Ted Studebaker: A DISSENTER FROM DESPAIR
                      Messenger Magazine June 15, 1971
                              Howard E. Royer

"Cool it and don't fret; this boy knows what he's doing."

   These were among the parting salvos of Ted Studebaker as he left his Ohio
homeland in the spring of 1969 for Brethren Volunteer Service and Vietnam.
In effect, the sentiment was voiced by Ted again this spring from Vietnam,
in a letter he wrote late on April 25 to critics back home. It was the last
letter Ted was ever to write.

RAIDED:
   That night shortly after mid-night, the residence of the Vietnam
Christian Service unit at Di Linh, South Vietnam, was shelled with B-40
rockets, blasted with a plastic charge, and raided by Vietcong soldiers.
Three women who had made it to the bunker of the stairs of the old hunting
lodge were not harmed; Ted, still in his bedroom, later was found shot to
death. For him two years of created interchange in the lives of the central
highland people in and around Di Linh, and a commitment to a third year of
service, had come to a tragic end.

   Among the three women who survived the terror was Ted's wife of one week,
Ven Pak, a volunteer from Asian Christian Service who Ted had learned to
know in language training in Saigon. Their wedding, which had occurred a
block down the road from the Vietnam Christian Service house at the Koho
Tin Lanh Church eight days before, was a festive occasion not only for the
church but for many in the wider community.

ENRICHED: 
   It was in that community, 140 miles northeast of Saigon, that I
had spent a couple of days with Ted some four months before, observing what
he was trying to do in a foreign land. One of my clearest impressions was
that Ted scarcely seemed a foreigner there; because of his own simple
tastes, because of his proficiency in both the Vietnamese and Koho
languages, and, perhaps above all, because he felt genuinely enriched by
the culture of those around him, and sought to learn from that culture, Ted
was very much at home.

   This at-homeness became increasingly apparent as I saw how he related to
neighbors, local officials, youth, teachers, pastors, priests, and peasants
in our trek from village to village and door to door. It was discernible
through his enthusiasm for his work: the demonstration paddies where he had
greatly increased the yield of native rice, the taste of which the
villagers strongly preferred over new improved varieties; the improvised
brooder house where he was readying 200 Pilch baby chicks for distribution
to villagers; the cooperative store he was helping local people establish;
and his trust in and encouragement of the Montagnard members of his VCS
team.

OBSTACLE: 
   In love as he was with the people and the land, Ted was far from
accepting what he was happening to their lives. "The biggest obstacle to
development work in Vietnam is simply the war itself," he told me as a
thousand yards from us American piloted helicopter gun ships loaded ARVN
troops likely destined for a search mission back in the hills. It was from
back in the hills that thousands of Montagnard tribesmen have been driven,
forced to trade their once lush farmlands for "temporary" villages and less
productive paddies along the main road. Here, among these refugees, Ted's
efforts in agricultural development were directed.

   While historically the Montagnards have been the outcasts of Vietnam, 
the anguish Ted felt was that now they had become pawns in the program of
pacification and Vietnamization. Their home areas in the highlands had
become the free firing range for both Vietcong raiders and American and
South Vietnamese bombers. What is at stake ultimately, Ted felt, is their
survival as a minority.

   In striving to learn of the traditions and values of the Montagnards, 
Ted came to respect them greatly. He knew at a glance the personal and 
cultural characteristics that distinguished the Montagnards from their 
Vietnamese neighbors. He valued the primitive tribesmen not only for what 
they might become, but for what they were. It was no surprise to learn that
the best man at his wedding was a Montagnard--K'ra, a teammate in VCS and 
close personal friend, and that the service itself was in the Montagnards' 
Koho language.

MISTAKES:  
   In two days of travel together Ted and I went from Saigon to Nha
Trang to Bao Louc to Di Linh to Dalat. Seemingly the most insecure area was
the section in and around Di Linh. Ted was relaxed, though, as long as one
did not need to be on the roads at night or did not get detained while
traveling close to American military convoys. He told of shellings now and
then into Di Linh and other villages, and of mine explosions, making
children and other innocent persons the victims of war. "Sometimes," he
commented, "it seems like this whole war is run on a bunch of mistakes."

   On occasion as we traveled, Ted talked of his upcoming plans for 
marriage. He and Ven Pak had announced their engagement in Vietnam, but had
yet to break the news to Ven Pak's parents, which meant a journey to her 
home in Hong Kong, and to Ted's family in the States. Actually Ted earlier 
had written his parents about it, but in Koho, the dialect no one at home 
could read.

   When I last saw Ted in Dalat, he told me that he hoped that in this
highlands town, which is a beautiful blend in Vietnamese and French
influences, he and Ven Pak would honeymoon in the spring. His hope was
fulfilled; that is how he spent part of the final week of his life.

   Because Ven Pak was on a project quite some distance from Di Linh, I did
not meet her. I did feel I had come to know her, however, through the
snapshots Ted shared and through his own resplendence when he spoke of her.

