by Vicki Cody
PS: Texas was every corny cliché I had ever heard, and it lived up to all of them. It was Friday night football like we had never experienced before; it was school pride and Texas pride; it was a place where football players (and cheerleaders, too) were treated like gods; it was a Dairy Queen on every street corner; it was driving all day and never reaching the other side of the state; it was big hair, big jewelry, beauty queens, and prom queens; it was marching bands and drill teams; it was rednecks in big trucks with gun racks; it was a place where kids addressed adults as “sir” and “ma’am,” where it was okay to say a prayer before a football game, where people carried their Bible and their gun together, where faith and church were the center of people’s lives, where little kids dreamed of being football players or cheerleaders. Everything really was bigger in Texas, or maybe you just feel that way after you’ve lived there for a while. Our friendships and memories for those two years matched the size of Texas, and I can’t help but smile when I think of those times.
15
A Time of Transition
In hindsight, I realize that when we left Fort Hood that summer of 1996, we were entering a time of transition. Dick had been selected to command the infamous 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (SOAR). It was the very unit that he and Ned had been part of back in 1980 and had helped form up, and that was built around the “little bird” helicopters that Dick had helped build. The unit that he had secretly followed and wanted to be part of since its inception had finally become a reality for him. But that command, more than any other, past or future, proved to be the most challenging that Dick had faced. I would like to tell you that he was the beloved commander he had always been and that all of his proven leadership skills worked, but that was not exactly how it played out. Maybe it was perceptions; after all, Dick had spent much of his career in the “green” Army and was considered an outsider by many in the regiment. Maybe it was the timing; it was just three years after the 160th SOAR had suffered huge losses in the battle of Mogadishu, Somalia—an operation that Dick had not been part of, which, again, made him an outsider. Maybe it was the fact that Dick was put in the position to bring about much-needed changes, a touchy subject for any unit. It could have been any or all of those reasons. And sometimes the very things we want the most just don’t live up to our expectations.
Soon after we moved to Fort Campbell and before Dick took command of the 160th SOAR, he had gone down to Fort Rucker to learn to fly the Blackhawk helicopter. He wasn’t due home for another week, so I was surprised one afternoon when I pulled into our driveway and saw him sitting on a cooler on our carport. Two thoughts hit me immediately: 1) something was really wrong, and 2) I had forgotten to give him a house key before he left for Fort Rucker. But then I saw the smug look on his face. He was smiling.
“Dick, what are you doing home? Is everything okay? How long have you been waiting?”
“I’ve been here about an hour.” Then he walked up to me and said, “Guess what? I’m on the promotion list for brigadier general! I decided to drive home and surprise you!”
“Are you kidding me? Really? You’re on the list?”
“Can you believe it?”
“Oh my God!”
I gave him a huge hug and whispered in his ear, “I’ve always wanted to sleep with a general!” (I had been saying that to him about every promotion since he’d become a lieutenant colonel.)
As we walked into the house, we immediately began discussing the implications. But then I looked at my watch and said, “Tyler won’t be home for at least an hour; we’ve got the house to ourselves . . . I’m thinking this definitely calls for a celebration.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” he said, as we walked down the hall to our bedroom.
And so began our time of transition. Dick was committed to commanding the 160th and deferred his promotion for the time being. But soon he would enter the higher levels of Army leadership. The jump from field-grade officer (major to colonel) to the general officer ranks was a big one. We were excited but humbled all at the same time.
Meanwhile, Clint did very well his second year at NMMI, graduated, and got accepted into the Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M. He would be transferring from a school the size of a high school, with approximately nine hundred students, to a huge university with forty-five thousand students, but he had greatly matured in his two years at NMMI and was ready for the next chapter in his life.
Tyler adjusted to a new school and had a good senior year. During what could have been a difficult transition, he amazed us with his flexibility and great attitude, making friends, playing three varsity sports, and doing well in academics. When he graduated, he decided to go to NMMI and follow in his brother’s footsteps.
The summer of 1997, both boys went to the ROTC Basic Camp together. When Dick and I sat in the bleachers at graduation and watched the Pass in Review, it took me a minute to find my boys in that sea of green camouflage, but then I spotted each of them: Tyler, so tall that he stood out, and Clint, with the same gait as his dad. I leaned in and whispered to Dick, “Just look at our boys, so grown up, so much like you.” I had a strong feeling that day that they were living their destiny. And when they returned home, Dick and I noticed an even stronger bond between them and a new respect toward each other.
Later that summer, we took Tyler to New Mexico to begin a new chapter in his life. It was easier than leaving Clint, because we knew what to expect, but it was still an emotional event for me. Letting go of my youngest signaled a real empty nest.
At the end of August, Clint and I set out on a day-and-a-half road trip to Texas A&M University in College Station, Texas. I welcomed the chance to spend some quality time with my oldest son; we hadn’t had many opportunities to be alone in the past couple of years. As the boys grew older and I had less time with them, I learned to take advantage of and savor little stolen moments with each of them.
