We're pleased to introduce to a new generation of readers the story of Chaplain Rupert McCanon in his own words. Chaplain McCanon spent his life in service to God, with special attention paid to soldiers during and after World War II. A soldier himself in World War I, he returned to service again, a chaplain to his final days. Each week we'll be printing instalments from his first book: Sometimes We Laugh, Sometimes We Cry.
Sometimes We Laugh--Sometimes We Cry or Tell It to the Chaplain
by Chaplain Rupert L. McCanon
How It All Started
It was at the corner of Eighth Street and Grand Avenue in Kansas City, Missouri, in front of the old Post Officie Building. I was walking north on Grand Avenue to where my car was parked, ready to go to Fort Leavenworth for my first military duty.
Until today I hadn't been in uniform for nearly twenty years, not since World War I days---tight collar, wrapped leggings and all. But today I was decked out in my new dress uniform. The Sam Browne belt, the hard leather leggings, the sharp officer's cap, and the pants, shirt, and blouse or coat custom-made by a lady tailor on the recommendation of a sergeant at Ft. Leavenworth (I'm sure he got a commission from her). I don't know what others may have thought, but I felt pretty proud of myself in my first officer's uniform.
There was a sudden movement at my right, and a sharp crack almost like a rifle shot. I was so startled that I jumped as I turned to see what it was. He stood there, stiff as a poker, his fingers touching the brim of his cap, an Army recruiting sergeant at salute. The way his heels clicked together it was no wonder I thought I had heard a rifle. I had had my first salute.
"Sergeant," I said, "you have given a lot of those, but that is the first salute I've ever received."
I am sure he didn't know it, but he set a record that day. He initiated the greenest officer who ever wore a lieutenant's bar. But I was proud.
My fist duty was with the CMTC, the Civilian Military Training Corps at Ft. Leavenworth, in the summer of 1936. It was a two-week active duty training assignment with the Officers Reserve Corps. I was the chaplain, there to minister to the spiritual welfare of this fine group of young men. I didn't know what they were doing; I didn't even know what I was doing, but in those two weeks I got the feel of what has been my life during most of the years since then. And I shall always be grateful to those young men and to the officers who commanded them, for their introduction to the life, the duties, the opportunities, and the rewards of the chaplaincy in which, during these many years, I have found how true it is that: Sometimes we laugh, sometimes we cry.
The outdoor church service on Sunday was the high point in the fourteen days so far as I was concerned. Here was one place where I would be on familiar ground. Here I would know the score.
My sermon was prepared especially for the occasion. I had used some suggestions by a major who I learned was a cattle buyer in the Kansas City stockyards. It was about how the Founding Fathers had written their faith into the documents of the birth of the nation, the Mayflower Compact, the Declaration of Independence, and the Constitution. It told how Benjamin Franklin, at the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia, when it looked as though an agreement would never be reached, had quoted from the Scriptures where it says: "Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain." And how George Washington, as President of the Constitutional Convention, had said: "Let us raise a standard to which the wise and honest can repair. The event is in the hands of God." It quoted the great statesman Frank Gunsaulis, who said: "Statesmanship is finding out where Almighty God is going, and getting things out of the way."
I had the sermon, and I was dressed for the occasion. My brand-new dress uniform was without a wrinkle. My Sam Browne belt and leather leggings were polished until they shown like mirrors. Programs had been mimeographed, and the band was ready to lay the hymns.
So when the men marched into the area wearing the same uniforms they had worn during the week, I was a bit disappointed. the officers came to the platform, and they also had forgotten to dress for church. But when the commanding general of the post arrived at the exact moment for the service to begin, I really felt let down. He was in his shirtsleeves, and wore leather leggings and a campaign hat. Didn't even the general know that it was Sunday?
Of the whole group of several hundred persons I was the only one properly dressed for church, or so I supposed. There I was in my elegant dress uniform, like a butterfly in a foundry. It wasn't until later that the post chaplain told me what the orders meant when they read: "UNIFORM: FIELD." Oh, I had a lot to learn about the military!
Another interesting experience during those two weeks was the privilege of speaking to the prisoners from the Post Disciplinary Barracks. The men who wished to attend the service were marched to the YMCA Auditorium.
It would be something to remember, I thought, and I had brought my family, my wife and my four small children, and seated them early, near the front. But it didn't take the post chaplain's assistant long to move them to seats way back in a corner of the balcony. "Gosh, Chaplain," he explained, "they might get hurt. Some of those guys are pretty desperate characters, you know."
