CULP, William C., 2nd Lt., USMCR. Sister, Mrs. John W. Goodrum, Route 1, Box 30, West Palm Beach, Fla (na) + CULP, William Clinton, 27149, CoE, 2ndBn, 2ndMar, 2ndMarDiv, FMF, Gilbert Is (Tarawa), November 20, 1943, killed in action (mc) * from USMC Casualty List WW2
~~~~~~~~
Decatur this morning buried the first of its war dead to be returned from overseas. Second Lt. William C. Culp, son of the late Mr. and Mrs. D. C. Culp, who was a member of the second marine division and was killed Nov. 20, 1943, on the island of Tarawa in the Pacific.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peace , Perfect Peace - A Few Friends Join Bill Culp in the Cemetery
It was one of those dull November days. It wasn't even raining very hard when it came time for the ceremony in Greenwood cemetery this morning. Oh, there had been a cold drizzle earlier in the morning, and the cold dampness was still in the air. But the raining had largely stopped when the funeral line of cars crept down Greenwood avenue and wound into the cemetery. It was warm inside the cars but it was cold outside.
People gathered their coats closer about them as they stepped out and walked through the soggy brown oak leaves to the grave that had been prepared. It wasn't a very large group that gathered. Just a handful of the living had come. But a few members of the family were there, and some friends. The mayor was there, and two city commissioners, and the chief of police. Some representatives of Decatur veterans organizations were there, and half a dozen U. S. marines.
And Bill Culp was there.
Bill Culp, ex-Marine, had come a long way - from a military cemetery, on the island of Tarawa, way out in the Pacific. And he had come after a long time. After four years, Bill Culp had come back to Decatur. And now it was time for the final burial, beside his mother and father, in Greenwood cemetery.
The casket, draped with an American flag, was over the grave. There were some prayers, some readngs from the Bible. And then Bill's chaplain, who had been with him out in the Pacific, stepped up to the casket. "Peace, Perfect Peace," he read. "In spite of the fact that the weather is bad, and it's cold..." he began. And he told about Bill Culp, his friend.
Bill Culp had been his assistant on the island of Guadalcanal, the chaplain said. Bill had lived in the same tent with him. They had talked together of Bill's plans to return after the war and study for the ministry at Wheaton college, where the chaplain is now assistant to the president.
And Bill had nursed him when the chaplain fell ill with malaria and got up in the night and brought him cool water when the chaplain was delerious with the fever. "And, as he was more or less responsible for my life, I was more or less responsible for his death," the chaplain said.
He had recommended Bill for his commission. He, when Bill Culp had wanted to stay with him, had suggested that the outfit had honored Bill with a commission and Bill should stick with his outfit. Bill had gone on to the landing on Tarawa and, like five out of six of his men, he had fallen, there on the Pacific island of Tarawa. The chaplain, it was, who had found his body and helped bury it, for the first time, as he was now helping to bury it for the last time.
It was quiet in Greenwood cemetery, as the chaplain's words died away. Only the wind rushed through the almost bare branches of the oak trees overhead, and odd drops fell on the tent that covered the grave.
A handerkerchief was raised to an eye, to wipe away a tear. Then, back of the grave, five polished rifles barked, raggedly, to shatter the stillness. They barked again. And then again.
Then a lone bugler, standing farther off under a tree that was still green with its leaves, slowly blew the melancholy notes of Taps. The people dispersed and went back to the warm cars and drove away.
And Bill Culp had come home - "peace, perfect peace."
Decatur Review, Decatur, IL, 11-10-1947
~~~~~~~~
Decatur this morning buried the first of its war dead to be returned from overseas. Second Lt. William C. Culp, son of the late Mr. and Mrs. D. C. Culp, who was a member of the second marine division and was killed Nov. 20, 1943, on the island of Tarawa in the Pacific.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peace , Perfect Peace - A Few Friends Join Bill Culp in the Cemetery
It was one of those dull November days. It wasn't even raining very hard when it came time for the ceremony in Greenwood cemetery this morning. Oh, there had been a cold drizzle earlier in the morning, and the cold dampness was still in the air. But the raining had largely stopped when the funeral line of cars crept down Greenwood avenue and wound into the cemetery. It was warm inside the cars but it was cold outside.
People gathered their coats closer about them as they stepped out and walked through the soggy brown oak leaves to the grave that had been prepared. It wasn't a very large group that gathered. Just a handful of the living had come. But a few members of the family were there, and some friends. The mayor was there, and two city commissioners, and the chief of police. Some representatives of Decatur veterans organizations were there, and half a dozen U. S. marines.