From his very first day on that huge campus, Clint loved everything about being an Aggie in the Corps of Cadets. And within just days, he told me that he had found his “home.” Texas A&M would be his proving ground and eventually Tyler’s, too. The week that I spent out there I witnessed a school pride that is so unique to Texas A&M. With every “gig ’em” and “howdy” that I was greeted with, I fell more in love with the school. When Dick came to pick me up, he, too, was impressed. We didn’t know if it was the Fightin’ Texas Aggie Band (the largest military band in the world) or watching the Corps of Cadets in their World War II uniforms, the seniors in jodhpurs and boots, march through the campus; whatever it was, we both agreed that, in all our years in the Army, we had never felt such pride and esprit de corps. We were proud Aggie parents from head to toe.
Now that both boys were in college, as I went from full-time to part-time mom that fall, I had that feeling that all mothers have of not wanting to let go, not wanting the kids to grow up, wanting to turn back the clock. I just kept thinking, It’s gone by too fast. Clint and Tyler have been so easy and such a joy to raise; I’m not ready for this part of my job to be over. Initially, I thought I was going to be lonely, but all of my Army wife duties kept me busy and filled in the gaps that my empty nest created.
On December 1, 1997, Dick gave up command of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. I was so proud of what he had accomplished in those thirteen months in the regiment—he never gave up, never took the path of least resistance—but secretly I was relieved that the job was done and that he would be removed from the day-to-day stress that had become so much a part of his life.
The same day, Dick was promoted to brigadier general in a ceremony in one of the large hangars on the 160th compound, out at the airfield. Clint, Tyler, and I pinned on his new rank before hundreds of family members and friends. As I sat there listening to speeches, my mind wandered and took me back in time. I thought about all of Dick’s promotions up to that point and could remember what I wore to each one. I thought about my evolution as an Army wife, from second
lieutenant’s girlfriend to brigadier general’s wife, and I reflected, What a journey this has been. Clint and Tyler are on either side of me in their respective military school uniforms, and Dick is out in front of us, wearing a star! Who would’ve thought?
Dick and I understood the significance of that particular promotion; he had passed through the eye of a very small needle. It was very humbling for both of us. In his speech that day, he told the audience that I deserved stars as much as he did and presented me with a pair of diamond earrings in front of everyone. I was very touched by his thoughtfulness, and we felt blessed to be surrounded by so many of our loved ones.
PS: Dick’s success in the 160th SOAR was not measured in accolades, awards, popularity, or even pats on the back. It was measured in how well the unit and the soldiers did long after he left. I love this man who faces challenges head-on and, in doing so, inspires everyone around him.
16
The First Star
Dick’s first job as a new brigadier general was in the 4th Infantry Division, as the assistant division commander maneuver (ADCM). So it was back to Fort Hood that April 1998. I felt like a yo-yo after all the back-to-back moves between Fort Hood and Fort Campbell, but we were overjoyed to move back to a place we loved, where we would be closer to our sons’ school; plus, it was a great job for Dick.
I wasn’t exactly sure what my role was, but I had learned to observe, listen, and wait, and was confident that it would present itself to me. As I watched and learned from our division commander’s wife and the other generals’ wives on post, I realized I was even more of a mentor and advocate to the younger spouses. Also, at that level, we each served on various boards of organizations, on and off post, that catered to the needs of our military community.
When the boys came home for their summer break, Clint began flying lessons. He loved flying and was a natural, and it was fun to talk about all of it with him, since I understood everything he was learning.
At the end of the summer, both boys packed their bags for ROTC Advanced Camp at Fort Lewis, Washington. The night before they left, I came upon the three of them—Dick, Clint, and Tyler—hunched over the kitchen sink, tins of black Kiwi shoe polish on the counter, Dick instructing the boys in the fine art of boot shining. The smell of the polish took me back in time to memories of Dick shining his boots in our little apartment in Hawaii. As a brand-new Army wife, I had been fascinated with his twice-weekly ritual: newspapers spread out on our coffee table, his tools laid out before him, the tin of Kiwi, an old undershirt, a book of matches. Now, I thought, All those years watching him shine his boots... Now here he is, teaching his sons. It was a passing of the torch, a coming-of-age for our kids. I ran to get my camera so I could capture the moment.
I was glad the boys would be together at Fort Lewis, as I knew they would look after each other. Things were going well until, partway through, Tyler came home unexpectedly. Among other things, he was having problems with his feet—hammer toes—and if he wanted to go into the Army, we would have to address those issues. He was devastated; we were concerned. We gave him a few days to decompress, and then we sat him down and talked to him about his future.
Dick began, “Tyler, I know you’re disappointed you didn’t finish the camp, but maybe it’s for the best. I think the first thing we need to do is see a doctor about your feet. But before we move forward, your mom and I want to know if this is what you really want to do. We don’t care if you want to do something other than go into the Army.”
“It’s all I want to do,” he said. “I want to be in the Army, and someday I hope to be a pilot.”
“You have to be sure,” I said. “It can’t be because you think we want you to or because your brother chose that. It has to be your decision.”
