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Testimonial for Father Dennis Rocheford and

Thanks to our Catholic Priests

By Clint Weber

On December 25th 2006 I had the honor and privilege of attending Holy Mass with a few Grunts. We were with 1st Ban, 6th Marines and were at Hurricane Point in Ramadi, Iraq. If I remember correctly attendance was higher than usual, as it always is during Christmas; and it included myself, a Battalion Forward Air Controller, the Judge Advocate General (Marine talk for lawyer), a Platoon Commander or two, a Company Commander, a few scout snipers and handful of regular old 0311’s (the best of us all). The chapel itself was far from grandiose; in fact it was a makeshift room with walls of plywood in an old abandoned annex to what was one of Saddam Hussein’s Palaces along the Euphrates River Valley. There was nothing unusual about the particular venue; in fact it would have been very familiar to thousands of Marines that have taken the time to attend Mass or Protestant Service while deployed to Iraq.

Although not unusual, this mass was particularly extraordinary for the attendees because of the Priest that was present to celebrate. The celebrant on Christmas Day 2006 in Ar Ramadi, Iraq was Fr. Dennis Rocheford, and there is little doubt in my mind that for us in that room it has become one of the more special and important memories during a time that generated more than it’s fair share of good and bad visions for us all. I don’t presume to know Father Dennis’ thoughts or feelings, but just knowing the man that he was and knowing his experiences in life, I have to believe it was a memorable Christmas for him as well. Father Dennis began Mass just as he always does, by beautifully leading a song. As anyone who has witnessed one of Father Rocheford’s Masses knows, he has a beautiful voice. I remember his voice being surprisingly beautiful as a matter of fact, but the most impressive thing about Fr. Rocheford’s singing was his ability to entice the rest of us to sing along. As I am sure any Navy Catholic Chaplain would profess, it is always a challenge to get thirty Marines to sing together in unison on Sunday Morning. I wish I could remember the exact song. I cannot. But I can remember the look of happiness on Father’s face as gave us his homily. There seemed to be a joy in him for being with us; a few U.S. Marines in who were stuck right in the middle of the counterinsurgency.  As Mass closed we all sang together again but I noticed something different in Father Dennis. Father was closing Mass with tears streaming down his face…but he was smiling. He was crying and smiling for reasons unknown to me, but he did look so incredibly at peace there with us. He seemed perfectly happy to be with us! Even more than that, it seemed as if there is nowhere else on Earth, on that day; that Dennis Rocheford would have rather been. I know how much it meant to me that Father Rocheford was there with us. I know that it will always be my favorite Christmas Day.

I also know that I owe Father Rocheford more than thanks for one Mass.  I owe him thanks for looking out for us during the previous four months from September through December; I owe him for looking out for me during times in my life when I was weakest spiritually; I owe him for praying for me, and for my family; I owe him for his service in Vietnam; I owe him for his service to our young enlisted Marines at Parris Island; and I owe him thanks for his commitment to serve as a Priest of the Holy Catholic Church. The question is where do I begin to repay him.

Since there is no way to pay back such a wonderful man and priest, perhaps we should honor him in our actions and more specifically in the way that we live our lives as Catholic Christians. Specifically for me, I know that I have spent an inordinate amount of time with our Military Priests asking and pleading for spiritual assistance and for guidance. I need to remember that sometimes we should be there for these men as well. Perhaps we should spend a little more time getting to know them; asking them about their families, and providing them with some of that unconditional love and friendship that they so readily provide us and our families while deployed and at home.

So I will begin my efforts by thanking the three Priests who may not even remember my name, but have had a tremendous impact on me over the past 33 years. Father Paul Shaughnessy, thank you for celebrating mass with us on the south side of Al Asad two summers ago. Your homilies were the highlight of my week both intellectually and spiritually, and I never told you that. I also enjoyed your comments and digressions on the state of the Red Sox. A little baseball talk was always good while in Iraq. Father Dan Devine, thank you for taking care of my parents while stationed with them. Thank you for your support of them and know that my mother always considered you to be her favorite Chaplain and Priest. Father Pucherelli, thank you for letting me be your altar boy back in the early 1980’s in Annapolis. That is where I learned the importance of going to Mass; even when as a boy I didn’t want to. Father Rocheford, thank you for everything, RIP. “Greater love hath no man than this, than a man that lays down his life for his friends”. Semper Fi.

his life for his friends”. Semper Fi. 