COMMON QUALITIES:
   Upon meeting Ven Pak at the Studebaker home near Union, Ohio, early last
month, the day before Ted's memorial service, what surprised me most was
how many of Ted's qualities seemed to be her own. The gentleness, the
humility, the sincerity, the warmth, the determination were readily
conveyed. Even more so, her life statement shared with the directors and
staff of Vietnam Christian Service seemed to echo what Ted himself might
have written:

   "I'm sure all of our share my grief over his death, but I hope you will
grieve even more for those who do not understand what he did."

   The real story of Ted is not only of his life and death and Vietnam; it
is also of his years of growing up in Ohio's "Studebaker Country"; of his
feel for the soil and things of the farm' of his devotion to high school
and college football and other sports; of swimming in the farm pond; of
parents who expect their children to do their own thing, to leave the
family nest, and to make their own mark in the world' of older brothers,
one of whom was in military service in Germany, another in Brethren
Volunteer Service in Morocco, and a third, in International Voluntary
Services in Laos; of three sisters and a younger brother all of who make
their contribution to the family's sense of solidarity; of studies and
friendships at Manchester College, where he earned his way through school
and did four years' work in three; and of master's study in social work at
Florida State University.

HUNTING GOOD:
   Ted's story is closely aligned too with the West Milton Church of the
Brethren, where in a sermon in August 1967 he revealed his feelings about
the war. Holding up a newspaper clipping of a starving, homeless child, he
read an accompanying article which said, "Hunting was good today in the
Mekong Delta region. U.S. Marines bagged 45 of the enemy, wounded scores,
and completely wiped out one small village."

   "Hunting was good today!" Ted responded. "Just like the sportsman who
comes back from a day of rabbit and pheasant shooting. So many rabbits, so
many pheasants, he lays them all out to see. The dehumanizing process of
war concerns me deeply. What can I do about man's inhumanity to man?"

   While in Vietnam Ted continued to be in contact with his home church.
"Second only to my family," he wrote a year ago, "you as representatives of
the West Milton Church of the Brethren are responsible for my thought and
actions concerning conscientious objection to the military, my pacifistic
views, and my volunteer service. Without the church, as skeptical as I am
about it now, I might find myself in a uniform as part of a giant military
machine whose reason for existence seems based on economics and a big myth.
The meaninglessness, the wastefulness, and the non-necessity of this war is
outweighed only by its inhumane effects, both here and in the states."

   "...I do not pretend to understand all the whys and wherefores of this
crisis, but one thing stands out clearly in my mind. This war is immoral
and wrong, and the burden of blame is upon the U.S. military, the U.S.
government, and the U.S. people. I believe there is a lot of truth in the
statement that the killing will stop only when American public opinion
demands it."

RESPONSE:
   This was the letter, picked up in the Southern Ohio Herald and then this
past March in the Troy, Ohio, Daily News, that prompted a Troy couple to
write Ted of their disappointment in his stand, questioning his
understanding of the Bible, wondering even if the organization he was
serving was "Christian." The couple appealed to Ted to study the word of
God, to spurn the company of those misfits who call the war "immoral," and
"for God's sake, to get your views straight."

   Only hours before his death, Ted replied, thanking the family for
writing, indicating the difficulty of debate by letter, and clarifying one
point. "I do not 'feel the enemy is right' any more than I feel the U.S.
military is 'right' here," he wrote. "I believe strongly in trying to
follow the example of Jesus Christ as best I know how. Above all, Christ
taught me to love all people, including enemies, and to return good for
evil, and that all men are brothers in Christ. I condemn all war and
conscientiously refuse to take part in it in any active or violent way. I
believe love is a stronger and more enduring power than hatred for my
fellowmen, regardless of who they are or what they believe."

SINCERE:
   "You probably think I'm pretty idealistic and, by your letter, indicate
that I'm a pretty mixed up kid. But, I cannot apologize for any part of the
letter I wrote to my church, since it well represents honestly and
sincerely my feelings and concerns about this particular situation. I have
tried to speak from both experience and reason, not from mere emotion or
hearsay."

   The letter was closed by Ted thanking the family for writing and for
expressing concern for his welfare. "Please know that I am in excellent
health and adequate safety. I know I am a fortunate man and life is great
to me."

AFFIRMING LIFE:
   Excerpts from the letter, the statement of Ven Pak Studebaker, and tapes
of guitar playing and singing which Ted had recorded only weeks before in
Vietnam were used by Pastor Phillip Bradley in the memorial service May 3.
On the altar of the church were two bibles--Ted's heavily marked edition in
English and Ven Pak's in Chinese, a Brethren Service cup, a shovel, Ted's
guitar, and a banner lifting up in essence the affirmation with which he
had concluded the final letter and many letters before it: "Life is great,
yea."

   It was on this note that Ted Studebaker, 25, a dissenter to despair, a
champion of love, a man of peace, came home. He had lived his life
purposefully. To the nation, the community, the church, the loved ones his
return was not unlike his leaving; it simply put meaning to the words:

   "Cool it and don't fret. This boy knows what he's doing."