On November 17, the evening before, I sat in the parlor at Navarre’s funeral home and watched the procession of family friends, Masons, his fellow Lion’s Club members, and church folks form a line to condole their prayers, support, and warmth on Mr. Wilcox’s daughter and grandson, his lone survivors.
I was in no hurry, so I sat for about an hour and simply watched the line grow.
As his Pastor reminisced about his life and her personal experiences with him, I couldn’t help but smile. I do not claim to have known him well. Rev. Carol Turner talked about folks knowing him as “Zeb” and “Lindsey”, but I simply knew him as Mr. Wilcox. We talked many times both in person and on the phone and out of respect and deference, I always addressed him this way and he never corrected me, knowing my preference.
Three years ago, almost to the day, I sat down with Mr. Wilcox at his home to hear not only about the infamous sinking of the USS Indianapolis, but also to learn about the man and chronicle his life for such a day as today. We struck up a friendship which lasted and have had many conversations, some of which I videoed and or sound recorded for posterity. I’ve turned this material over to Heather Mills Parker, a senior at Texas A&M Galveston for her to publish in a term paper. She also interviewed Mr. Wilcox for additional information and literally fell in love with the man.
Mr. Wilcox’s shipmate, bugle master Glenn Morgan blew “Taps” and I know that was very difficult for him. Claude and I sat in silence through-out the funeral feeling a sense of deep loss. My own father had passed just days before and he too was a WWII Navy Veteran. I had delighted in introducing Mr. Wilcox to my Dad and vice versa at my own son’s military funeral last year.
It’s been a rough couple of years for us Vets and sending Mr. Wilcox off to sea along with my Dad made me see my own mortality that much more. One by one, our WWII Vets are leaving us and the saddest thing of all is the almost total lack of fanfare most of them receive, Mr. Wilcox included. In his case, two lone enlisted-grade sailors folded a flag for him and then marched away. He should have been sent off by officer-grade sailors at the very least, but that may not have followed military protocol, I realize, but just the same. Sometimes, the rules should be ignored and this was one of those times.
Both Claude and I were dismayed at the small amount of pomp and circumstance offered by his country and the US Navy. The man received precious little at the end for the service he endured and the great educational effort he performed in the community to keep the memory of the USS Indianapolis alive for Veterans and future generations.
We can do better than this and the man certainly deserved it. His funeral should have filled an auditorium instead of the 150 who attended and most of them should have been active and retired military and Veterans.
Hi Bert,
My name is Sara and I recently came across
your article about USS Indianapolis survivor Linsey WIlcox, or Zeb, as I
came to know him.
I have been working with the
survivors of the organization for many years to tell their story.
Recently, I've put together a documentary; which I'm proud to say has
been chosen as an official selection at the upcoming GI Film Festival in
Washington DC. Zeb was one of the 104 people we interviewed for this
project.
The reason I'm contacting you is
because I'm also putting together information on Zeb's life after the
war. I have some information about the time he met and spent with
Captain McVay, but I was hoping he spoke to you more about this in his
final days, and that you could share any information with me about it.
Any notes or details you might have in this respect would be greatly
appreciated. I'm doing my very best to keep the Indianapolis legacy
alive, and thank you, in advance, for any assistance you may be able to
help me with.
And just in case you're interested, here's a link to our trailer.
All the best,
Sara
