Clarence, or "Big Red" as he was known, was the son of John E. Vint and Emma Butcher. He was the second of five boys born to the Vints in Monroe County, Indiana.
A career serviceman, Red joined the United States Army in 1905. He married Edna Anderson on his 41st birthday, 28 Apr 1925, in Marion County, Indiana. A widow, she was the mother of 3 children when they married.
Clarence earned the nickname "Big Red" because he stood 6'4" tall and weighed just under 300 pounds. He served 28 years in the military and was a highly regarded drill sergeant stationed at Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis, Marion County, Indiana.
Red suffered severe complications, including blood poisoning and gangrene, following an automobile accident while returning from his duty post on 18 Jul 1933.
His arm was amputated on 27 Jul 1933 in an unsuccessful bid to save his life. While the arm was being removed, he reportedly smoked a cigar and talked with one of his brothers.
At the time of his death, Red was 49 years and 3 months old. He was buried on 30 Jul 1933 with full military honors.
Red was survived by his wife, Edna, who passed away in 1957. Also surviving were his mother, Emma; and 2 brothers, Vine and Lee.
Children: 3 step-daughters.
Step-father of:
Gladys Viola (nee ?) Rupp
Frances Esther White Potts Schroeder Cady
Dorothy M. White Howe
Red's siblings:
Joshua Devine "Vine" (aka "Buck") Vint
Thomas Leonard "Tom" Vint
Tobe Howard Vint
Jesse "Lee" Vint
----------
The following is an excerpt taken from a letter written to one of his younger brothers, Tobe Vint, in 1917 regarding Clarence's experience on board the United States Army Transport Thomas as he traveled from Manila to San Francisco, by way of Nagasaki, Japan during a typhoon.
Clarence wrote to his younger brother:
"On Wednesday noon, August 15, 1917, the U.S.A.T. Thomas left Manila on her sixtieth voyage, with about sixteen hundred passengers on board, including the Eighth U. S. Infantry, amid the usual tear, cheer and farewell scenes that are enacted there on the fifteenth of every month when the transports depart for the homeland.
"In the Balintang Channel, between the islands of Luzon and Formosa, on Thursday evening the first indications of a severe storm were noted, and throughout the next day the wind increased in violence until by Saturday morning the ship was practically at the mercy of the storm, as observations could not be taken and the ship's position was only approximately known. Oil from the storm oil tanks was being used with good results. At 9:30 p.m. the wind blowing with hurricane force had changed to the east and was accompanied by a blinding rain and a heavy, confused sea. The heading of the barometer at this time was 28.90.
"On Sunday morning, about 2 a.m., the barometer commenced to fall rapidly and the ship was apparently approaching the center of the typhoon. The terrible roar and force of the wind; the absolute darkness outside; the blinding rain; the pitching and rolling of the big, powerful ship as she helplessly combated the waves, added to the fact that we were only drifting in the angry waves of an unknown sea that in many places uncharted and dotted with coral reefs and islands, made the situation more than perilous.
"The passengers confined in the decks below underwent the worst horrors of a storm at sea for three full days, practically ignorant of the actual conditions beyond the indications afforded by the movement of heavy articles that were hurled about by the vagaries of the ship's motion, the following scenes were enough to inspire terror.
"At 3:20 a.m. the main top mast was carried away, bringing down the wireless antennae. At 4:30 a.m. the barometer registered 27.98, the lowest reading, and the typhoon center was passed, though the wind continued its hurricane force and the sea was tremendously high. At 5:30 a.m., the starboard emergency lifeboat was stove in and carried away. At 12 noon the barometer was rising slowly. At 4 p.m. the after part of the house on the starboard side was stove in, filling the crew's quarters with water, on the main deck cabin doors were forced and the cabins flooded. The crew used oil unceasingly to break the grip of the waves. It was dangerous to be about, objects were flying in all directions. At 8 p.m. the starboard gangway was carried away. At 10:40 the lookout reported that the ship was approaching shoals. About this time Celestyn Shefchuck, Company H, Eighth Infantry, was washed overboard and the whole ship was submerged in a tremendous high sea, taking away the port emergency lifeboat and also the forward davit.
