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Virgil Kovalenko. |
As
a native of Arizona, Virgil served in both the Korean and the
Vietnam Wars. During his Vietnam tour he was the political warfare
advisor and community relations advisor assigned to the Political
Warfare Division, Vietnamese Air Force Logistics Command. At
that time he was also the group leader of the Bien Hoa LDS Servicemen’s
Group. Currently he is a Spanish professor and resides in Utah.
He was a founding member of VASAA (Veterans’ Association for
Service Activities Abroad), the LDS veterans’ association from
1982–2000. VASAA officially terminated all humanitarian projects
and programs in a formal ceremony at Fort Douglass on June 6,
1998. Two years later, all legal activities ended and the organization
was disbanded, having accomplished its major objectives.
A
beautiful day for the most part, it is bright and hot. As I
make my usual routine, I checked out the air force bus from
the motor pool. We’ve taken to calling it the Mormon Battalion
Bus Line on Sundays. It is kind of funny, in a way, because
when I am driving, the other LDS men provide a buffer from the
catcalls and comments of soldiers we pick up during our rounds.
When those men complain and want to know why they can’t smoke
or swear on the bus, our fellows tell them it’s a chapel bus
for the day. “Oh,” say some, “is this the God Squad?”
Priesthood
had seventeen present. Warren Soong conducted. As we were starting,
Charles Merill, the district mission president and Wayne Heffords,
a Seventy and district counselor drove up. They both addressed
us and left some pamphlets with us along with more copies of
the Book of Mormon. Sunday school saw twenty-two present including
Phuong and Ky, our investigators. We had some kind of hassle
with the Vietnamese gate guards, again, to get Phuong onto the
base. This is not unusual, but it does bother us somewhat. I
guess they think she’s a prostitute and don’t understand her
desire to attend religious services with the Americans. Our
sacrament meeting speakers were John Walton and Paul Simkins.
John spoke of what the words of “Come, Come Ye Saints” mean
to him, and Paul spoke of the meaning of Christmas to him, and
he related the story of the Lord’s birth to his understanding.
The singing tonight was rousing and wonderful. It really must
have been something because there were quite a number of Vietnamese
airmen standing outside the windows and doorways listening and
watching. With Brothers Chuck Lindquist and Nicholas North in
the music department, we surely have some good singing going
on now.
We
had to adjourn quickly because of artillery activity. While
driving on the army side of this big base complex and making
the rounds of the smaller camps, we heard and saw some rockets
explode on the air force base. The sirens began screaming and
people were running everywhere. What a heck of a position to
be in, driving a big bus—a great big target, friends, and full
of the Saints. Peter Bell was standing behind me and calling
out the names of the camps. When a man would stand up, Peter
yelled, “Stand in the door,” and when I came skidding into the
area, Peter put his foot on the man’s rear and pushed as he
hollered, “Airborne!” I drove fast and with the lights off because
of the sirens and rockets. I quickly got everyone back to his
hooch or unit, in a driving rain, no less with lots of lightning.
I made a run for the guard shack or gate leading from the army
to the air force side of the base. The guard stopped me there,
one corporal with his M16 at port arms. I yelled at him to get
out of the way but he told me in no uncertain terms and with
much profanity to move my blankety-blank bus off from his road.
I protested again, and he leveled his gun at the bus and me.
Nothing to do but to drive off the pavement, down a gully, and
into plain sight in a field, which I was certain was mined.
So there we were, in the rain, with lightning, rockets exploding,
and artillery blasting, and flare guns going off near us. The
guys at the guard shack set up a mortar and were firing from
that position, which was interesting for us because of the concussion
effect, especially in the rain.
I
don’t think I was frightened for my safety or of Merwin Ruesh
who was on the bus with me. Peter is a seasoned Green Beret
so there was no worry about him. I was concerned, however, about
getting the bus back to the motor pool. What was amazing to
me was the calm which came over me. When Merwin asked me what
we were going to do, I told him, “Well, we can’t go anywhere
for now, so just start compiling the group reports for the district.”
About that time, I sensed something extraordinary happening.