It was with profound sadness that I learned of Fr Dennis' passing, almost two months later. Going through some old books, I looked at some from PI and thought I would begin searching for Fr Dennis, when I came across the
unfortunate news.

Arriving on Parris Island, SC MCRD, in the fall of 1992, one of the (probably the only) friendly faces a recruit encountered was Fr Rocheford. But we didn't realize he was a chaplain, we thought he was a DI or some
crazy officer who loved to run, he was out there doing the PT runs with us. Soon we would discover he was the Padre. I had been an altar boy all through grammar school and up to my senior year in high school, so I
accepted the call to become a lay reader. There was some training in the function of the chaplaincy, prayer in the field and leading devotions for various faiths in the fleet in the absence of a chaplain and how to assist
when in garrison.

We also assisted on the altar as servers and at the lectern. It was during these Sunday mornings that I got to know Fr Dennis, and if only for a few months, but he made an impression on me that endures. He demonstrated how
to be a tough guy without bravado or a big mouth. He was a self-deprecating, and funny Marine, he had plenty of war stories to tell about his own deeds, but he told funny ones about himself and let us hear about the true courage of others.

Two of his homilies that stay with me to this day are one that dispelled the notion that we were in a line of work antithetical to church teaching.  "Peace has a taste the protected will never fully appreciate," was the
quote he used to illustrate his point. As defenders of a nation and of an ideal, there was a mission to be carried out, and it was to be done not with malice in our hearts but with righteous souls.

The second was a homily about sacrifice, "No greater love hath any man than to lay down his life for another," using the sacrifice Christ to demonstrate the sacrifices of Marines in combat. Something told me as I watched and listened to his homily, that he knew something of loss and sacrifice and decisions made under fire.

He was the Padre, the one who counseled us when we entertained self doubts, encouraged us when we found ourselves giving up, forgave us when we confessed and remained available for any issue a young Marine needed to
discuss.

I am glad to be able to say that I knew him at a time when I was young and thought I knew it all, but was quickly schooled by our conversations about how much I had to learn. And not in a harsh way either, but in a
purposeful and spiritual way. He had the knack, he was good at what he did and we who sought his counsel and guidance are all the better for it.

My mother liked him, too! That's possibly the best accolade.

He was a good man in an era when they are hard to find, I am deeply saddened to learn of his untimely death, I pray his heart and soul weren't tortured. I know God of all Mercy will receive his soul for the good he has done and his memory will always be a blessing to those of us who knew him.

Eternal rest grant your servant Dennis, Lord. Marine, Priest, Chaplain, Naval Officer, Son, Brother, Uncle, Friend. Bless his Soul, Semper Fidelis

Tim Horohoe,
New York, NY

Please remember Father Rocheford in your thoughts and prayers.   Father Rocheford was somewhat of a legend in the Marine Corps.   He embodied all the traits that many of us strived for as a Navy and Marine Corps Officer.   Two purple hearts and a bronze star while serving as a LCpl radio operator for another USMC legend, Captain (later Major Gen.) “E-tool” Smith. 

I served with him in the early ‘90’s, with BLT 3/8 and we deployed together to the MED with the 26^th MEU during the Desert Shield/Storm.  Several of my Marines and I went to Mass daily while underway on the USS Inchon with him.  While in port in Naples he arranged to have us attend the Wednesday audience at the Vatican with the Pope John Paul II.  We baptized two Marines in my platoon during that deployment.  We celebrated a beautiful Christmas Mass in a cathedral in the south of Spain, as well as on several times in the field.  The picture posted under the PICTURES tab was most likely from his later tour in Iraq, but it is typical of hundreds of Masses he said in the field in training and combat situations throughout his military career. 

While underway on our ship, Father Rocheford would PT (physical training) with Weapons Company because everyone – including him – knew that Weapon’s Company PT’d the hardest.  Imagine that, a navy chaplain not only regularly PT’ing with the troops on the flight deck or hangar deck, but actively seeking out the most challenging of workouts. 