"At 10:45 land was sighted right ahead and close aboard the helm; the starboard engines were immediately put full speed astern. The ship touched bottom lightly, where she stood rigid for a few moments, taking the waves over the forecastle. She then listed to the severe angle of 45 degrees to the port side. Stairways were torn from their fastenings, iron uprights were twisted and broken, bunks, tables and hatch covers were hurled about, the confusion in the berth decks was terrible; all port lifeboats were swung out immediately and the order for lifebelts was given. Perhaps the most remarkable feature was the coolness of the passengers at this critical moment. Everyone knew that the ship had struck, and when the water poured in the hatchways each thought that the hour had arrived, that danger was imminent, yet no one became hysterical or panicky. Twenty-nine persons sustained injuries ranging from broken legs to flesh wounds. The calmness of the men under these conditions was wonderful.
"The wireless had been patched together from the previous night's damage, but had been short circuited by the waves rolling over the cabin, and an S.O.S. was out of the question. Distress signals were fired from the bridge, but in as much as the ship's position was unknown there was little hope to be had from these. It was a supreme moment and one that will be remembered by all on board. Had the lifeboats been lowered they could never have existed in that boiling sea. It was an hour of prayer, and the prayers were answered, as the ship responding to the engines backed off and cleared the island.
"The crew immediately sounded the bilges and found them clear of water and at 10:48 the ship went full ahead on the starboard engine and at 11:02 half ahead on both engines, the ship heading north-northeast to clear island supposed to be (Botel abago). At 11:48 land was again sighted off the port beam and the ship was headed southeast until daylight. The engines turned over slowly and extra lookouts were posted throughout the night.
"Monday morning, August 20th, at 5:30 a.m., the first streak of dawn revealed a heavy, confused sea, a high wind and a blinding rain. The danger was still great, as the master had not seen sun or star since Thursday, August 16th, although he had been on continuous watch on the bridge for fifty-two hours he was ready with his sextant to catch the first glimpse of the wary sun, should it show itself. On Tuesday the course was changed to west and the weather was fine and hazy, with moderate southerly swells. At 9 a.m., a four-masted sailing vessel was sighted flying distress signals. The course was set for the schooner which proved to be the (Irmgrad), bound from Manila to San Francisco with copra and hemp. She had been disabled in the typhoon, having lost all her cargo and having eight feet of water in her hold. The crew was nearly exhausted and the captain asked to be taken in tow. Ten members of our crew went over with an eight-inch hawser, the second officer in charge. The Thomas proceeded to the port of (Kilung) with the schooner in tow.
"For two days the Thomas had been using emergency coal and it was necessary to make this port to replenish the supply in order to reach Nagasaki. On Wednesday afternoon at 2 p.m., we made the port of Kilung, immediately taking coal and leaving the next morning at 9:30 a.m. for Nagasaki, Japan.
"On Saturday, August 25th, the Thomas arrived in the Japanese harbor and remained in quarantine waters throughout Sunday, entering the dry dock on Monday morning at 10 a.m., where the extent of damage in the recent typhoon became known. The forward ballast compartments had been stove in, causing a leak in the bow. The keel for a distance of fifteen feet was twisted and bent. Sixteen steel plates were removed in order to repair the damage. The ship remained in dry dock for eleven days and was completely overhauled, leaving the dry dock on September 6th, and after taking on coal she was detained for four days, owing to typhoons that were reported in the immediate vicinity."
----------
Obituary excerpts:
CLARENCE VINT DIES OF AUTO INJURY AT FORT
FORMER LOCAL MAN SUCCUMBS AT FT. HARRISON
Clarence Vint, 48, formerly of Bloomington, died Friday night at 9 o'clock at the government hospital at Ft. Benjamin Harrison from blood poisoning contracted from injuries received following an auto accident which occurred last Tuesday night at Lawrence, 8 miles north of Indianapolis.
Sergeant Vint, who has been in military service for the past 28 years, has been stationed at Ft. Benjamin Harrison since 1923. He was returning from duty at the post Tuesday night when, blinded by approaching lights, his car sideswiped a truck driven by a Muncie man. Blood poisoning set in and his right arm was removed in an effort to save his life.
Sergeant Vint was a brother of Vine Vint, owner of the Vint plumbing shop of this city. He also is survived by his mother, Mrs. Emma Vint, who lives at the Vine Vint home. The widow, Mrs. Edna Vint survives, and three step-children, Mrs. Gladys Roup, of Chicago, and Frances and Dorothy, at home. Another brother, Lee Vint, of Springfield [sic], Mo., also survives.
A military funeral will be held Sunday morning at Ft. Benjamin Harrison. The body will be brought here Sunday afternoon and funeral services will be held at 2:30 o'clock at the Pentecostal church on east Sixteenth street with the Rev. W. P. Hughes, in charge. A firing squad and pallbearers will come from Ft. Benjamin Harrison.