It seemed that from behind the rear of the bus a giant, transparent
bubble came over the top of the bus and closed in directly in
front of us. We could hear and see everything that was going
on. I watched a VC [Viet Cong] rocket explode inside one of
the revetments where the F-5 aircraft are sheltered. Our side
of the base was taking a pounding. About twenty minutes later,
the all clear sounded and we took off in a hurry. I backed the
bus up onto the road, not daring to attempt turning around.
Just as I fired up the engine, the bubble I saw retreated back
over the bus and disappeared. I even looked in the rear and
side view mirrors to see if I could watch it. It just disappeared!
During that time we had waited, I had given Merwin the minutes
of our firebase trip, which I instructed him should be entered
in the group’s history. The time in the bubble was well spent,
if a little on edge.
A
few thoughts reflecting on that experience. After I dropped
off the two Green Berets at their camp, I drove the bus back
to the motor pool. I discovered that the one rocket we saw hit
and blow something up, actually hit one of the buildings in
the motor pool and damaged a bunch of equipment. Later, I heard
that other rockets landed in the perimeter somewhere. What was
startling to me was that if I had driven immediately to the
motor pool, that rocket would have hit the bus because of where
I had to park it. I haven’t heard of any casualties as yet from
all that. But, with all the scare and noise, I can’t recall
feeling fear of injury or death, only concern for the safety
of those on the bus and the property entrusted to me. I wonder
whether that would be the case if I were directly involved in
a bombardment. I know that those mortars that hit us Friday
night, came very close within seventy-five yards or so. That
is like the old saying, “A miss is as good as a mile.” Well,
at least my history will show I was here during a bunch of this
nonsense, which men have dreamed up against each other. This
can be the crucible in which a man discovers where his treasures
lie. And though I am here, I feel the Lord’s comfort. I am not
too worthy of much, but I am confident that He will look after
us since we are doing His work. That’s why I didn’t fear too
much tonight for our safety. Foolhardy, ye critics? I say no,
because His power does exist. How else can I explain our Bus
in the Bubble?”
*
* * * *
December
9—Steve and I were driving in my jeep to the army side when
another jeep passed us going the other way . . . toward the
air force base. One the front of the jeep was written the name
“Mahonri Moriancumr.” I yelled at Steve that we ought to follow
that one since it was obviously Mormon. After dropping him off
and heading back to my side, I passed that jeep again, only
this time it was caught in the lineup waiting to be checked
through the gate. I quickly pulled off the road and ran over
to the driver (who was smoking a cancer stick) and asked who
the jeep was assigned to. I guess they are used to weird people
asking about that name, so he smiled and gave me the name of
Major Schultz or something like that at Long Binh and his phone
number. I shall have to call him, I thought to myself. And today
I did just that . . . he laughed and said he surely does get
some questions but always draws out the Mormons who recognize
the name as that of the Brother of Jared. Crazy business, this
Mormonism. I remember that Tad Derreck’s F-100 aircraft had
“The Mormon Meteor” painted on its nose.
*
* * * *
John
Parr was an American Air Force captain, aeronautical engineer.
His wife had joined the Church in Ohio and had sent a missionary
referral card for her husband. That card was sent up to our
group. It sat in my desk drawer for several weeks and every
time I’d open the desk as I was working, that card would yell
at me, “You have to do something, you have to contact him.”
Well, I finally did and his story is one of the fun experiences
in Vietnam. After having Thanksgiving dinner in 1971 together,
we had a discussion about the Church. The first two hours were
spent in his response to my asking him, “How come your wife
came to join the Mormon Church?” The second two hours were spent
with him answering my question, “Well, what’s your hangup with
the Mormons?”
He
started telling me it was all centered on his worry about a
living prophet and on how Joseph Smith could have been called
as a prophet. I responded, “Well, what does it say in Amos 3:7
about prophets?” without being able to remember the scripture.
I was shocked that he knew it immediately, and then I found
out that his father was a Methodist chaplain, a full colonel
in the Army. This kid had grown up with the scriptures and so
those two hours were spent going through the scriptures to show
that the Lord can call and does call prophets in every age and
then. Yesterday, today, and forever, why can’t we have a prophet
today? At the end of that particular phrase he stopped and looked
at me and said, “That’s the most eloquent thing I’ve ever heard.”
