by Vicki Cody
My girlfriends and I exchanged lots of tearful good-byes, since we were all going in different directions. As I watched the boys say their good-byes to their friends, it was heartwarming to see teenagers hugging each other and crying. They were old enough to understand one of the hardships of Army life: making wonderful friends, only to leave them. The US Army War College had definitely lived up to its reputation. It really was the best year ever.
PS: Our year at Carlisle gave us a much-needed break. It came at a perfect time for all of us. When we left there, we would all get busy again—Dick would have his new job as a brigade commander, I would resume my duties as a commander’s wife, Clint would go off to college in another year, and Tyler would be busy with his last years of high school. But for that year, we ate dinner together every night, we went to church every Sunday, we studied, we played, and, most of all, we had fun as a family. Many civilians may take that for granted, but for Army families, it’s something to be cherished.
West Point Homecoming, 1971 courtesy United States Military Academy
“The Popsicle Man” handing out popsicles to the kids in Tent City Operation New Life, Guam 1975, courtesy Stars and Stripes
Our wedding, August 30, 1975 courtesy Marty LaValley
Me, very pregnant, pinning on Dick’s flight wings Fort Rucker, AL, 1977, courtesy Janice Cody
Clint and Tyler visiting their dad on the flight line, HAAF, Savannah 1981, courtesy Vicki Cody
Saying good-bye at Campbell Army Airfield as Dick leaves for Egypt July 1985, courtesy US Army
Dick by his Apache, Operation Desert Shield, Saudi Arabia, 1990, courtesy Dick Cody
Dick with his Soldiers in Iraq, Operation Desert Storm, Feb. 1991, courtesy Dick Cody
Dick’s “Welcome Home”—Fort Campbell, KY, April 1991 courtesy Vicki Cody
Dick’s parents, me, and the boys…and Dick’s new corvette courtesy Vicki Cody
Dick teaching his sons the art of boot shining, the night before ROTC Advanced Camp, 1998, courtesy Vicki Cody
Pinning on Clint’s wings at Fort Rucker, AL 2001, courtesy US Army
Pinning on Tyler’s wings at Fort Rucker, AL 2003 courtesy US Army
A very special day; President and Mrs. Bush visit Fort Campbell, KY, Nov. 2001, Courtesy US Army
Dick awarding Clint his first Air Medal in Afghanistan, 2002 courtesy US Army
Saying good-bye to Clint as he leaves for Iraq Feb. 2004, courtesy Vicki Cody
Tyler’s first deployment to Iraq, Sept.2003, courtesy Vicki Cody
The boys in front of their Apache helicopter Iraq 2004, courtesy Clint Cody
Brooke and I welcoming Tyler home in Feb, 2004, courtesy Vicki Cody
My mom welcoming her grandsons home from Iraq Feb. 2004, courtesy Vicki Cody
Clint and Tyler pinning on Dick’s 4 stars at the Pentagon July 2004, courtesy US Army
Dick being sworn in as the Army’s 31st Vice Chief of Staff Courtesy US Army
Speaking to the spouses at Fort Campbell, KY, 2002 courtesy Officers’ Wives Club
Me with Soldiers at the National Training Center, Fort Irwin, CA July 4, 2007, courtesy US Army
Me with President Bush outside the Oval Office (the sharpie pen incident!) April 2007, courtesy White House photo
At the Indianapolis 500 in 2006 with the Judds; Wynonna on my left, Naomi on Dick’s right, courtesy Vicki Cody.
Brooke and Austin welcome Tyler home from Iraq in 2006 courtesy Vicki Cody
Kimberly and Connor welcome Clint home from Afghanistan in 2013 Courtesy Lauren Shrader
Dick’s last flight in the Apache, Fort Rucker, AL July 2008, courtesy US Army
Dick and Tyler after their flight, courtesy US Army
Dick’s retirement ceremony, Aug. 2008 “Trooping the Line” for the last time
What a moment for both of us! Courtesy US Army
Our family today 2014
Left to right: Kimberly holding one-day-old Dillon, Clint, me, Dick, Brooke, Tyler
Front: Connor, Zachary, and Austin
14
Welcome to Texas, Y’all!