(Bloomington Evening World; 29 Jul 1933)
A career serviceman, Red joined the United States Army in 1905. He married Edna Anderson on his 41st birthday, 28 Apr 1925, in Marion County, Indiana. A widow, she was the mother of 3 children when they married.
Clarence earned the nickname "Big Red" because he stood 6'4" tall and weighed just under 300 pounds. He served 28 years in the military and was a highly regarded drill sergeant stationed at Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis, Marion County, Indiana.
Red suffered severe complications, including blood poisoning and gangrene, following an automobile accident while returning from his duty post on 18 Jul 1933.
His arm was amputated on 27 Jul 1933 in an unsuccessful bid to save his life. While the arm was being removed, he reportedly smoked a cigar and talked with one of his brothers.
At the time of his death, Red was 49 years and 3 months old. He was buried on 30 Jul 1933 with full military honors.
Red was survived by his wife, Edna, who passed away in 1957. Also surviving were his mother, Emma; and 2 brothers, Vine and Lee.
Children: 3 step-daughters.
Step-father of:
Gladys Viola (nee ?) Rupp
Frances Esther White Potts Schroeder Cady
Dorothy M. White Howe
Red's siblings:
Joshua Devine "Vine" (aka "Buck") Vint
Thomas Leonard "Tom" Vint
Tobe Howard Vint
Jesse "Lee" Vint
----------
The following is an excerpt taken from a letter written to one of his younger brothers, Tobe Vint, in 1917 regarding Clarence's experience on board the United States Army Transport Thomas as he traveled from Manila to San Francisco, by way of Nagasaki, Japan during a typhoon.
Clarence wrote to his younger brother:
"On Wednesday noon, August 15, 1917, the U.S.A.T. Thomas left Manila on her sixtieth voyage, with about sixteen hundred passengers on board, including the Eighth U. S. Infantry, amid the usual tear, cheer and farewell scenes that are enacted there on the fifteenth of every month when the transports depart for the homeland.
"In the Balintang Channel, between the islands of Luzon and Formosa, on Thursday evening the first indications of a severe storm were noted, and throughout the next day the wind increased in violence until by Saturday morning the ship was practically at the mercy of the storm, as observations could not be taken and the ship's position was only approximately known. Oil from the storm oil tanks was being used with good results. At 9:30 p.m. the wind blowing with hurricane force had changed to the east and was accompanied by a blinding rain and a heavy, confused sea. The heading of the barometer at this time was 28.90.
"On Sunday morning, about 2 a.m., the barometer commenced to fall rapidly and the ship was apparently approaching the center of the typhoon. The terrible roar and force of the wind; the absolute darkness outside; the blinding rain; the pitching and rolling of the big, powerful ship as she helplessly combated the waves, added to the fact that we were only drifting in the angry waves of an unknown sea that in many places uncharted and dotted with coral reefs and islands, made the situation more than perilous.
"The passengers confined in the decks below underwent the worst horrors of a storm at sea for three full days, practically ignorant of the actual conditions beyond the indications afforded by the movement of heavy articles that were hurled about by the vagaries of the ship's motion, the following scenes were enough to inspire terror.
"At 3:20 a.m. the main top mast was carried away, bringing down the wireless antennae. At 4:30 a.m. the barometer registered 27.98, the lowest reading, and the typhoon center was passed, though the wind continued its hurricane force and the sea was tremendously high. At 5:30 a.m., the starboard emergency lifeboat was stove in and carried away. At 12 noon the barometer was rising slowly. At 4 p.m. the after part of the house on the starboard side was stove in, filling the crew's quarters with water, on the main deck cabin doors were forced and the cabins flooded. The crew used oil unceasingly to break the grip of the waves. It was dangerous to be about, objects were flying in all directions. At 8 p.m. the starboard gangway was carried away. At 10:40 the lookout reported that the ship was approaching shoals. About this time Celestyn Shefchuck, Company H, Eighth Infantry, was washed overboard and the whole ship was submerged in a tremendous high sea, taking away the port emergency lifeboat and also the forward davit.
"At 10:45 land was sighted right ahead and close aboard the helm; the starboard engines were immediately put full speed astern. The ship touched bottom lightly, where she stood rigid for a few moments, taking the waves over the forecastle. She then listed to the severe angle of 45 degrees to the port side. Stairways were torn from their fastenings, iron uprights were twisted and broken, bunks, tables and hatch covers were hurled about, the confusion in the berth decks was terrible; all port lifeboats were swung out immediately and the order for lifebelts was given. Perhaps the most remarkable feature was the coolness of the passengers at this critical moment. Everyone knew that the ship had struck, and when the water poured in the hatchways each thought that the hour had arrived, that danger was imminent, yet no one became hysterical or panicky. Twenty-nine persons sustained injuries ranging from broken legs to flesh wounds. The calmness of the men under these conditions was wonderful.