It
was about midnight and time to go home. I had to go across the
base which was very dangerous. Once the sun went down in Vietnam
it was black, and Americans were counseled to say in their bunkers,
to not be out roaming around because that is usually when the
Viet Cong would start throwing rockets at us. We had to go clear
across the base, and he said he’d walk with me. I didn’t want
him to because I didn’t want to put him at risk, but he still
had questions so we walked across the base over to my place.
As we went inside the Spirit told me, “You need to close this
day with prayer.” So I said, “John would you mind if we end
the day with prayer?”
He
said, “No I think that’s appropriate.”
We
knelt down on the cold concrete floor in my room and I asked
him if he would mind saying the prayer, which he did. At the
end of that prayer, I put my arm around his shoulders and said,
“John, that’s the most eloquent thing I’ve ever heard.” So we
shook hands and embraced. And just as he was going out I said,
“Well John, you’ve heard the truth tonight. Your spirit has
heard the testimony of the Holy Ghost.”
He
looked me right in the eye and said, “Yes. I know.”
I
said, “Well that means then that you’re responsible for what
you’ve heard and you have to make a decision, don’t you?”
He
said, “Yep. I’ll let you know.”
He
had to go off on TDY [temporary duty] and go up country to do
some evaluations of aircraft that had been shot. About a week
later, he called me from somewhere in the country. Because the
phone lines in Vietnam were cross-circuited, so you could hear
six or seven conversations going on from everywhere, he simply
said, “Virgil, this is John. Let’s do it.”
I
said, “Okay, Saturday morning at the swimming pool.” He came
back to the base and I put the word out to the group. Several
of us went to the swimming pool at six o’clock in the morning,
and we baptized him.
Our
district president felt that anybody who was baptized could
be given the priesthood, but he had to come up through the different
offices so he could learn what the different offices were. I
complained and asked, “Why can’t we just ordain him a priest
for heaven’s sakes.”
|
Virgil Kovalenko and later John Parr, from the Bien Hoa group, would
check out a chapel bus each Sunday morning, afternoon,
and evening in order to drive and pick up anyone in the
outlying camps who wanted to attend Church services. The
word spread quickly that if you wanted to go to church
you should be on the road when a large, blue air force
bus came by. Pictured is the “Mormon Battalion” bus line
(June 1971) with the Nguyen Ngoc Thach family on the right.
Virgil Kovalenko is in the bus doorway. Nguyen Ngoc Thach
and three of his children, Huong, Nga and Vu are pictured.
On Vu’s eighth birthday, his father had just been ordained
a priest and given permission to baptize his son, which
was done at the base swimming pool. |
“No,
he has to learn.” So after the baptism we went over to the little
chapel and we confirmed him. We gave him the Aaronic Priesthood
and ordained him a deacon. The next day was Sunday so he passed
the sacrament. The next week, we ordained him a teacher so that
he could prepare the sacrament. The week after that we ordained
him a priest so he could bless the sacrament.
We
asked John if he had told his family that he had joined the
Church. He said no, that he said he was going to tell them when
he went home for R&R [rest and recuperation] to see his
family for a week. On the Sunday that John arrived, his wife
heard noises in the kitchen and went out to see her husband
dressed in a suit and tie, banging pots and pans and fixing
himself some breakfast. She was used to him sleeping in on Sunday
and then watching football all day while she took the children
to LDS services. She asked him where he was going. He replied,
“Where else should I go on a Sunday morning? I’m going to priesthood.”
Her
mouth hit the floor and she said, “What?”
He
said, “Well, yeah, didn’t you know? I was baptized in Vietnam.”
Their
little five-year-old boy who was in the kitchen blurted out,
“Oh goody, daddy, does that mean we can be a forever family
now?” To me that is one of those joyous missionary things that
came out of Vietnam. This is the brotherhood of the priesthood.
Taken
from Virgil Nicholas Kovalenko, (1934), Vietnam Journal and
Group Leader’s Desk Calendar, 1971 May–1972 February, MS 17326,
Historical Department Archives, The Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints; and also some excerpts taken from an interview
with Dennis Wright.