Dick had prepositioned the plane earlier that spring, so we were two cars, loaded with everything we could squeeze into the trunks, two teenage boys, and Sandy the cat, on the two-day journey to Texas. As we headed west, the heat became more stifling, and once we were on I-35 south of Dallas, there wasn’t much to look at for the last three hours of the trip. It was so flat, so brown, so vast—just miles and miles of endless highway ahead of us. And whoever said it would be dry heat was just plain wrong; it was sticky, humid, and scorching. By the time we made our last pit stop, at a Love’s truck stop outside Waco, I swear I was talking with a twang.
As we drove down Rancier Drive toward the post, we passed pawnshops, gun shops, 7-Elevens, check-cashing joints, a drive-through margarita bar, tattoo parlors, topless clubs, lingerie shops, and cowboyboot stores. It looked pretty much the same as route 41A outside Fort Campbell, but with a Western flavor. I knew very little about Killeen and central Texas, but for some reason, I was excited; we all were. I had a feeling that it was going to be a great assignment.
We pulled into the guest house that Fourth of July weekend, along with all the other Army families who were coming or going; the parking lot was full of U-Hauls, boat trailers, and campers. We were lucky to have a room at all at the overbooked guest house, but our one-bedroom, one-bathroom suite got crowded really fast, as the boys argued over the pullout couch and the four of us constantly bumped into each other because it was too hot to do anything outside.
Fort Hood, the second-largest Army post in the United States, with approximately forty-five-thousand soldiers, seemed daunting at first. Those early days, I didn’t see how such a huge post could ever feel like home. There were not one but two divisions, and the III Corps headquarters. The rows of tanks, Bradley fighting vehicles, and heavily armored trucks went on for miles. I could feel a lesson coming on: it was time to learn all about tanks, air cavalry, and armor divisions.
The 1st Cavalry Division, called the First Team, has a long and storied history that dates back to the battle of the Little Bighorn. Dick took command of the aviation brigade in a unique ceremony with all the leadership, including Dick, on horseback, and a cavalry charge at the end. Our parents had flown in from Vermont, and we were all blown away by the event and the rituals of the cavalry. Dick would have to learn a whole other way of training and tactics, but he was always up for a new challenge.
I was surprised at how quickly we all settled in, given the fact that we had never even been to Texas before. It had not been on our wish list, yet it was a welcome and pleasant surprise. We embraced the unexpectedness of a new unit and a new part of the country. The boys adjusted to their new surroundings, which gave me peace of mind. Killeen High School was huge, so I was glad they had each other; they were, too. I noticed even more closeness between them as they became old enough to realize they could count on each other, especially when they started a new school. They both made the tennis team, and in such a big school, one where football clearly ruled, the tennis team gave them a place to belong and a way to make friends.
Dick and I immediately fell into the rhythm of the division and our brigade and made friends, too. Everyone made us feel welcome, especially the division commander, Major General Shinseki, and his wife. At the division off-site conference later that summer, we got to know our fellow brigade commanders and their wives and felt the same camaraderie that we had come to love about Army life.
Dick was in his element, doing his innovative, hands-on, tough-yet-caring type of leadership. He was involved with every aspect of the unit and his soldiers’ lives. He put his personal touch on everything, from giving every soldier a handwritten birthday card to turning wrenches in the hangar with his crew chiefs.
I was in my element, too. I loved getting to know everyone in our brigade, coaching and mentoring the battalion commanders’ wives and the younger spouses in the unit, and
doing what Dick and I loved doing: creating a team and family atmosphere.