"The wireless had been patched together from the previous night's damage, but had been short circuited by the waves rolling over the cabin, and an S.O.S. was out of the question. Distress signals were fired from the bridge, but in as much as the ship's position was unknown there was little hope to be had from these. It was a supreme moment and one that will be remembered by all on board. Had the lifeboats been lowered they could never have existed in that boiling sea. It was an hour of prayer, and the prayers were answered, as the ship responding to the engines backed off and cleared the island.
"The crew immediately sounded the bilges and found them clear of water and at 10:48 the ship went full ahead on the starboard engine and at 11:02 half ahead on both engines, the ship heading north-northeast to clear island supposed to be (Botel abago). At 11:48 land was again sighted off the port beam and the ship was headed southeast until daylight. The engines turned over slowly and extra lookouts were posted throughout the night.
"Monday morning, August 20th, at 5:30 a.m., the first streak of dawn revealed a heavy, confused sea, a high wind and a blinding rain. The danger was still great, as the master had not seen sun or star since Thursday, August 16th, although he had been on continuous watch on the bridge for fifty-two hours he was ready with his sextant to catch the first glimpse of the wary sun, should it show itself. On Tuesday the course was changed to west and the weather was fine and hazy, with moderate southerly swells. At 9 a.m., a four-masted sailing vessel was sighted flying distress signals. The course was set for the schooner which proved to be the (Irmgrad), bound from Manila to San Francisco with copra and hemp. She had been disabled in the typhoon, having lost all her cargo and having eight feet of water in her hold. The crew was nearly exhausted and the captain asked to be taken in tow. Ten members of our crew went over with an eight-inch hawser, the second officer in charge. The Thomas proceeded to the port of (Kilung) with the schooner in tow.
"For two days the Thomas had been using emergency coal and it was necessary to make this port to replenish the supply in order to reach Nagasaki. On Wednesday afternoon at 2 p.m., we made the port of Kilung, immediately taking coal and leaving the next morning at 9:30 a.m. for Nagasaki, Japan.
"On Saturday, August 25th, the Thomas arrived in the Japanese harbor and remained in quarantine waters throughout Sunday, entering the dry dock on Monday morning at 10 a.m., where the extent of damage in the recent typhoon became known. The forward ballast compartments had been stove in, causing a leak in the bow. The keel for a distance of fifteen feet was twisted and bent. Sixteen steel plates were removed in order to repair the damage. The ship remained in dry dock for eleven days and was completely overhauled, leaving the dry dock on September 6th, and after taking on coal she was detained for four days, owing to typhoons that were reported in the immediate vicinity."
----------
Obituary excerpts:
CLARENCE VINT DIES OF AUTO INJURY AT FORT
FORMER LOCAL MAN SUCCUMBS AT FT. HARRISON
Clarence Vint, 48, formerly of Bloomington, died Friday night at 9 o'clock at the government hospital at Ft. Benjamin Harrison from blood poisoning contracted from injuries received following an auto accident which occurred last Tuesday night at Lawrence, 8 miles north of Indianapolis.
Sergeant Vint, who has been in military service for the past 28 years, has been stationed at Ft. Benjamin Harrison since 1923. He was returning from duty at the post Tuesday night when, blinded by approaching lights, his car sideswiped a truck driven by a Muncie man. Blood poisoning set in and his right arm was removed in an effort to save his life.
Sergeant Vint was a brother of Vine Vint, owner of the Vint plumbing shop of this city. He also is survived by his mother, Mrs. Emma Vint, who lives at the Vine Vint home. The widow, Mrs. Edna Vint survives, and three step-children, Mrs. Gladys Roup, of Chicago, and Frances and Dorothy, at home. Another brother, Lee Vint, of Springfield [sic], Mo., also survives.
A military funeral will be held Sunday morning at Ft. Benjamin Harrison. The body will be brought here Sunday afternoon and funeral services will be held at 2:30 o'clock at the Pentecostal church on east Sixteenth street with the Rev. W. P. Hughes, in charge. A firing squad and pallbearers will come from Ft. Benjamin Harrison.
(Bloomington Evening World; 29 Jul 1933)
Clarence, or "Big Red" as he was known, was the son of John E. Vint and Emma Butcher. He was the second of five boys born to the Vints in Monroe County, Indiana.
