Soldier Remembers Fallen Comrade in a Letter

May 30, 2005 — -- Last week, a letter written by Lt. Col. Mike Strobl began circulating over the Internet. It was written after Strobl volunteered to escort the body of Pfc. Chance Phelps to his hometown of Dubois, Wyo., to be buried.

Strobl had never met Phelps, who was killed in Iraq, and the experience he had traveling with the body across the country changed him forever. Portions of Strobl's letter are below.

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Chance Phelps was wearing his Saint Christopher medal when he was killed on Good Friday. Eight days later, I handed the medallion to his mother. I didn't know Chance before he died. Today, I miss him.

I was wondering about Chance Phelps. I didn't know anything about him; not even what he looked like. I wondered about his family and what it would be like to meet them. I did push-ups in my room until I couldn't do any more.

The Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant had Chance Phelps's personal effects. He removed each item -- a large watch, a wooden cross with a lanyard, two loose dog tags, two dog tags on a chain, and a Saint Christopher medal on a silver chain. Holding his personal effects, I was starting to get to know Chance Phelps.

During the long trip I imagined how my meeting with Chance's parents would go. I was very nervous about that.

I was bracing for the moment when I would meet his parents and hoping I would find the right words as I presented them with Chance's personal effects.

I didn't know how to express to these people my sympathy for their loss and my gratitude for their sacrifice. Now, however, they were repeatedly thanking me for bringing their son home and for my service. I was humbled beyond words.

I told them that I had some of Chance's things and asked if we could try to find a quiet place.

The first item I happened to pull out was Chance's large watch. It was still set to Baghdad time. Next were the lanyard and the wooden cross. Then the dog tags and the Saint Christopher medal.

The casket was placed onto a horse-drawn carriage for the mile-long trip from the gym, down the main street, then up the steep hill to the cemetery.

For the last quarter mile up the hill, local boy scouts, spaced about 20 feet apart, all in uniform, held large flags. At the foot of the hill, I could look up and back and see the enormity of our procession.

Once the entire crowd was in place, the pallbearers came to attention and began to remove the casket from the caisson. As I had done all week, I came to attention and executed a slow ceremonial salute as Chance was being transferred from one mode of transport to another.

From Dover to Philadelphia, Philadelphia to Minneapolis, Minneapolis to Billings, Billings to Riverton, and Riverton to Dubois we had been together. Now, as I watched them carry him the final 15 yards, I was choking up. I felt that, as long as he was still moving, he was somehow still alive.

Then they put him down above his grave. He had stopped moving.

It had been my honor to take Chance Phelps to his final post. Now he was on the high ground overlooking his town.

I miss him.

Regards,

Lt. Col. Strobl