The Slugging Parson
by Morton E. Milliken

(The following documentary appeared in The Stars and Stripes in 1951)


HIS CHAPEL AN ARMY squad tent pitched on a mountainside,
Chaplain Burkhalter fares his evening congregation with hymn book in hand.
(Photo by Milliken)

ONE VOICE was singing clear and strong above the others in the Army squad tent that Sunday evening in Korea. It was the voice of a man who looks (and lives) like a combat chaplain.

In appearance Chaplain John G. Burkhalter of the 51st Signal Battalion is more than a match for the toughest combat soldier. He stands before his congregation in a faded fatigue uniform, feet braced, chest thrown out, jaw thrust forward. His strong-looking hands hold firmly to the hymn book.

Everything about his field "chapel" is plain. The dark walls of the tent hang close to the heads of the soldier congregation standing between rows of wooden benches. A small barrelshaped stove takes the chill off the early spring night. On the make-shift altar a bronze cross with a Bible open before it gleams in the flickering light of two candles.

His congregation has gathered like the early Pilgrims in New England, with their firearms. Carbines and .45 automatics in shoulder holsters peek here and there through the mass of figures, for Communist guerrilla bands are known to be on the mountain slope above the blacked-out camp.

There is nothing vain about Chaplain Burkhalter. "I'm 42 and they say 'Life begins at 40,"' he says, making a point during his sermon. Then he adds with a smile, "That's an old man trying to kid himself."

He treats flattery in the same offhand manner. A colonel once expressed amazement at the popularity of his sermons. "You must be good, chaplain," he said, "if you're getting these guys to go to church."

"You know, colonel," Burkhalter replied calmly, "When the Lord calls upon a man to preach, He also calls on somebody to listen to Him."

His sermons, like his chapel, are plain. "This world is just a little dressing room for the big auditorium of God," he tells the men. But there is something about him which makes his words forceful.

He stands there, a powerful figure, his eyes meeting every man's glance like a boxer looking for an opening. When he talks he speaks like a coach addressing a group of athletes in training. He doesn't harangue or plead or scold. His words carry his own conviction and confidence in what he is saying. This is the way to train for the Kingdom of God, he implies in his manner, hands on hips, head thrust forward slightly. These are the things to do. This is how to do them.

His manner is no pose. Eighteen years ago Chaplain Burkhalter gave up a career as a professional boxer. He was a welterweight, fighting under the name of "Jackie Mills" from 1925 to 1932. Then one day he left the ring and never returned. By 1935 he was an ordained minister in the Baptist church. He had found his new calling, returning to boxing only as a coach in his spare time during his Army chaplain's career.

His own baptism of fire came on "D" day in Normandy. Later he was wounded in the Battle of the Bulge and won the Silver Star for bravery under fire near Aachen, Germany.

He would revise the World War II saying, "There are no atheists in foxholes." He says, "While I have witnessed many sincere conversions to Christianity under fire' and while there is a greater attendance at church services near the front, still being under fire doesn't automatically make a man more religious. Often it only loosens or strengthens his convictions, Combat experiences can both make the disbeliever worse and the Christian better."

Today he would rather be an Army chaplain than a minister in civilian life. He holds as many as five services a week, riding by jeep through choking clouds of dust or climbing steep mountains to reach isolated units of the battalion. "There is a greater need of men in the service to be reached by the Gospel," he says. "I am grateful for having been saved and I am grateful that I understand the average soldier and speak his language. My work lies with him."