FORT POLK, La. — On Nov. 11, 1968, I was an eighth grade student at Woodlawn Junior High School in West Monroe, Louisiana. As a 13 year old, I knew about the Vietnam War, although it had not touched me personally.
Yes, I watched Walter Cronkite on the nightly news where it listed the number of Soldiers — both U.S. and North Vietnamese — who were killed daily. It seemed as if every night a handful of “the good guys” were listed killed or missing in action, while sometimes thousands of the enemy received the same listing. To my naïve mind, I figured it was just a matter of time before the war was over because there would be no bad guys left.
Plus, it didn’t affect me. I didn’t know anyone who had been killed. Sure, there were a couple of young men from my area who were serving “overseas” and we prayed for their safety every Sunday at church, but I was insulated; I knew no one who had paid the ultimate price.
That changed Nov. 11, 1968. I can recall the events of that day as if they happened this morning. We were in math class; it was shortly after 10 a.m. My teacher, Coach Clement, looked toward the door, got up and left the room. When he opened the door I saw the pastor of the church I attended standing in the hallway.
A couple of minutes later, Coach Clement reentered the room and said,
“Terry, the preacher wants to see you.”
Terry Bratton was a friend from church. We played on the same track, football, basketball and softball teams since my family moved to the country five years earlier. To say we were friends is an understatement.
When Terry did not return to the classroom, we all sat in silence, wondering what could have happened. Coach Clement sat silently for moment, then said, “Terry’s brother, Leslie, has been killed.”
John Leslie Bratton was one of those people that the word “nice” couldn’t adequately describe. Ten years older than Terry, me and the rest our running buddies, he was a person we looked up to. He became a preacher shortly after he turned 18 and lived the kind of life you would expect of a pastor.
He could have received an exemption when his draft number came up because of his preacher status, but said that wouldn’t be fair to those who had to serve. He enlisted, attended infantry school and headed to Vietnam on June 15, 1968, a member of Delta Company, 1st Battalion, 35th Infantry Regiment, 4th Infantry Division.
On the morning of Nov. 11, 1968, Pfc. John Leslie Bratton, nicknamed “Preacher” by his fellow Soldiers, was walking point for his unit in Pleiku Province, South Vietnam, when it came under hostile fire. Bratton, along with Sgt. James Humphrey and Spc. Gary Rust, were killed in the ensuing firefight. Bratton was 23.
Bratton was not the only casualty suffered by our small community. Shortly after his death, Bratton’s best friend, Charles Beard, committed suicide, unable to handle the loss of a person he considered closer than a brother.
It took Terry a long time to accept that Leslie was gone.
For me, the war became real. It now had a face. If Leslie could be killed, anyone over there could be killed — and I knew others who were there, some of whom were family members.
| Date Taken: | 11.02.2018 |
| Date Posted: | 11.02.2018 10:19 |
| Story ID: | 298616 |
| Location: | FORT POLK, LOUISIANA, US |
| Web Views: | 76 |
| Downloads: | 0 |
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