I’ve been thinking about this question for a long time. I don’t dwell on it; sometimes, I just turn it over in my head: What’s inside someone who does something extraordinary—even heroic—something they may not even expect themselves to do or know that they can do it?
Since I’m in the Navy, I’ve wondered what I would do if faced with circumstances where a quick decision was required—and I had to make that decision. It’s a thought that people sometimes ponder when they hear or see others facing what life throws at them, wherever they are, whatever they do. In my mind, maybe that difficult decision would even award me the Medal of Honor. It’s not the award itself that appeals to me…well, maybe it is. In my pursuit of “The Essential Elements of Leadership”, within my heart, I long to understand “what it takes” and yearn to be the kind of person that has the strength of character and wisdom to have been granted such an honor. When I think of it in this light, the award doesn’t even matter; I just want to do the right thing.
These thoughts occurred to me while on a trip with Chief McAnallen, who is now a Chief Warrant Officer, and now-retired Petty Officer Cartmell. We had been talking about the Warrant’s time as an active duty Navy Recruiter and some of the things a person could do to find potential Navy recruits, and I recalled the people I knew, or had met—the stories they had told me and what an example they were for me. At the time, I had been so excited about this thought that I had wanted to immediately write a book about these people to save their stories about what they had done for us.
You know, it’s just in the normal day-to-day of life where you meet someone you’d never expect, and then one thing leads to another, then you’re sharing who you are, and what you do. I always enjoy meeting other people, finding connections- sometimes on a personal level, and then we’re talking about their time in the service and some very personal things they’ve done. If there is one thing God has blessed me with, it’s the ability to connect with people. And that’s what I do, and that’s how I’ve come to know these people and have wanted to write about them.
I’ve been reading a book called Beyond Glory: Medal of Honor Heroes in Their Own Words (W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2003). Reading this book brought the excitement and thoughts I had shared with Petty Officer Cartmell and Warrant McAnallen back into my brain again. I had actually read this book once before, from the library, and had totally forgotten about it. This time, I bought the book at a used book sale—from the library—and started re-reading about these people all over again. The stories from the book came back to me, as well as the memories about people I had personally met over time. Once again, I feel a strong urge to put these thoughts on paper since I feel such a deep personal connection with them. Let me share their stories with you. Hopefully, they’ll touch your soul as much as they have mine. In my own way, it’s the least I can do for those who have done so much for us.
The first person I’d like to talk about is an old man I met at Wal-Mart. My son, who was about 6 at the time, and I were on our way out when I saw him shuffling around near the check-out lines. He had a military ball cap on and seemed to be unsure of himself. I’m a sucker for any military ball caps since I love find out why the wearer put it on in the first place. I think to myself, “Is that his cap, or his son/daughter’s?” Sometimes I like to guess, “Oh, that can’t be him; he looks too old to be on a ship!” or, “He still looks like a Marine!” In this case, the patch on his cap read, “WWII VET” and I could tell he was probably old enough to actually have been there.
So I walked up to him and asked, “I like your Cap Sir! You were in World War Two, weren’t you?” to try to “open him up” a bit. And what I remember stays with me. He was so proud of his service, and, he insisted that he was on some sort of list of Reserve personnel to this day – that if needed, he could be called up to serve again. (All these stories have a common thread: there’s always a moment when the person with whom I’m talking “gets my attention” by telling me something that stuns me. You’ve heard the saying, “Felt like a ton of bricks fell on me”? Well, that’s how I felt when he said...) “I landed on Omaha Beach and spent the first 24 to 48 hours there without moving more that 10 feet.”
Since this encounter was a few years ago, my thoughts are a bit murky at best, yet I can remember the gist of our exchange. But the moment when he said he was stuck on that beach for such a long time sticks in my mind. What do you say to someone when one lays a statement like that on you? Can anyone say anything? I was dumbfounded and fumbled for the right words, but I couldn’t say anything. The way he said it is what stays with me; he was so “matter-of-fact”; lying on that beach, waiting, inhaling danger with every breadth - it’s just what he had to do.
I wish I could have asked more questions and not been in such a hurry with my son—most “young people” are or they “think” they are when they are with their kids. This man, this little old man was telling me what his defining moment was, right in the middle of Wal-Mart, as proud as he can be, hat on crooked, clothes wrinkled and dirty, just barely making his way around, and yet he was proud of what he did, and it seemed as if he felt like he could do it all over again: he was in the Reserves! I thanked him for his service, shook his hand, and we left, his words etched in my mind.
The next person I remember is a gentleman I met at the funeral of my sister’s boyfriend. My sister had been dating a young US Marine who was killed in a motorcycle accident the day after graduating from boot camp. His friends said they were riding motorcycles on Highway 5 just outside of Camp Pendleton; he zoomed out of their sight around a curve and crashed into the retaining wall. This was heart breaking for her, and for us all.
