by Vicki Cody
On December 20, the entire community—Army families alongside citizens from Clarksville, Hopkinsville, and Oak Grove; ordinary people, dignitaries, and some of the most senior Army leadership from the Pentagon—gathered at the division parade field for a memorial tribute to our fallen Screaming Eagles. I went with Tom and Gail and was so glad to be with close friends, since Dick couldn’t be there with me. It was twenty degrees and spitting snow that day, and even with all our layers of clothing, hats, and gloves, we were still shivering. Wreaths of sympathy and condolence from all over the world lined the perimeter of the parade field, where approximately seventeen thousand soldiers from the 101st Airborne Division, bundled up in their winter field jackets, stood in formation to honor their fallen comrades, all the while struggling with their own grief.
There were speeches that day, but I don’t remember much of what was said. I do remember the calm voice of the division commander, Major General Burton D. Patrick. Loved and revered by soldiers and officers alike, he was a great and caring leader and was just what we needed at that time.
What struck me most that day, and what I did not expect to feel on that particular occasion, was the most profound sense of pride when I looked at the formation of soldiers and the huge Screaming Eagle banner, a two-story-high replica of the division patch, in the background. Old Abe, as the eagle is called, always hung there on the parade field, but that was the first time I really looked at it. I was beginning to understand what “soldiering” was all about and what unit pride was. It happened when I least expected it, not on a beautiful summer day, at a happy event, like a change-of-command ceremony or a parade, but instead during one of the most somber events I had ever been to. As we huddled together, we were united in grief but also united in pride for our soldiers and all that they stood for. I had never felt so much a part of the Army family as I did at that moment. I couldn’t take my eyes off that huge Screaming Eagle patch. I now knew why Dick wanted to be in the 101st Airborne. That day, I fell in love with the division and with Fort Campbell.
Still, the crash cast a gloomy cloud over all of us. The boys and I were so glad when Dick returned from Georgia. Luckily, my parents had made plans to come to Fort Campbell that year for Christmas. If there was ever a time when I needed family and a sense of normalcy, it was then. I picked my parents up at the Nashville airport, and as we made the one-hour drive to Fort Campbell, I was emotional as I tried to fill them in on everything that had happened in the past twelve days. Also, because this was their first trip to Fort Campbell, I felt the need to prepare them for the huge Army post that we called home. As we made our way down 41A, my parents were amazed at the sight before them. On both sides of the highway were American flags flying at half staff and signs and wreaths in front of each and every business, even the famous strip club the Cat West, expressing sympathy, love, and support for our soldiers and their families. I was no longer embarrassed at the seediness outside our gates; rather, I was proud of it.
Life went on, and we began to heal as a community. But just like the other times after a traumatic event, these incidents brought Dick and me closer as a couple while forcing us to face the fragility of life. I worried about the boys and how much they were processing, afraid that they would grow up with a skewed sense of what was normal, that they would think fathers die or, worse yet, that their father could die flying his helicopter. But our sons were pretty resilient. And Dick was such an upbeat and positive person, always moving forward, never dwelling on the past or on sadness, that he made it easier for me to put my fears aside. Somehow, despite all the sadness and challenges going on around us, he and I were able to maintain a balance.
Life in the 101st Airborne Division was hectic and at times overwhelming, but it was a great place to be an Army wife. There was a sense of belonging and order there. For someone like me, with a high need for inclusion, I thrived in that environment. I had so many peers and we learned from each other. I learned from the commanders’ wives who were role models for all of the younger spouses, until suddenly, I found myself in the role of mentor. Because I was a major’s wife, the young lieutenants’ and captains’ wives considered me a senior wife and looked to me for guidance and advice.
Even today, I look back on those years with such fondness, particularly when I remember summer afternoons at the Officers’ Club swimming pool. While watching our kids, with our chairs lined up like a beach chair brigade, my friends and I discussed everything from recipes to decorating and entertaining to good books to read to our husband’s jobs, speculated on who was moving where and when, and covered just about anything else having to do with Army life. At any given time, any or all of our husbands were gone, but we kept each other company. How lucky we were to have one another.
PS: I truly believe that I came of age as an Army wife there at Fort Campbell. I began to really understand and embrace Dick’s profession more than I ever had. The boys came of age, too, as “Army brats.” Hanging around the barracks and the aircraft hangars with their dad, they looked up to the soldiers and pilots whom Dick led. Many of these young boys with whom they went to school, played sports, and played soldier in our backyard at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, would one day serve together in the Army.
Thoughts on Moving
At this point in the story, you’re beginning to see a pattern—a pattern of moving. In thirty-three years of marriage, Dick and I moved eighteen times. Even though some of those moves were back to a place we had already lived, they still brought up all of the emotional and physical baggage that goes along with relocation. To this day, I have recurring dreams—I call them moving nightmares—about a moving van pulling up in front of our house when I’m not ready; I haven’t even packed a suitcase.