A career serviceman, Red joined the United States Army in 1905. He married Edna Anderson on his 41st birthday, 28 Apr 1925, in Marion County, Indiana. A widow, she was the mother of 3 children when they married.
Clarence earned the nickname "Big Red" because he stood 6'4" tall and weighed just under 300 pounds. He served 28 years in the military and was a highly regarded drill sergeant stationed at Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis, Marion County, Indiana.
Red suffered severe complications, including blood poisoning and gangrene, following an automobile accident while returning from his duty post on 18 Jul 1933.
His arm was amputated on 27 Jul 1933 in an unsuccessful bid to save his life. While the arm was being removed, he reportedly smoked a cigar and talked with one of his brothers.
At the time of his death, Red was 49 years and 3 months old. He was buried on 30 Jul 1933 with full military honors.
Red was survived by his wife, Edna, who passed away in 1957. Also surviving were his mother, Emma; and 2 brothers, Vine and Lee.
Children: 3 step-daughters.
Step-father of:
Gladys Viola (nee ?) Rupp
Frances Esther White Potts Schroeder Cady
Dorothy M. White Howe
Red's siblings:
Joshua Devine "Vine" (aka "Buck") Vint
Thomas Leonard "Tom" Vint
Tobe Howard Vint
Jesse "Lee" Vint
----------
The following is an excerpt taken from a letter written to one of his younger brothers, Tobe Vint, in 1917 regarding Clarence's experience on board the United States Army Transport Thomas as he traveled from Manila to San Francisco, by way of Nagasaki, Japan during a typhoon.
Clarence wrote to his younger brother:
"On Wednesday noon, August 15, 1917, the U.S.A.T. Thomas left Manila on her sixtieth voyage, with about sixteen hundred passengers on board, including the Eighth U. S. Infantry, amid the usual tear, cheer and farewell scenes that are enacted there on the fifteenth of every month when the transports depart for the homeland.
"In the Balintang Channel, between the islands of Luzon and Formosa, on Thursday evening the first indications of a severe storm were noted, and throughout the next day the wind increased in violence until by Saturday morning the ship was practically at the mercy of the storm, as observations could not be taken and the ship's position was only approximately known. Oil from the storm oil tanks was being used with good results. At 9:30 p.m. the wind blowing with hurricane force had changed to the east and was accompanied by a blinding rain and a heavy, confused sea. The heading of the barometer at this time was 28.90.
"On Sunday morning, about 2 a.m., the barometer commenced to fall rapidly and the ship was apparently approaching the center of the typhoon. The terrible roar and force of the wind; the absolute darkness outside; the blinding rain; the pitching and rolling of the big, powerful ship as she helplessly combated the waves, added to the fact that we were only drifting in the angry waves of an unknown sea that in many places uncharted and dotted with coral reefs and islands, made the situation more than perilous.
"The passengers confined in the decks below underwent the worst horrors of a storm at sea for three full days, practically ignorant of the actual conditions beyond the indications afforded by the movement of heavy articles that were hurled about by the vagaries of the ship's motion, the following scenes were enough to inspire terror.
"At 3:20 a.m. the main top mast was carried away, bringing down the wireless antennae. At 4:30 a.m. the barometer registered 27.98, the lowest reading, and the typhoon center was passed, though the wind continued its hurricane force and the sea was tremendously high. At 5:30 a.m., the starboard emergency lifeboat was stove in and carried away. At 12 noon the barometer was rising slowly. At 4 p.m. the after part of the house on the starboard side was stove in, filling the crew's quarters with water, on the main deck cabin doors were forced and the cabins flooded. The crew used oil unceasingly to break the grip of the waves. It was dangerous to be about, objects were flying in all directions. At 8 p.m. the starboard gangway was carried away. At 10:40 the lookout reported that the ship was approaching shoals. About this time Celestyn Shefchuck, Company H, Eighth Infantry, was washed overboard and the whole ship was submerged in a tremendous high sea, taking away the port emergency lifeboat and also the forward davit.
"At 10:45 land was sighted right ahead and close aboard the helm; the starboard engines were immediately put full speed astern. The ship touched bottom lightly, where she stood rigid for a few moments, taking the waves over the forecastle. She then listed to the severe angle of 45 degrees to the port side. Stairways were torn from their fastenings, iron uprights were twisted and broken, bunks, tables and hatch covers were hurled about, the confusion in the berth decks was terrible; all port lifeboats were swung out immediately and the order for lifebelts was given. Perhaps the most remarkable feature was the coolness of the passengers at this critical moment. Everyone knew that the ship had struck, and when the water poured in the hatchways each thought that the hour had arrived, that danger was imminent, yet no one became hysterical or panicky. Twenty-nine persons sustained injuries ranging from broken legs to flesh wounds. The calmness of the men under these conditions was wonderful.
