test every morning. I lived in the bachelor officers quarters (BOQ) located next to the PT (physical fitness) area. The PFT, as we called it, consisted of twenty pull-ups from a dead hang to a dead hang, palms facing forward. Next was eighty bent-knee sit-ups, hands clasped behind the head, and a three-mile run as fast as we could push ourselves. A perfect score of three hundred consisted of completing twenty pull-ups, eighty sit-ups, and a three-mile run in eighteen minutes. My average was two hundred and eighty, but on that morning, I jumped up on the pull-up bars only to fall off. I simply could not hang on. After several tries, I went on to the sit-ups and three-mile run. When I went back to my room to shower and shave, I had trouble holding my razor.

I dressed and went to the officers’ mess for breakfast but found that I couldn’t even hold a cup of coffee with both hands. At eight o’clock in the morning, I went over to the sick bay and informed the flight surgeon (a friend of mine) that I felt like Samson because I had lost all the strength in my hands. To my surprise, he took some x-rays of my neck. I told him that the problem was with my hands, not my neck. After looking at the flicks, he told me to go immediately to the naval hospital at Camp Pendleton.

The hospital neurosurgeon looked at the pictures, tapped me on my elbows with his rubber mallet, and said, Welcome to the hospital. After extensive tests, the diagnosis was a ruptured disc between my fifth and sixth cervical vertebrae. Several weeks of physical therapy had little effect, and the doctor recommended surgery if I were going to feel any improvement. I was extremely apprehensive when he informed me there was some concern that I might become paralyzed from the neck down (should the surgery go badly). The tingle in my hands that had begun a few weeks earlier while cutting grass at my folks’ house had been the first warning signal.

Connie and I had already set the date of June 24 to get married, but instead, I would now be in the hospital, facing a serious operation. I told her that I wanted to postpone the wedding until after the surgery because I feared the outcome. I did not want her to face the possibility of taking care of me as a cripple. Connie, however, refused to postpone our special day. The weekend before the operation, I requested and received a weekend pass from the hospital to get married.

The wedding ceremony took place at the Marine Corps air station at Tustin Chapel on Saturday, June 24, 1972. Only Connie’s family was in attendance. Her mother (a professional organist) was Connie’s matron of honor, who also played The Wedding March as we walked down the aisle.

My best man, Maj. Joseph Moody, was a very close friend whom Connie and I had asked to be our wedding photographer. Sadly, for all of us, the pictures did not turn out well, so we have no wedding pictures to frame and place on our mantel.

From the chapel, we went to the Officer’s Club for our reception. Surprise, surprise—the club was in the middle of a renovation, and the only menu item available was America’s finest: hamburgers! Our attempts to talk and be heard over the incessant roar of power tools was the final coup de grâce. Connie’s family, headed by Great-Aunt Louise Elliott, thought the whole fiasco was hilarious. Major and Mrs. Clyde O Childress Jr. enjoyed a most memorable wedding day.

On the way back to what would now be our apartment, I opened an envelope that Aunt Louise had given me and found a check for one hundred dollars, drawn on the Elliott State Bank of Illinois. Connie informed me (only then) that Aunt Louise actually owned the bank that been founded by Connie’s great-grandfather. I now understood why I had been under such scrutiny during my prenuptial interrogation by Aunt Louise.

Up until a few days before our wedding, I had not told Connie that I was a senior officer because I did not want her to marry me for my rank (a common occurrence known to all senior officers).

Connie had a small inheritance of about one hundred thousand dollars from her Great-Aunt, Ruth (Aunt Louise’s sister-in-law). Connie’s inheritance was held in trust with the income used to support Connie’s mother, but eventually the trust would pass to Connie.

One hundred thousand dollars in 1972 was a lot of money, so I could understand Connie’s concerns about revealing her inheritance. It seemed we were both a little overly cautious, having experienced trust issues in the past, and we still had a lot to learn about each other.

The morning after our wedding, we drove back to the naval hospital for me to get prepped for the cervical laminectomy. The operation was a success; however, the doctor said that I would not be able to fly any aircraft with an ejection seat in the future. I would miss flying the OV-10, but I had grown to love helicopters, and the restriction was no big deal.

Time flew as Connie and I adjusted to a second marriage. In an effort to save money for a home, I insisted that we buy only those things for which we could pay with cash. Connie’s job at the doctor’s office helped. She also continued tutoring classes in elementary math and algebra for extra money. We settled into a routine of having my daughter, Cinnamon, every other weekend. Connie’s ex-husband, Jack, lived near and had our permission to visit his sons anytime he wished.

John, the older of Connie’s two boys, was a college student who lived on campus, and though he did not live with us, John and I became close friends over the years. We have sought each other’s advice on many subjects. Connie’s younger son, Jim, was just