The physical act of moving became a routine: cleaning drapes, rugs, and bedding; taking everything off the walls and filling in holes left by picture hooks; removing wallpaper borders; recaulking tubs and sinks; emptying closets, the carport, and the shed; mowing the lawn; and packing suitcases with enough clothing to last anywhere from two to eight weeks. We made daily trips to the thrift shop, Goodwill, and the huge Dumpsters on post. By the time the packers and movers arrived, we were exhausted, but then it took another three days to pack and load all of our possessions. Every time the movers closed and bolted the doors of the huge van containing most of our material possessions and drove off into the sunset, I felt my life pulling away from the curb, too.
Moving tested us and tried our patience in many ways. Dick and I invariably had a big argument at some point during the moving process. I came to expect it and tried to prepare myself for it, but it would sneak up on us and catch us when we were most vulnerable—usually when exhaustion set in. Something big or small would ignite a spark, and in an instant we would be embroiled in a “big one.” We fought about anything from who was doing the most work, to how something that wasn’t supposed to have been packed had gotten packed, to how someone had lost the check for the cleaning team or had hit the utility box while backing out of the driveway, knocking out power to our street. One time we got a flat tire before we even left the driveway, and one time, the day before we had to drive to our new home, Tyler got strep throat, which involved a trip to the emergency room. All of those things contributed to our already-high stress levels, and there were times when I wanted to walk away from it all, including Dick Cody.
Luckily, our outbursts never lasted long. Once the stress of the decision making and hard labor was over, the moving van gone, the yard neat, the cleaning team on its way, and the suitcases in the trunk of the car, our lives were simplified and we started feeling excited about what lay ahead. It was the four of us again, and we were never closer than when we were headed for that next duty assignment, that next adventure.
For the physical act of moving, we made countless lists, consulted maps, and arranged for all possible contingencies. There was a method to the madness, and with each move we became more savvy. The more organized we were, the better the move went.
After our first tour at Fort Campbell, we had orders for an accompanied tour in Korea. Our best friends, the Grecos, were moving to Panama. Gail and I had become as close as sisters, and we didn’t know when or if our paths would cross again. The day we left, Gail and I were in her bedroom, lying facedown on her bed, crying like a couple of little kids, when Dick’s loud voice came booming down the hall: “Okay, girls, that’s enough! Time to go, Vick.”
He and Tom had said good-bye that morning. They probably shook hands and said something really profound, like, “Catch you later; see you on the high ground.” I wished I could be like that, but I wasn’t. So I carried some of that baggage around with the rest of our suitcases, although I usually rebounded soon after we got to the new place. After a period of adjustment, I made new friends and we all enjoyed these new experiences.
Our overseas move to Korea, however, was a logistical challenge that tested even my best organizational skills. While it was an accompanied tour, I was pretty much on my own with Clint and Tyler, ten and eight (respectively) at the time, not just for the long flight over but for much of the year we lived there. Dick was the aide to a three-star general, and the two of them lived on another Army post about an hour away from us. The boys and I lived on Yongsan, a post right in the middle of Seoul. Dick came home to us on the weekends, which was a big adjustment at first but definitely better than the unaccompanied short tour that we had already endured. It proved to be a great year, full of rich experiences that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Most of all, I was proud of myself not only for surviving some lonely days and evenings without Dick, but for doing so in a foreign country, without all the comforts of the United States. I didn’t let Dick’s absence get in the way of the fun the boys and I could have. I learned how to navigate and get around in a huge foreign city, and I made sure our sons got to do all the things they would normally have done. I was pleased with how good they were and how they matured that year.
When we left Korea, part of me hated for the year to be over. There were things that I would miss about Korea: my friends; our houseboy, Mr. Chy; and all of the interesting Korean people that I had gotten to know. I would miss shopping in the back alleys and side streets of Seoul, bartering to get a deal, and I would miss not getting to see the Olympics, but this girl was ready to go back to the land of shopping malls and department stores, fast-food restaurants, fresh potato chips, American TV and movies, and driving my car wherever I wanted. I had missed that sense of freedom and wide-open spaces that I did not feel while living on a peninsula surrounded by water on three sides and North Korea on the fourth. Call me frivolous, but I had missed my country!
Army life even afforded me character-building opportunities like moving into quarters by myself. When we left Korea, Dick had to attend a course at Fort Rucker, so the boys and I made the move to Fort Campbell by ourselves. I handled two overseas shipments and our storage shipment and learned how to hook up our washer and dryer, which was not easy and not a pretty sight—me wedged behind the machines, squatting down with plumber’s crack, sweat pouring off me, cuss words flying out of my mouth, all my anger directed at Dick for not being there.
When we moved back to a place where we had previously lived, it was an added bonus. We lived at Fort Campbell four times in all and Fort Hood, Texas, twice. Both were places that we loved, and sometimes when we returned, some of our friends were still there.