Since I knew him quite well I attended the funeral in my Dress Blues, wearing my medals and gloves, pressing it “just so”, and getting it as clean as I could; I wanted to represent the Navy in the best way that I could, out of respect for him and to give my baby sister an intimate personal connection to the military. He had a full military funeral with a 21-gun salute, taps, and a flag for his parents. After the burial we went back to the church and had “a little lunch” as is the tradition at all Lutheran funerals.
As I was walking to my seat, an older gentleman came up to me and said, “Hello Lieutenant”. We got to talk about who I was, what I did in the Navy, and one thing led to another and then he dropped the bomb on me—the proverbial “ton of bricks”. He said, “Yeah, I served in World War II. I carried a flame-thrower.” He went on to say, “The other guys would soften ‘em up, and I’d go in and finish ‘em off.” My chin dropped to the floor. Again, what does anyone say to something like that? I was dumbstruck; stunned. I didn’t know what to say or do. I just stood there. Then I must have said something dumb or stupid – I really don’t remember much after that. I do remember making my way to my seat to finish eating. I just don’t remember much of my response to him after he told me that. And again, it came out as a matter-of-factly as anyone else would describe their work to anyone who’d inquire what they did for a living; it was just what he had to do. I ate my cake, the “little lunch” was over, and he was gone.
Recently, my wife and I met another unforgettable man. It was another chance meeting, another unassuming conversation, and something I’d never expect. We had gone to the store for groceries. We were chatting with each other about the day we were having, finished shopping, and then tried to choose the checkout line that looked the shortest. As our eggs, cheese and cereal began to show up at the end of the carousel, the bagger, an older gentleman, a little overweight, looking a bit like Santa Clause, asked “Paper or plastic, sir?” And as it usually goes, I like to connect to people, treat all people with respect – no matter what they do – and I called him “Sir” a few times. I then shared with him that I him I was in the Reserves, and then he “got my attention”.
He told me he had flown missions over Vietnam, had been shot down, and had his leg shot up by an AK-47. He said he was lucky since the rescue helicopter came almost right away to pick him up, and that he had “pulled rank” with the pilot of the chopper and told him they “…were not leaving until we got the body of his co-pilot onto the chopper.” We were just passing the time, and I never expected to meet anyone like this standing in line at a grocery store! We chatted some more about other things, then as I was leaving he said, “Could you do one thing for me tonight? When you gone home tonight, say a prayer for the real heroes in Iraq. I came back, they are still there. Those are the real heroes, not me.” And he had tears in his eyes. I told him I’d talk to him again someday. Sometimes you meet people like this who’d you’d never expect to have a story to tell.
When I was in college, on a drill weekend, we were scrambling to “fill” a training time slot on a Sunday afternoon. We knew that a person in our unit had been in Vietnam, so, to just fill up the time, we asked him if he wanted to talk about his experiences. He agreed. He started out slowly, then it was as if the floodgates had burst open; he just could not stop. Even as we were cleaning up to go home, he was still standing in front, talking, even as his listeners started to gather their things to leave. I was one of the last people. One of his stories held my attention.
He told us that he had serve on board the Navy’s PBR fleet in Vietnam, the river patrol boats. He recalled how, in one action - without warning - the riverbank exploded with gunfire and they were firing back with all their guns just to survive. He glanced over at his friend on the gun emplacement on the forward part of the boat, and then a moment later, his friend and the gun was just, gone. I am not sure if everyone else picked up on this but I could see he had trouble talking about this moment. Again, what can anyone do but mumble something without meaning, say “thanks”, or maybe shake his hand. But, the moment just hangs in my memory: I felt awkward, humble, and helpless all at the same time. I also felt a bit self-serving by “wanting to get out of there”. All of these feelings just did not measure up to what his experiences were. We all should have given him better respect that this testimony to his actions deserved.
I love this book, Beyond Glory. I carry it around with all the other books I’m reading. I’ve underlined certain passages, have dog-eared some pages, the cover is torn and folded. Some people see me reading it—which is part of reading this book I love since I like to talk about the stories.
The first time I read it, I borrowed it from the library and was enthralled by the simplicity of these men and how matter of fact they were about their business of “getting things done that needed to be done”. I believe Steven Covey calls it First Things First. Now, the book is mine and I’m taking my time turning over all the thoughts again, marking it up, and enjoying it all over again. Here’s the irony: I found this book at a sale for our local library and bought it for 50 cents. What a shame; it’s priceless. Each story has meaning to me, like these everyday-people I’ve met. Until you read these stories, or meet these people, you’d walk by any of these folks and not know that they did something extraordinary for their country, or exhibited the type of self-sacrificing leadership I seek to exhibit in all my roles and stewardships.