During that time, Dick and I learned to balance and juggle even more. The boys weren’t little kids anymore, and while we had certain freedoms because they were older, we also had other, new obligations. Clint was a senior in high school, and there were a lot of extra activities that went along with that. Still, I was as determined as ever to participate in all of the boys’ school and sports activities; I didn’t want to miss a thing. The eighteen years we have with our kids go by all too quickly, and I didn’t want any regrets when the boys went off to college. There were times when I had to choose Clint’s tennis match over Tyler’s, and times when I had to choose my boys over my Army wife duties. Dick managed to attend all the important events and made sure the boys’ tennis matches were on his brigade calendar.
Before we knew it, Clint’s senior year was coming to an end. When he found out he had not gotten into West Point, Dick and I sat him down so we could come up with a plan B.
“Dad,” he said, “I just want to be in a corps of cadets, get commissioned in the Army, and eventually go to flight school. I want to be a pilot, just like you. Tell me how to do that if I can’t go to the academy.”
An old friend and Dick’s former boss, Colonel Seth Hudgins, who worked at West Point, had in fact called us with the news about Clint. He recommended New Mexico Military Institute (NMMI). Dick told Clint about the school, which has an excellent reputation for academics, military tactics, and its corps of cadets, and Clint liked the idea.
Dick and Clint made the quick flight to Roswell, and both of them loved the school. With that settled, we began to make plans for Clint to attend NMMI at the end of the summer. While he wanted to do everything just like his dad, his journey would take a different turn. It was an important life lesson for all of us: we don’t always get what we want, and sometimes we have to change course.
I tried to live in the moment and not think ahead to Clint’s leaving home, but time was slipping away. He turned eighteen, graduated from high school, and got his first paying job at Patriot Pontiac/Chevrolet in Killeen. Tyler mowed lawns to earn spending money and continued to beg us for a puppy for his sixteenth birthday—specifically, a chocolate Lab that he could name Barkley, after his hero, Charles Barkley. We finally found the perfect one through a friend, and that was how Barkley came to our family. While he was a lot of work in the beginning, as puppies are, it was a good distraction for me as I mentally prepared myself for Clint’s going off to college. And Barkley turned out to be the best dog that ever lived.
Taking Clint out to NMMI was truly an emotional event for our family. I remember the three of us in our room at the Roswell Inn the night before we signed him in; I was doing the whole worrying-mom thing, obsessing about everything, afraid that there was something important that I had forgotten to teach him, some detail I had missed. It was like cramming the night before a big exam—the biggest one of my life. While I was doing my obsessing, I could hear Dick giving Clint the mother of all safety briefings. Dick, in his own way, was feeling just like I was, and his anxiety manifested itself in a series of safety briefings about everything imaginable. I wanted so very much to stop time; I wanted to pack up and for the three of us head back to Fort Hood and our nice life. I kept thinking, Why do I want to leave my kid here, out in the middle of nowhere, and have no contact for the next three weeks while they shave his head, make him do push-ups, probably starve him, deprive him of sleep, and God knows what else? It was so hard to let go. It wasn’t just leaving him at college; it was the beginning of his Army career. Like most parents, Dick and I wondered if we had done everything to prepare our son, not just for college but also for the Army and that big world out there.
We had flown our plane, so, with our headsets on during the peaceful flight home, I allowed myself a good cry and collected my thoughts. It seemed like only yesterday I was holding Baby Clint and waving good-bye to Dick as he left for Korea. Those eighteen years went by way too fast.
I turned to Dick and asked, “Will he be okay? What do you think they’ll do to him the first days and weeks?” I had met Dick after his first year at West Point, so I had little frame of reference for what life is like the first weeks in a military school.
“It will be tough the first week or so. But Clint has a big advantage I didn’t have when I went off to West Point. I knew nothing about the Army and the military. I was just a naive kid from small-town Vermont who had good athletic abilities. Clint has grown up around the Army; he’s used to seeing the discipline, the structure, the uniforms; he’s watched me with my soldiers; and he’s lived all over the country and overseas. He’s had to make new friends and adjust to new surroundings on a continual basis his whole life. He’s going to be just fine.”
