Chief Master Sergeant Whitcomb's Heart: A Shocking Christmas
1969, Christmas Eve Eve Tan Son Nhut Air Base, Saigon, South Vietnam
A small group of Senior NCOs were visiting Chief Master Sergeant Whitcomb around four in the afternoon, helping him celebrate his impending departure. He had completed his second tour in the Southeast Asian Theatre and was headed home in the very wee hours of the next morning. He would be home for Christmas. They were drinking beer and cognac and having some laughs as they reminisced. The rest of us, all much younger troops, were listening to the entertaining stories and also drinking beer. Suddenly, Whitcomb grabbed his left shoulder and, as he did so, fell to the floor from the lower bunk on which he sat. One of his visitors exclaimed, “Jesus Christ! I think he’s havin’ a heart attack!” "I can't breathe. I can't breathe," Whitcomb rasped with some obvious effort. Then, he was gone.
Just before entering the service, I had worked for several months at Griffin Memorial Hospital, then a State operated mental institution, in Norman, Oklahoma. I worked on the Surgery ward and had experienced heart attacks and what to do. I ran down the aisle to see if I could help. One of the visitors was at trying to give him mouth-to-mouth, while another was also pounding on his chest. It wasn’t working. Suddenly, I remembered what Geraldine Champeau, an older registered nurse, had done once in an emergency on the ward. When I questioned her method, she turned and said, "Pray this works. If it doesn't, he's dead." Quickly, I unplugged the radio, grabbed the power cord and ripped it from the back of the radio. Adrenalin is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? I split it the wire down the middle seam. At this point, any effort was better than none. He was not responding. Quickly, I plugged in the wire again and started simultaneously hitting Whitcomb on each side of his torso with the electrical current. That's what Nurse Champeau had done....and it had worked. Five times. Ten times. He was gone. But, no. On the twelfth attempt, Whitcomb’s eyes fluttered and he gasped. He was back. Medics came rushing in just as he came back. They put him on oxygen and took him to the hospital. Once recovered a bit, he said he never saw anything….no white light… until he was coming back. “If you see the white light, you’re comin’ back.” That was his philosophy and he attributed the motivation to continue living to the seeing of the light, to knowing life is yours when you reach it, go into it.
No, Whitcomb did not make it home for Christmas….but he made it home….and retired. He had thanked me profusely later that night at the hospital. He had twin grandchildren he had never met, his first; and it was very important to him to meet those kids, to be a part of their lives. Many years later, sometime in late 1985, my Father received a call from Whitcomb, who thought he was contacting me, since my name is the same as my Father’s. During the conversation, he related what had happened and how much it had meant to him and his family. My Father gave him my number. We spoke for some time the next day. While talking, he suddenly said, “Your Father thinks an awful lot of you. He’s proud that you volunteered for Vietnam and very proud of your fast thinking. Me too. Thanks so much…..so much.” He started crying and said, “…so much.”
Whitcomb’s wife sent me a Christmas card in 1986 via my parent’s address. She related that he had suffered a massive heart attack in his sleep and had passed away the day after Thanksgiving. She thanked me for his extra 16 years before she started to cry and had to stop writing. I know, because there were tear stains on the stationery. Corny, but true.
Such is life. Whitcomb was a good man and a hell of an American. I am most proud and thankful God gave me the knowledge and opportunity to help. I really appreciated what he said about my father. That was important to me. Helping him helped me too...in the long run.
That's how our lives are entwined with so many others, mostly by accident, although some call it Fate. There is a "B" grade movie comedy available called "Mr. Destiny" and starring Jim Belushi, Linda Hamilton, Rene Russo, Jon Lovitz and Michael Caine. Quite a cast for a B-grade movie. It is entertaining and, in a very real sense, very educational if taken for its true meaning. There's a little romance, some humor, some intrigue and mystery, some self-evaluation and disappointment - even a suicide gone wrong, and escape scenes in a Porsche Spyder. There's even a shaggy dog in the story.....Sammy. GREAT MOVIE…..if you pay attention. When you see Michael Caine’s scene explaining life’s decision trail, you’ll know exactly what I mean and know that I’m right about this movie.
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