Then the men marched in, and I saw what he meant. Here was really a cross section of life. Everything from the boy who had gone AWOL to see his mother or his sweetheart, to men who were paying the penalty for armed robbery or rape or even murder.
There were guards at all the exits, and at my right and left on the platform sat soldiers with loaded rifles. I had never preached to such an unlikely congregation, but I wish you could have heard them sing "Rock of Ages," "Faith of our Fathers," and "Amazing Grace."
One of my sons, who now has a family older than he was then, reminded me when he read this manuscript that while I led the singing on "When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder, I'll Be There," I pointed up when we san "Up Yonder," but that on the words "I'll Be There," I pointed downward. You can't fool these kids, but it took more than thirty years to find out about that one.
The men sang not just from their throats but from the very depths of their being. And then I spoke to the. I don't remember what I said, and it probably was not of great importance. But when they marched out and returned to their cells, I knew that I had had a greater blessing than any of them could possibly have received from me.
Those two weeks were soon over, and I went back to my church. I was still somewhat dazed as I resumed the usual duties of the pastorate. There wree the many meetings, the building campaign, the preparations for a citywide union revival. There was the Ladies' Aid Society, and the Christian Endeavor. The pastor of a church is a busy man indeed, and his value is immeasurable; but I had been introduced to something that would never let go of me, and I was thrilled when several months later I was called to duty for a year's training with the Civilian Conservation Corps, better remembered as the CCC.
We went to Montana, and made our home near one of the camps I served. There were from seven to ten of these camps in North Dakota and Montana. I drove a circuit that took me to each camp every two weeks. There was not much opportunity to get personally acquainted with many of the boys, but they were doing great work. They improved roads, planted trees, developed wildlife sanctuaries, and built and improved state and national parks.
One camp that I visited regularly was at the Theodore Roosevelt National Memorial Park sout of Watford City. From there I went back through Williston and took in Kenmare, Dunseth, Cramer and others. There was one at Medicine Lake in Montana; one at Sidney, where we lived; and one at Boyes, Montana. That one was a 450 mile drive just for the one camp.
It was at Boyes that I learned to play chess. My teacher was an old doctor who claimed to be an atheist. He hated preachers and had no use for me as such; but I asked him to teach me to play chess, and as a pupil, he accepted me. I worked hard at it and made him proud of me. I never could beat him at chess, but eventually he came to church, and he seemed to enjoy it. "God works in mysterious ways His wonders to perform."
If you had dropped into one of those services you might not have recognized what was going on. But the boys seemed to enjoy them, and most of them stayed "for church" after supper was over. I played a little 48 bass accordion to lead the singing, and the music was a major part of the service. I had mimeographed a little song booklet with some of the old-time popular songs and several hymns. We would sing "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling," "East Side, West Side," "I Want a Girl Just Like the Girl That Married Dear Old Dad," and then we might go into "What a Friend We Have in Jesus," or, "Onward, Christian Soldiers," and, perhaps "God Bless America." Then there would be a short prayer and my sermon, which usually took about six or seven minutes; and then we said goodnight. I always had the feeling that the Lord enjoyed the singing as much as the boys did, and that He was able to put up with the sermon because it wasn't too long.
There were some interesting events, and many interesting people. There was the time I started out my circuit when the thermometer stood at forty-six degrees below zero. There was the time I was snowed in for three days, and the time my little car finally gave up and quit and I had to buy a new one to get home. There was the boy--I can't remember his name--who liked to play my accordion, and played it better than I. His home was at Mott, North Dakota, and he told me he had taken some lessons from a fellow who had a little dance band and who played the accordion. "His name was Lawrence Welk," he said.
It was all part of a great program; perhaps the only one of the alphabetized services of that period I never heard criticized. The CCC boys did a lot of good for the country, and for the roads, the parks, the forests and the wildlife. But I am sure we will agree that the greatest good they did was that of preparing themselves for manhood, and to be good citizens in a time when the nation would have great need for the best in citizenship and the utmost in loyal service.
(For permission to quote from or reproduce any portions of this book, please contact us at info@madetomatter.org. We will then put you in touch with Chaplain McCanon's family. Publishers: The family of Chaplain McCanon has agreed to consider a re-release of this manuscript; if interested, please contact us at info@madetomatter.org.)