After each move, once the last box was unpacked, the house in order, and the boys squared away, I had to take stock of myself and chart my course for the new tour of duty. Each time we moved, my world (and the boys’) was turned upside down, and then it was up to me to put all the pieces back together and create a sense of order. As often as we moved, I still always went through a transition period when I was full of self-doubt and questioned the life we had chosen. I wondered if I could make a home for us and if we would be happy.
There were times when I worried about how all of the moving was impacting Clint and Tyler. But as they got older, I realized it kept our boys closer to us longer than usual. Because they were always the new kids, they didn’t have a crowd or group that they had belonged to for any length of time. During the high school years, most kids start experimenting with or dabbling in various “things” because they have the comfort of close friends with whom they’ve grown up. Clint and Tyler were lucky to have each other, make a few friends, make the tennis team, and find their way in a new community. They didn’t have a lot of time to get into trouble.
Our many moves took on a different dynamic when Tyler relocated the first time without his big brother, since they had always had each other when they started at a new school. And then, when both boys were in college, it got even more complicated. One of the most challenging moves logistically was the one from Fort Hood, Texas, to Washington, DC, in the summer of 1999. Clint had a job in Killeen, and Tyler was leaving for Advanced Camp at Fort Lewis, Washington. Both boys would be going to Texas A&M by the end of the summer, so there was no need for them to move to DC initially. My best friend Nancy offered to let Clint live with them for the remainder of the summer. Once Tyler left for Fort Lewis, I joined Dick, who had already moved to DC. Just as Dick and I did, the boys learned to roll with the punches.
11
Summer 1990
Everything Dick had accomplished in his career was leading up to and preparing him for battalion command. In 1988, while we were stationed in Korea, he was selected for promotion to lieutenant colonel and to command the first Apache battalion in the 101st Airborne Division. After one year in Korea, we went right back to the 101st Airborne Division and Fort Campbell. Dick took command of 1-101st Aviation Battalion, the Expect No Mercy battalion, in the summer of 1989. It was the perfect scenario for all four of us: Dick would get to command soldiers again, and all of us were going back to a place we loved. We even had friends who still lived there. The best part of all was that the Grecos were coming back to Fort Campbell after their tour in Panama. Tom had been selected for promotion and command of an infantry battalion.
In February 1990, Dick’s battalion left for a four-month training exercise at Fort Hunter- Liggett, California. Their mission was to test the Apache helicopter by flying against the most advanced radar and air defense systems in the world—and in extreme desert conditions. The exercise would test not only the helicopter’s abilities but also those of every pilot, crew chief, and mechanic; it would test Dick’s crew mixes and all of his skills as a leader. The California desert was unforgiving, and the flying schedule was relentless—day after day, with no breaks. It was similar to combat conditions.
The deployment to California was a test for me, too, as a mother but also as a commander’s wife. It had been a while since Dick had been gone for that length of time, and we had a lot of new, young pilots and families who had never been separated or deployed. I worried about all the what-ifs that could happen in four months’ time. As we had seen in the past, life throws curveballs when you least expect them.
About halfway through the exercise, “it” happened: a midair collision between two of Dick’s Apaches. Miraculously, all four pilots survived; three of them walked away with minor injuries, but one was critically injured with head trauma and burns. It was a devastating blow to Dick, his pilots, and all the soldiers in the unit. For me and the wives back home, it was yet another wake-up call about the dangers of what our husbands were doing.
As difficult as the accidents were for me when Dick was gone,
I could only imagine what it was like for him and his soldiers. As with the time in Egypt, I was amazed at the resiliency it took for them to be able to finish their training exercise and the courage it took them to get back in their cockpits. Dick believed in leading by example, so he was the first one to take off and fly after the accident.
While their fellow pilot Chuck lay in a coma, it was time for the unit to return home. The hardest thing Dick ever had to do was leave one of his pilots behind. Except for the accident, his entire battalion performed magnificently under the most extreme flying conditions. They learned to defeat the most sophisticated radar and air defense systems in the world. They proved that the Apache was worthy of all its notoriety and expense. But, more important, Dick had flown with each of his pilots during the training exercise and felt confident about the capabilities of every one of them. That experience confirmed his crew mixes: the teams that flew together in California would fly together from then on.
On August 2, 1990, Iraq invaded Kuwait. It was also Dick’s fortieth birthday. The day began like his birthdays always did: with a 6:00 a.m. phone call from his mother singing “Happy Birthday.” Seven kids, countless grandchildren, and a very full and busy life, yet the amazing Jan Cody never missed a birthday.
However, that morning, the conversation turned serious and I could tell from Dick’s end that something was wrong. He told his mom he would call her later.
He was out of bed and headed down the hall for the TV room, with me right on his heels.
“What is it, Dick? What happened?”
He was muttering to himself, and then he said, “Iraq just invaded Kuwait.”