In the summer of 1990 our amphibious readiness group did a ship-to-shore movement as part of an amphibious assault in Saros Bay, Turkey for a major annual NATO exercise called Display Determination.  Despite being sunny and mid-70’s when we landed, that night it rained horizontally for several hours. The S-2 did not forcast rain – I still haven’t forgiven him.  Almost no one had adequate rain gear.  Everyone was very cold and wet. We were all friggin’ miserable, particularly the troops: sitting in their freshly dug foxholes, caked in mud.  And wouldn’t you know it, here comes Father Rocheford, bouncing from foxhole to foxhole attempting to boost the morale of those soaking wet Marines with complete disregard for his own welfare.  He spent most of the night doing that.  Meanwhile most of us officers (yours truly included) were thinking of our own well-being, trying desperately to just keep warm. He was always a Marine’s Marine. 

He was the leader of our unit.  Through quiet example he taught us that the most important trait of a leader is humility.  He personified St. Francis de Sales saying of “There is nothing so strong as gentleness; and nothing so gentle as real strength.” 

All who came in contact with him felt this unequaled feeling calm and peace.  This sense of peace was particularly intense when I would go to Father Rocheford for confession.  To conclude this sacrament he would provide absolution and lay his hands on my head.  As he granted me absolution it was if at that moment he was physically removing a great weight from me. That was almost twenty years ago, and to this day I can feel him relieving me of that weight.  

In the last several years he struggled mightily.  Clearly he was very, very troubled to take his own life. 

As I shared with one of my Marines that is also filled with grief and trying to come to grips with what happened and why, my only attempt at an explanation is best described by the character in the movie The Green Mile.  I’m referring to where Michael Clarke Duncan plays that enormous guy named John Coffey that was falsely accused and sentenced to death.  John Coffey’s unique trait was that he would literally inhale someone else’s evil, and take it upon himself just so the other person could be free of their sin.  In the end, John Coffey became overburdened with the absorption of all that evil, it just became too much for him to bear and in the end it took his life. – As he was for hundreds if not thousands of other Marines, sailors and civilians, Father Rocheford was my John Coffey. 

If you do pray, please do so on behalf of the repose of his soul and for the peace and comfort for those who grieve. 

Robert F. Simi, Jr.
Lt. Colonel, USMCR

I first met Father Rocheford on Parris Island, SC in the summer of 1994. 

I arrived on Parris Island on April 19, 1994, and was assigned to 2ndBn E Co, Platoon 2180.  To say that I was overwhelmed by the intensity of recruit training would be an understatement.  Just a few weeks before graduation, I was diagnosed with pneumonia and transferred to the Medical Rehabilitation Platoon (MRP). 

After five weeks of bed rest (and watching my platoon graduate without me), I dropped to the Physical Conditioning Platoon (PCP) to return to recruit training.  While in PCP, I injured my knee on the rappelling tower, and after just a week in PCP, I was dropped back to MRP for another five weeks of bed rest before ultimately being honorably discharged due to my injuries. 

It was in MRP that I first encountered Father Rocheford.  I will never forget the first time he came on deck and the response that he received from all of the "broken" recruits.  Everyone's face lit up, their stress washed away, and any angst they'd been feeling was completely eliminated while Father was visiting.  I've never seen anything quite like it in the 15 years that have since passed. 

I will always remember Father Rocheford explaining that he didn't want us to view him as an officer, he was our Chaplain, and he could simply be called "Father" in lieu of "Sir".  He actually insisted that the platoon not call the squad bay to attention when he arrived, despite his status as a Naval Officer.  One of my fellow recruits, and closest friend on the island was named Michael Englemann.  Recruit Englemann took it upon himself to jokingly call the deck to attention by shouting, "ATTENTION ON DECK!  FATHER ON DECK!  GOOD AFTERNOON, FATHER!" 

The look on Father Rocheford's face the first time this happened was priceless.  He laughed and laughed and laughed, and his face got red.  That day it became a tradition for us to call the deck to attention in this manner every time Father visited, and he always laughed aloud when we did it.  It never got "old" for any involved. 