"The wireless had been patched together from the previous night's damage, but had been short circuited by the waves rolling over the cabin, and an S.O.S. was out of the question. Distress signals were fired from the bridge, but in as much as the ship's position was unknown there was little hope to be had from these. It was a supreme moment and one that will be remembered by all on board. Had the lifeboats been lowered they could never have existed in that boiling sea. It was an hour of prayer, and the prayers were answered, as the ship responding to the engines backed off and cleared the island.
"The crew immediately sounded the bilges and found them clear of water and at 10:48 the ship went full ahead on the starboard engine and at 11:02 half ahead on both engines, the ship heading north-northeast to clear island supposed to be (Botel abago). At 11:48 land was again sighted off the port beam and the ship was headed southeast until daylight. The engines turned over slowly and extra lookouts were posted throughout the night.
"Monday morning, August 20th, at 5:30 a.m., the first streak of dawn revealed a heavy, confused sea, a high wind and a blinding rain. The danger was still great, as the master had not seen sun or star since Thursday, August 16th, although he had been on continuous watch on the bridge for fifty-two hours he was ready with his sextant to catch the first glimpse of the wary sun, should it show itself. On Tuesday the course was changed to west and the weather was fine and hazy, with moderate southerly swells. At 9 a.m., a four-masted sailing vessel was sighted flying distress signals. The course was set for the schooner which proved to be the (Irmgrad), bound from Manila to San Francisco with copra and hemp. She had been disabled in the typhoon, having lost all her cargo and having eight feet of water in her hold. The crew was nearly exhausted and the captain asked to be taken in tow. Ten members of our crew went over with an eight-inch hawser, the second officer in charge. The Thomas proceeded to the port of (Kilung) with the schooner in tow.
"For two days the Thomas had been using emergency coal and it was necessary to make this port to replenish the supply in order to reach Nagasaki. On Wednesday afternoon at 2 p.m., we made the port of Kilung, immediately taking coal and leaving the next morning at 9:30 a.m. for Nagasaki, Japan.
"On Saturday, August 25th, the Thomas arrived in the Japanese harbor and remained in quarantine waters throughout Sunday, entering the dry dock on Monday morning at 10 a.m., where the extent of damage in the recent typhoon became known. The forward ballast compartments had been stove in, causing a leak in the bow. The keel for a distance of fifteen feet was twisted and bent. Sixteen steel plates were removed in order to repair the damage. The ship remained in dry dock for eleven days and was completely overhauled, leaving the dry dock on September 6th, and after taking on coal she was detained for four days, owing to typhoons that were reported in the immediate vicinity."
----------
Obituary excerpts:
CLARENCE VINT DIES OF AUTO INJURY AT FORT
FORMER LOCAL MAN SUCCUMBS AT FT. HARRISON
Clarence Vint, 48, formerly of Bloomington, died Friday night at 9 o'clock at the government hospital at Ft. Benjamin Harrison from blood poisoning contracted from injuries received following an auto accident which occurred last Tuesday night at Lawrence, 8 miles north of Indianapolis.
Sergeant Vint, who has been in military service for the past 28 years, has been stationed at Ft. Benjamin Harrison since 1923. He was returning from duty at the post Tuesday night when, blinded by approaching lights, his car sideswiped a truck driven by a Muncie man. Blood poisoning set in and his right arm was removed in an effort to save his life.
Sergeant Vint was a brother of Vine Vint, owner of the Vint plumbing shop of this city. He also is survived by his mother, Mrs. Emma Vint, who lives at the Vine Vint home. The widow, Mrs. Edna Vint survives, and three step-children, Mrs. Gladys Roup, of Chicago, and Frances and Dorothy, at home. Another brother, Lee Vint, of Springfield [sic], Mo., also survives.
A military funeral will be held Sunday morning at Ft. Benjamin Harrison. The body will be brought here Sunday afternoon and funeral services will be held at 2:30 o'clock at the Pentecostal church on east Sixteenth street with the Rev. W. P. Hughes, in charge. A firing squad and pallbearers will come from Ft. Benjamin Harrison.
(Bloomington Evening World; 29 Jul 1933)
A career serviceman, Red joined the United States Army in 1905. He married Edna Anderson on his 41st birthday, 28 Apr 1925, in Marion County, Indiana. A widow, she was the mother of 3 children when they married.