And Bill Culp was there.
Bill Culp, ex-Marine, had come a long way - from a military cemetery, on the island of Tarawa, way out in the Pacific. And he had come after a long time. After four years, Bill Culp had come back to Decatur. And now it was time for the final burial, beside his mother and father, in Greenwood cemetery.
The casket, draped with an American flag, was over the grave. There were some prayers, some readngs from the Bible. And then Bill's chaplain, who had been with him out in the Pacific, stepped up to the casket. "Peace, Perfect Peace," he read. "In spite of the fact that the weather is bad, and it's cold..." he began. And he told about Bill Culp, his friend.
Bill Culp had been his assistant on the island of Guadalcanal, the chaplain said. Bill had lived in the same tent with him. They had talked together of Bill's plans to return after the war and study for the ministry at Wheaton college, where the chaplain is now assistant to the president.
And Bill had nursed him when the chaplain fell ill with malaria and got up in the night and brought him cool water when the chaplain was delerious with the fever. "And, as he was more or less responsible for my life, I was more or less responsible for his death," the chaplain said.
He had recommended Bill for his commission. He, when Bill Culp had wanted to stay with him, had suggested that the outfit had honored Bill with a commission and Bill should stick with his outfit. Bill had gone on to the landing on Tarawa and, like five out of six of his men, he had fallen, there on the Pacific island of Tarawa. The chaplain, it was, who had found his body and helped bury it, for the first time, as he was now helping to bury it for the last time.
It was quiet in Greenwood cemetery, as the chaplain's words died away. Only the wind rushed through the almost bare branches of the oak trees overhead, and odd drops fell on the tent that covered the grave.
A handerkerchief was raised to an eye, to wipe away a tear. Then, back of the grave, five polished rifles barked, raggedly, to shatter the stillness. They barked again. And then again.
Then a lone bugler, standing farther off under a tree that was still green with its leaves, slowly blew the melancholy notes of Taps. The people dispersed and went back to the warm cars and drove away.
And Bill Culp had come home - "peace, perfect peace."
Decatur Review, Decatur, IL, 11-10-1947
CULP, William C., 2nd Lt., USMCR. Sister, Mrs. John W. Goodrum, Route 1, Box 30, West Palm Beach, Fla (na) + CULP, William Clinton, 27149, CoE, 2ndBn, 2ndMar, 2ndMarDiv, FMF, Gilbert Is (Tarawa), November 20, 1943, killed in action (mc) * from USMC Casualty List WW2
~~~~~~~~
Decatur this morning buried the first of its war dead to be returned from overseas. Second Lt. William C. Culp, son of the late Mr. and Mrs. D. C. Culp, who was a member of the second marine division and was killed Nov. 20, 1943, on the island of Tarawa in the Pacific.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peace , Perfect Peace - A Few Friends Join Bill Culp in the Cemetery
It was one of those dull November days. It wasn't even raining very hard when it came time for the ceremony in Greenwood cemetery this morning. Oh, there had been a cold drizzle earlier in the morning, and the cold dampness was still in the air. But the raining had largely stopped when the funeral line of cars crept down Greenwood avenue and wound into the cemetery. It was warm inside the cars but it was cold outside.
People gathered their coats closer about them as they stepped out and walked through the soggy brown oak leaves to the grave that had been prepared. It wasn't a very large group that gathered. Just a handful of the living had come. But a few members of the family were there, and some friends. The mayor was there, and two city commissioners, and the chief of police. Some representatives of Decatur veterans organizations were there, and half a dozen U. S. marines.
And Bill Culp was there.
Bill Culp, ex-Marine, had come a long way - from a military cemetery, on the island of Tarawa, way out in the Pacific. And he had come after a long time. After four years, Bill Culp had come back to Decatur. And now it was time for the final burial, beside his mother and father, in Greenwood cemetery.
The casket, draped with an American flag, was over the grave. There were some prayers, some readngs from the Bible. And then Bill's chaplain, who had been with him out in the Pacific, stepped up to the casket. "Peace, Perfect Peace," he read. "In spite of the fact that the weather is bad, and it's cold..." he began. And he told about Bill Culp, his friend.
Bill Culp had been his assistant on the island of Guadalcanal, the chaplain said. Bill had lived in the same tent with him. They had talked together of Bill's plans to return after the war and study for the ministry at Wheaton college, where the chaplain is now assistant to the president.