Several of these stories have even brought tears to my eyes, and pierced my heart. But each story—each person—has in them what we all have in common, and it does not matter who you are, or what you do. What we have is simply the desire to do what it takes when you know you have to do it. You are the only one who will probably ever know this too. At the moment when it counts the most, you will do it. Some people call it integrity, some call it bravery, and others call it courage. Some may even feel its stupidity.
Label it what you will. For these men, these people, we are grateful for this grace, this undeserved love, this gift of self-sacrifice they have freely given themselves to others, without giving it a second thought. In their own words, here are a few of our heroes saying what they feel it takes.
Mitchell Paige, Marine Corps Machine Gunner on Guadalcanal, August-February 1942, says, “What do recipients have in common? We are loyal Americans, Number One. Most of them are dependable. You can depend on them for anything…this award [Medal of Honor] doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to thirty-three other guys, too...the last thing I ever thought about was the medal.” (p. 18) He held off a screaming regiment of Japanese for an entire night with a machine gun, leading thirty-three other men who received Purple Hearts. As he states above, he feels they deserve it the most of all.
Walter D. Ehlers, Staff Sergeant, U.S. Army, The Battle for Normandy, June 10, 1944, says is plainly. “Our purpose went well beyond aiding our allies as they faced the German blitz. It was to save our way of life, for our parents and siblings at home, for our children, and the children we hoped to have, and for their children.” (p. 35)
Lewis L. Millet, The Last Bayonet Charge, on a hilltop in Korea, February 7, 1951, says it like this. “You’ve got every conceivable race, religion. What they have in common is courage, or the absence of fear in a critical situation. It’s having courage when it counts.” He goes on, “I believe in freedom, deeply believe in it. I believed as a free man it was my duty—and I’m not Jewish—but I think it was my duty to help the Jews be freed of a son of a bitch like Hitler.” He concludes, “I believed as a free man it was my duty to help others under the attack of tyranny. Just as simple as that.” (pp. 156, 157)
Paul Bucha, West Point graduate, Vietnam, March 16, 1968, puts it this way, “The important thing is to recognize that we are not special, and we are not different. We just were in a strange confluence of events, time and circumstance, where that which each of us has within us emerged, both in those who wear the Medal and those who do not. So the important thing is to encourage respect for the potential that exists in people.” (p. 213)
Nicky Daniel Bacon, Staff Sergeant, U.S. Army, Tam Ky, Vietnam, August 26, 1968, talks about what the recipients have in common. He says, “Integrity is one thing…most of us are very humble…most of them have humility…but there are some things you can’t explain in words: There’s a nobleness you see about them.” He goes on to talk about what separates these men from others, “There is a certain something that sets them apart…something comes out in them when they do things. They would probably be willing to die for certain things and to save others…it’s something that they just do. You do it, and sometimes you think that it’s over. There’s nothing that’s gonna change that, and so you’re gonna do the best you can and, as you say adios to this old world, you’re gonna do it with as much honor as you can. I imagine there’s a lot of POWs we’ll never know about who died that way.” (p. 271)
Jay R. Vargas, Major, Company G, Fourth Marines, Dai Do Village, Vietnam, April30—May 2, 1968, talks about the traits these people have. He says that among the traits fellow recipients have in common is unsurprisingly, courage. “They’re very confident people…they’re down-to-earth people…they’re not braggers. They just seem like they were put into a position for a very short period and whatever came out of them came out ten times stronger than you would expect your body or person to do in a particular situation.” He then makes a very strong point about his marines, “I would have gone into the jaws of hell for them. That’s a strong loyalty that comes from every Medal recipient I’ve met, and they’re very patriotic.”
Ken Burns and Geoffrey C. Ward recently produced a documentary called The War: An Intimate History, 1941 to 1945. This film has everything to do with “what it takes”. In it common people, talk about where they came from, their values, what they did in the war and how it affected them, “…voices of ordinary men and women who experienced—and helped to win—the most devastating war in history…” All of the people I’ve talked about share something extraordinary: doing what it takes—the courage to make a choice—a wise choice, and then to take responsibility. I love what Jay Vargas says: “You have to go with what’s inside you…and I did.” (p. 316) This is done without ever really knowing what it is, or taking the time to think. It’s acting on what you have. In the Preface of Beyond Glory, the author talks about what he learned of the people he interviewed. He states, “The one quality I saw in them was this: They tend to be the type of men who look outward, who think of someone else before they think of themselves. Hence you get the answer: ‘I was only doing my duty.’” Some, as Nickey Daniel Bacon says, “…we’ll never know about who died…”, but I’m sure, as General H. Norman Schwartzkopf, USA Retired, states in the Introduction, may have simply thought, “Gosh, it was just my duty. It was just my job. It was just my buddy. It was my outfit. I had to do it.”
Beyond glory? I pray God gives me the strength of choice, the commitment, and the courage all of these men had. And truly, that’s what it takes: knowing you need to do something without ever really thinking about it; “For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity, at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty.” (Citation on the Medal of Honor.)
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