Clarence earned the nickname "Big Red" because he stood 6'4" tall and weighed just under 300 pounds. He served 28 years in the military and was a highly regarded drill sergeant stationed at Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis, Marion County, Indiana.
Red suffered severe complications, including blood poisoning and gangrene, following an automobile accident while returning from his duty post on 18 Jul 1933.
His arm was amputated on 27 Jul 1933 in an unsuccessful bid to save his life. While the arm was being removed, he reportedly smoked a cigar and talked with one of his brothers.
At the time of his death, Red was 49 years and 3 months old. He was buried on 30 Jul 1933 with full military honors.
Red was survived by his wife, Edna, who passed away in 1957. Also surviving were his mother, Emma; and 2 brothers, Vine and Lee.
Children: 3 step-daughters.
Step-father of:
Gladys Viola (nee ?) Rupp
Frances Esther White Potts Schroeder Cady
Dorothy M. White Howe
Red's siblings:
Joshua Devine "Vine" (aka "Buck") Vint
Thomas Leonard "Tom" Vint
Tobe Howard Vint
Jesse "Lee" Vint
----------
The following is an excerpt taken from a letter written to one of his younger brothers, Tobe Vint, in 1917 regarding Clarence's experience on board the United States Army Transport Thomas as he traveled from Manila to San Francisco, by way of Nagasaki, Japan during a typhoon.
Clarence wrote to his younger brother:
"On Wednesday noon, August 15, 1917, the U.S.A.T. Thomas left Manila on her sixtieth voyage, with about sixteen hundred passengers on board, including the Eighth U. S. Infantry, amid the usual tear, cheer and farewell scenes that are enacted there on the fifteenth of every month when the transports depart for the homeland.
"In the Balintang Channel, between the islands of Luzon and Formosa, on Thursday evening the first indications of a severe storm were noted, and throughout the next day the wind increased in violence until by Saturday morning the ship was practically at the mercy of the storm, as observations could not be taken and the ship's position was only approximately known. Oil from the storm oil tanks was being used with good results. At 9:30 p.m. the wind blowing with hurricane force had changed to the east and was accompanied by a blinding rain and a heavy, confused sea. The heading of the barometer at this time was 28.90.
"On Sunday morning, about 2 a.m., the barometer commenced to fall rapidly and the ship was apparently approaching the center of the typhoon. The terrible roar and force of the wind; the absolute darkness outside; the blinding rain; the pitching and rolling of the big, powerful ship as she helplessly combated the waves, added to the fact that we were only drifting in the angry waves of an unknown sea that in many places uncharted and dotted with coral reefs and islands, made the situation more than perilous.
"The passengers confined in the decks below underwent the worst horrors of a storm at sea for three full days, practically ignorant of the actual conditions beyond the indications afforded by the movement of heavy articles that were hurled about by the vagaries of the ship's motion, the following scenes were enough to inspire terror.
"At 3:20 a.m. the main top mast was carried away, bringing down the wireless antennae. At 4:30 a.m. the barometer registered 27.98, the lowest reading, and the typhoon center was passed, though the wind continued its hurricane force and the sea was tremendously high. At 5:30 a.m., the starboard emergency lifeboat was stove in and carried away. At 12 noon the barometer was rising slowly. At 4 p.m. the after part of the house on the starboard side was stove in, filling the crew's quarters with water, on the main deck cabin doors were forced and the cabins flooded. The crew used oil unceasingly to break the grip of the waves. It was dangerous to be about, objects were flying in all directions. At 8 p.m. the starboard gangway was carried away. At 10:40 the lookout reported that the ship was approaching shoals. About this time Celestyn Shefchuck, Company H, Eighth Infantry, was washed overboard and the whole ship was submerged in a tremendous high sea, taking away the port emergency lifeboat and also the forward davit.
"At 10:45 land was sighted right ahead and close aboard the helm; the starboard engines were immediately put full speed astern. The ship touched bottom lightly, where she stood rigid for a few moments, taking the waves over the forecastle. She then listed to the severe angle of 45 degrees to the port side. Stairways were torn from their fastenings, iron uprights were twisted and broken, bunks, tables and hatch covers were hurled about, the confusion in the berth decks was terrible; all port lifeboats were swung out immediately and the order for lifebelts was given. Perhaps the most remarkable feature was the coolness of the passengers at this critical moment. Everyone knew that the ship had struck, and when the water poured in the hatchways each thought that the hour had arrived, that danger was imminent, yet no one became hysterical or panicky. Twenty-nine persons sustained injuries ranging from broken legs to flesh wounds. The calmness of the men under these conditions was wonderful.