“You’re right—I hadn’t thought about all of that. I think we did a good job raising him. He’s a great kid with a great sense of humor, he’s smart, and he knows exactly what he wants. I’m just nervous for him. I miss him already.”
“I know, Vick; me too. He’ll be okay—trust me.”
After three grueling weeks with no contact, Clint was finally able to call. It was monumental.
“I’m not going to lie—there were times in the first days that I doubted my decision to come here, but then, all of a sudden, I started to get it. I like it, in a weird way. And I met a kid from Killeen and we have the same sense of humor. We have fun and make each other laugh,” he told us.
“That’s so good to hear, Clint. We knew you would be okay. We’re so proud of you! We’ll be there for your first parade.” We hung up the phone with relief. Clint was not only okay but already on his way to realizing his dream. It was all any parent could ask for. We counted the days until we could go visit him.
Dick and I enjoyed everything about our time in Texas, from spending time with our peers and fellow brigade commanders and their wives to sightseeing and exploring in Austin and San Antonio. For the next two years, I wore every variation of denim and khaki, Western boots, and Brighton silver jewelry. We two-stepped and line-danced and consumed enough barbecue brisket, beans, potato salad, and sweet tea to last a lifetime. We went to fish fries in Copperas Cove, boat rides on Belton Lake, and the annual Christmas-tree lighting in the little town of Salado. We ate chicken-fried steak in Killeen, Mexican food in Austin, and the best German schnitzel in New Braunfels. We witnessed the beauty of springtime in the hill country, where brilliant wildflowers and bluebonnets painted the fields along the highways. We strolled the River Walk in San Antonio, visited the Alamo, and, while attending the boys’ numerous tennis matches, learned the back roads and quaint little towns of central Texas. Texas was so diverse and so much more than just cowboys and football. Just as the saying goes, it really was a whole other world.
We visited Clint as often as possible and loved watching him march in the parades. He seemed happy and more mature and confident with each visit. He told us that his years as an Army brat had prepared him for military school. Some of the things that other kids struggled with were just not an issue for him, and not a lot intimidated him.
And now that Clint was gone, I was able to devote all my free time to Tyler, who, like his older brother, was growing into a fine young man. He did really well in school and tennis and made some good friends. He was polite and had a great attitude, and he was fun to be around. He was confident and strong willed, but he didn’t really test us in any way; he didn’t do things that many kids his age were doing.
Dick and I also began a new chapter in our marriage as we celebrated our twentieth anniversary. We went to Jamaica on our first vacation without our boys. As we reflected on all our years together, we were struck both by how quickly the time had gone and by the fact that we still had the magic that we had when we first met. We were happier and stronger than ever, and we did not take that for granted.
“Do you realize how blessed we are, Dick?” I asked him. “Back when we got married, I never dreamed I would love Army life
the way I do. And our sons . . . how did we get so lucky?”
“I know, Vick. Clint and Tyler are so squared away, and that’s all your doing. You did a great job with them.”
“They got the best from each of us, but you’re the biggest influence on them. They want to be just like you!”
Our two years in Texas were coming to an end, and it was time for Dick to give up command of his brigade. I had not expected to fall in love with the state, so the thought of leaving was difficult, although we were heading back to Fort Campbell, which made it somewhat easier. But the dilemma we faced was moving Tyler his senior year. Naturally, he wanted to stay in Killeen and graduate with his class and friends. We hated to move him, but Dick and I stood together on our decision: we would not separate our family. Clint had decided to stay on at NMMI for a second year and then transfer to a four-year university.
We left Texas with heavy hearts, an appreciation for a state and its people, and a slight drawl. It was hard saying good-bye to the people in our brigade. For the first time in years, there had been no helicopter crashes and no real-world deployments. It was such a gratifying experience, and Dick and I were richer for it in many ways.