Dick said, “If you have the surgery and your feet are okay, then you will have to work that much harder to go back to the Advanced Camp next summer. Are you willing to do what it takes?”
“Absolutely, Dad.”
We believed we had given Tyler every opportunity to change course, but he seemed to know what he wanted and was determined to do it. He had surgery on both his feet and spent the rest of the summer recuperating. Clint finished Advanced Camp, and we flew out for his graduation. It was bittersweet because Tyler should have been there, too.
About that time, a new best friend came into my life. Nancy Taylor moved in two doors down from us. Her husband, Joe, was Dick’s counterpart on the division staff, as the new ADC for support. I liked Nancy from the day I met her. She reminded me of some of my other favorite girlfriends—strong, capable women with a great sense of humor. She and I were finding our way at a new level in our husbands’ careers, in roles with new expectations and responsibilities, and we navigated that maze of activities, functions, meetings, briefings, ceremonies, and social events together. We laughed a lot, finding humor in the most inane, mundane, routine, and ridiculous things.
Dick and I enjoyed our close proximity to Texas A&M, less than two hours away, and visited Clint often. We made it to all the home football games and parades that fall. Clint’s being a senior in the Corps of Cadets made it that much more special, as we knew we wouldn’t always have that opportunity, and who knew where we would all be the following year?
Life was moving along so smoothly that I had no complaints. Even amid Dick’s busy schedule and lots of traveling, we made time for each other and enjoyed our visits to see the boys at their schools. Tyler was doing great in his second year at NMMI. Our parents were all in good health. There were no upheavals, no deployments, and nothing looming on the horizon. It was one of those times in life where there was nothing to keep me awake at night. We were on a nice little plateau.
That spring, Dick took leave and we went out to Keystone, Colorado, for some spring skiing. We had a little money set aside and decided it was time to buy a condo or townhouse in the Keystone ski area, the place we had been going to off and on for the past twenty years. We had so much fun that week, skiing at A-Basin and looking at properties. Riding up on the chairlift, looking at the mountains and the gorgeous blue sky, we reminisced, talked about our hopes and dreams, and made plans.
Then, just three days after we returned from Colorado, my antennae went up the minute I saw Dick come charging into the house with a fresh high-and-tight haircut and carrying his clean uniforms from the laundry. He could barely contain his excitement.
“Guess what, Vick? I’m going to Germany to be an ‘advisor’ to a task force that is being formed up by General Wesley Clark, the NATO commander.”
“Why would you be going to Germany? You’re in the 4th Infantry Division.”
“They asked for me because of my expertise in aviation, specifically the maintenance and tactics of Apaches.”
I immediately thought back to the previous week in Colorado, when Dick had been exchanging e-mails with General Shinseki, who was then a four-star general and the vice chief of staff of the Army. Dick had told me that the general had asked his advice on the deployment, tactics, and maintenance of Apache helicopters in connection with the recent unrest in Kosovo.
“So, when are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning?” So much for that nice little plateau we’d been on.
Dick assured me that it was no big deal—he was just going TDY (temporary duty) to Germany. He said he would probably be gone a few days, maybe a week or two. We didn’t get to finish our conversation because the phone rang and Lieutenant General Leon LaPorte, the III Corps Commander there at Fort Hood, wanted to talk to Dick. Before I could get another question in, Dick was out the door.
I had plans to go to a meeting that night with Nancy, so I went ahead with my plans. We met on the corner and walked over to our neighbor’s house, and I talked the whole way. I had lived with Dick long enough to know that feeling when something was on the horizon. I relayed that to Nancy as I told her what had just happened. We sat in the meeting, rolling our eyes with boredom
because most of the information was a repeat of what we had listened to at our division meeting just days prior. Suddenly, I got that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I turned to Nancy and whispered, “I think I need to go home. What if Dick is really going away for a while and I’m sitting here? I should be at home with him.”
Nancy, ever my comrade in arms, whispered, “We’re out of here!”
When I got home, I nearly tripped over the kit bags lined up by the back door. I found Dick lying on our bed, asleep, still in his uniform and boots, with an open book on his chest. I stood there staring at him for a moment. He looked so peaceful. It was one of those moments that I wanted to savor. I lay down beside him and noticed the book he had been reading was titled Fighting in the Balkans. Nothing like cramming the night before a big exam!
I snuggled up next to him. “Dick, are you all packed? Do you need anything?”
In a soft voice, he said, “I’m all set.” He paused, then continued, “I’ve never been stationed in Europe. What if I can’t do what they need me to do?”
“You always know what to do. You’re the best when it comes to Apaches. Do what you always do.” And I thought, I love this man—so strong and capable, yet so vulnerable.
Morning came all too quickly, and I woke up full of nerves. I kept telling myself it was just a TDY trip, like so many others Dick had made, but my heart was pounding.
I found Dick outside, in the shed, rummaging through boxes and making a mess. “I’m looking for my flight helmet.”
“What do you need that for? I thought you were going there as an advisor.”
“You know I never go anywhere without my helmet. Besides, they might need another pilot.” (The Apache helmet is custom fit to each pilot, so you don’t just borrow someone else’s.)