"The wireless had been patched together from the previous night's damage, but had been short circuited by the waves rolling over the cabin, and an S.O.S. was out of the question. Distress signals were fired from the bridge, but in as much as the ship's position was unknown there was little hope to be had from these. It was a supreme moment and one that will be remembered by all on board. Had the lifeboats been lowered they could never have existed in that boiling sea. It was an hour of prayer, and the prayers were answered, as the ship responding to the engines backed off and cleared the island.
"The crew immediately sounded the bilges and found them clear of water and at 10:48 the ship went full ahead on the starboard engine and at 11:02 half ahead on both engines, the ship heading north-northeast to clear island supposed to be (Botel abago). At 11:48 land was again sighted off the port beam and the ship was headed southeast until daylight. The engines turned over slowly and extra lookouts were posted throughout the night.
"Monday morning, August 20th, at 5:30 a.m., the first streak of dawn revealed a heavy, confused sea, a high wind and a blinding rain. The danger was still great, as the master had not seen sun or star since Thursday, August 16th, although he had been on continuous watch on the bridge for fifty-two hours he was ready with his sextant to catch the first glimpse of the wary sun, should it show itself. On Tuesday the course was changed to west and the weather was fine and hazy, with moderate southerly swells. At 9 a.m., a four-masted sailing vessel was sighted flying distress signals. The course was set for the schooner which proved to be the (Irmgrad), bound from Manila to San Francisco with copra and hemp. She had been disabled in the typhoon, having lost all her cargo and having eight feet of water in her hold. The crew was nearly exhausted and the captain asked to be taken in tow. Ten members of our crew went over with an eight-inch hawser, the second officer in charge. The Thomas proceeded to the port of (Kilung) with the schooner in tow.
"For two days the Thomas had been using emergency coal and it was necessary to make this port to replenish the supply in order to reach Nagasaki. On Wednesday afternoon at 2 p.m., we made the port of Kilung, immediately taking coal and leaving the next morning at 9:30 a.m. for Nagasaki, Japan.
"On Saturday, August 25th, the Thomas arrived in the Japanese harbor and remained in quarantine waters throughout Sunday, entering the dry dock on Monday morning at 10 a.m., where the extent of damage in the recent typhoon became known. The forward ballast compartments had been stove in, causing a leak in the bow. The keel for a distance of fifteen feet was twisted and bent. Sixteen steel plates were removed in order to repair the damage. The ship remained in dry dock for eleven days and was completely overhauled, leaving the dry dock on September 6th, and after taking on coal she was detained for four days, owing to typhoons that were reported in the immediate vicinity."
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Obituary excerpts:
CLARENCE VINT DIES OF AUTO INJURY AT FORT
FORMER LOCAL MAN SUCCUMBS AT FT. HARRISON
Clarence Vint, 48, formerly of Bloomington, died Friday night at 9 o'clock at the government hospital at Ft. Benjamin Harrison from blood poisoning contracted from injuries received following an auto accident which occurred last Tuesday night at Lawrence, 8 miles north of Indianapolis.
Sergeant Vint, who has been in military service for the past 28 years, has been stationed at Ft. Benjamin Harrison since 1923. He was returning from duty at the post Tuesday night when, blinded by approaching lights, his car sideswiped a truck driven by a Muncie man. Blood poisoning set in and his right arm was removed in an effort to save his life.
Sergeant Vint was a brother of Vine Vint, owner of the Vint plumbing shop of this city. He also is survived by his mother, Mrs. Emma Vint, who lives at the Vine Vint home. The widow, Mrs. Edna Vint survives, and three step-children, Mrs. Gladys Roup, of Chicago, and Frances and Dorothy, at home. Another brother, Lee Vint, of Springfield [sic], Mo., also survives.
A military funeral will be held Sunday morning at Ft. Benjamin Harrison. The body will be brought here Sunday afternoon and funeral services will be held at 2:30 o'clock at the Pentecostal church on east Sixteenth street with the Rev. W. P. Hughes, in charge. A firing squad and pallbearers will come from Ft. Benjamin Harrison.
(Bloomington Evening World; 29 Jul 1933)
Inscription
SGT. C. H. VINT
CO. G. 11, INF.
Gravesite Details
Tombstone photo and obituary courtesy of Thomas E. Vint. Photo with Edna courtesy of Beth Wallace. Double click on photos to enlarge images.
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