And Bill had nursed him when the chaplain fell ill with malaria and got up in the night and brought him cool water when the chaplain was delerious with the fever. "And, as he was more or less responsible for my life, I was more or less responsible for his death," the chaplain said.
He had recommended Bill for his commission. He, when Bill Culp had wanted to stay with him, had suggested that the outfit had honored Bill with a commission and Bill should stick with his outfit. Bill had gone on to the landing on Tarawa and, like five out of six of his men, he had fallen, there on the Pacific island of Tarawa. The chaplain, it was, who had found his body and helped bury it, for the first time, as he was now helping to bury it for the last time.
It was quiet in Greenwood cemetery, as the chaplain's words died away. Only the wind rushed through the almost bare branches of the oak trees overhead, and odd drops fell on the tent that covered the grave.
A handerkerchief was raised to an eye, to wipe away a tear. Then, back of the grave, five polished rifles barked, raggedly, to shatter the stillness. They barked again. And then again.
Then a lone bugler, standing farther off under a tree that was still green with its leaves, slowly blew the melancholy notes of Taps. The people dispersed and went back to the warm cars and drove away.
And Bill Culp had come home - "peace, perfect peace."
Decatur Review, Decatur, IL, 11-10-1947
~~~~~~~~
Decatur this morning buried the first of its war dead to be returned from overseas. Second Lt. William C. Culp, son of the late Mr. and Mrs. D. C. Culp, who was a member of the second marine division and was killed Nov. 20, 1943, on the island of Tarawa in the Pacific.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peace , Perfect Peace - A Few Friends Join Bill Culp in the Cemetery
It was one of those dull November days. It wasn't even raining very hard when it came time for the ceremony in Greenwood cemetery this morning. Oh, there had been a cold drizzle earlier in the morning, and the cold dampness was still in the air. But the raining had largely stopped when the funeral line of cars crept down Greenwood avenue and wound into the cemetery. It was warm inside the cars but it was cold outside.
People gathered their coats closer about them as they stepped out and walked through the soggy brown oak leaves to the grave that had been prepared. It wasn't a very large group that gathered. Just a handful of the living had come. But a few members of the family were there, and some friends. The mayor was there, and two city commissioners, and the chief of police. Some representatives of Decatur veterans organizations were there, and half a dozen U. S. marines.
And Bill Culp was there.
Bill Culp, ex-Marine, had come a long way - from a military cemetery, on the island of Tarawa, way out in the Pacific. And he had come after a long time. After four years, Bill Culp had come back to Decatur. And now it was time for the final burial, beside his mother and father, in Greenwood cemetery.
The casket, draped with an American flag, was over the grave. There were some prayers, some readngs from the Bible. And then Bill's chaplain, who had been with him out in the Pacific, stepped up to the casket. "Peace, Perfect Peace," he read. "In spite of the fact that the weather is bad, and it's cold..." he began. And he told about Bill Culp, his friend.
Bill Culp had been his assistant on the island of Guadalcanal, the chaplain said. Bill had lived in the same tent with him. They had talked together of Bill's plans to return after the war and study for the ministry at Wheaton college, where the chaplain is now assistant to the president.
And Bill had nursed him when the chaplain fell ill with malaria and got up in the night and brought him cool water when the chaplain was delerious with the fever. "And, as he was more or less responsible for my life, I was more or less responsible for his death," the chaplain said.
He had recommended Bill for his commission. He, when Bill Culp had wanted to stay with him, had suggested that the outfit had honored Bill with a commission and Bill should stick with his outfit. Bill had gone on to the landing on Tarawa and, like five out of six of his men, he had fallen, there on the Pacific island of Tarawa. The chaplain, it was, who had found his body and helped bury it, for the first time, as he was now helping to bury it for the last time.
It was quiet in Greenwood cemetery, as the chaplain's words died away. Only the wind rushed through the almost bare branches of the oak trees overhead, and odd drops fell on the tent that covered the grave.
A handerkerchief was raised to an eye, to wipe away a tear. Then, back of the grave, five polished rifles barked, raggedly, to shatter the stillness. They barked again. And then again.
Then a lone bugler, standing farther off under a tree that was still green with its leaves, slowly blew the melancholy notes of Taps. The people dispersed and went back to the warm cars and drove away.
And Bill Culp had come home - "peace, perfect peace."
Decatur Review, Decatur, IL, 11-10-1947
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