Father Rocheford's visits to MRP/PCP were, in all honesty, one of the few happy moments while in those platoons.  You see, when you're a Marine recruit, you're advancing each day, closer and closer to your goal of graduation.  But in MRP/PCP, time has stopped.  You wake up and every day is no different than any other day - your training has just stalled.  For many of us, we not only knew that our training had stalled, but we also knew that we weren't going to be graduating.  So you can imagine how miserable it would be for us to be stuck at boot camp, with little to no chance of graduation, while we watch platoon after platoon walk across the parade deck.  Most of the recruits we watched graduate had arrived on the island AFTER we had!  Suffice it to say, morale in these platoons was ridiculously low. 

But not when Father Rocheford would visit, which was quite frequently.  We used to stand "on line", and he would walk down the line, checking in with each of us individually.  He used to do something which, whenever I describe it out of context, sounds bizarre - he would take the tips of his fingers and just swirl them gently where your forehead meets your hairline (assuming you'd had hair).  As soon as this began, you could see the tension physically leave the body of the recruit with whom he was speaking.  It is the single most unexplained phenomenon I've ever witnessed with my own eyes.   

As time progressed, and I watched 2nd BN, E Co. graduate a second  time without me, my own personal morale sunk even lower.  Father Rocheford sensed this, and the two of us began talking very regularly.  I absolutely adored this man.  Thought not a Catholic, Father always made time for me.  At one point in one of our many conversations, I said something that I must have either not articulated well, or he misunderstood what I meant, but he told me later that he thought I had lied to him, and that he had let me down.  I was devastated, and didn't know how to respond.  Shortly thereafter, I found out that I was going to be honorably discharged.  As excited as I was to finally have some resolution, I couldn't leave Parris Island until I'd "fixed" things with Father. 

I've never been one for long speeches - I've just always been a more natural writer, so I did what I do best.  I wrote Father a rather lengthy letter explaining myself, and that I'd never lied to him about anything, and that in no uncertain terms had he ever let me down.  (I know this sounds vague without all of the details, but it's quite personal.)  I sought Father, and handed him the letter, telling him that I couldn't leave without telling him everything. 

A few days later, I was in the "Casual Platoon" awaiting my departure to go home.  Father this time sought ME out, and approached me with very small tears in his eyes.  I'll never forget how he said nothing as he came up to me, sat on my bunk, and said to me, "Scott, I have a book that I carry with me on every deployment.  In it, I carry only the things that mean the most to me.  I want you to know that your letter is in that book.  Thank you." 

We were both emotional at this point, but I was also in awe.  Even in my attempt to show my appreciation for this amazing human being, he somehow found a way to make it about ME.  It wasn't about HIM.   

The truth is, nothing was ever about Dennis Rocheford.  Whether it was his young service as a combat Marine in Vietnam, his civilian life as a Catholic Priest, or his selfless dedication to the soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines he encountered in his service as a military Chaplain, Dennis Rocheford always came in shortly after second place. 

I always remembered this man, because he was a hero of mine.  He'd told me that he was from Massachusetts, and I'd told him that since I was from New York, we should talk sometime AFTER Parris Island. Sadly, that never happened.   

But I never forgot him, and I even Googled him quite often to see how he was doing, not even really sure what I'd say to him if I saw him after all these years other than to thank him.   

A few days after he passed away, his name randomly popped into my head, and I again turned to the internet to see what he was up to.  That's how I learned of his tragic death.  I've comforted myself that when his name so randomly passed through my mind, that was his spirit, visiting each of his recruits one by one, saying good-bye. 

For fifteen years, I've thought (and talked) about Father Rocheford and the impact on me he'd had.  I've tried, and failed, to explain the physical differences you'd see when people were in his presence.  It wasn't until I read someone's comment on one of his guestbooks, in which the poster described it as "light reflecting differently off Father Rocheford" that I knew how to put it into words.  The man was, for lack of a better term, Christ-like.  When you were blessed with his presence, you just knew that you were dealing with the real thing.  This man was, undoubtedly, a messenger of God. 

Father Rocheford touched thousands of lives.  It has become cliché to say that you're better for having known someone, but I am so genuinely grateful for having had the blessing of knowing him.  If each of us can be just a small fraction of the man that he will always be, the world will be such a better place. 

Thank you, Father.  May you forever rest in peace with the comfort and knowledge that your legacy will ALWAYS live. 

Scott E. Kelly
MCRD Parris Island