by Vicki Cody
“But you’re not on flight status anymore.” (Since he had made brigadier general, he was supposed to close out his flight records; generals don’t fly themselves.)
“Oh, yes, I am, as of yesterday!”
He finally pulled the helmet out of a box, put it on, and triumphantly declared that it still fit. (Unlike some of your old flight suits, I might have added, but I didn’t.) He turned to me, and I saw that he had his game face on. He was already gone.
About that time, Eric, the aide, pulled into the driveway and literally jumped out of the jeep. They loaded those bags faster than you could say the word deployment. Following Dick and Eric around the car, I was still in my robe and slippers, coffee cup in one hand and my calendar book in the other, questioning Dick about some upcoming social events, trying to get a sense of how long he might be gone.
“Vick, I think you better cancel anything we have for the next few weeks.”
A quick hug and kiss in front of the aide and the driver, and then they were gone. I must have looked comical that morning, standing there in the driveway. What the hell just happened? I thought.
When I called the boys, each was concerned about what their dad was doing. Clint said he couldn’t wait till he was a pilot and got to do fun things like his dad; Tyler offered to come home and keep me company. I reassured them that I would be fine.
Dick called two days later and, in his breathless, excited voice, told me he had good news and bad news.
“Guess what, Vick? They’ve got a job for me here in 5th Corps. I’m going to be the deputy commanding general [DCG] of Task Force Hawk!”
I had learned over the years that anything that involved the words task force was exciting for Dick but usually meant worry for me. “Gee, Dick, I don’t know what to say. I guess I’m excited for you, but what about me here at Fort Hood?”
“I’m attached to 5th Corps while we get the task force ready to go. The bad news is, I think I’m going to be here a while . . . Actually, I’ll deploy from here. But guess what? I’m working with Ray Odierno! Isn’t that great, Vick?”
I thought, Did he just say “deploy”?
“Well, that’s just wonderful, Dick.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but it was there. “Do you have any idea how long you’ll be gone?”
“Realistically, I’m thinking a couple of months to do what needs to be done.”
I can’t say that I was surprised, but at the same time I felt entirely vulnerable. When I got off the phone, I went straight over to Nancy’s house. I had to unload on someone. I felt better just talking about it with my closest friend.
When I took Barkley for his walk that day, I gave myself a pep talk. What’s the big deal here? I love Fort Hood, I have wonderful neighbors and lots of activities to keep me busy, the boys are well and safe in their respective schools, and I have the support of our parents and families. I can get through a couple of months. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again.
Amid all the functions, ceremonies, meetings, and other duties in the division and III Corps, I stayed busy and the time passed. I visited Clint at Texas A&M for Parents’ Weekend and watched his parade and awards ceremony. I hated that Dick wasn’t there to see Clint’s unit receive the award for best battalion in the corps, but I had a fun weekend with Clint, his buddies, and their parents.
Dick called often and was clearly enjoying what he was doing in Germany. He explained more about the mission; Task Force Hawk was constructed and deployed by General Wesley Clark to provide additional air support to NATO’s Operation Allied Force against the former Yugoslavian government during the 1999 unrest in Kosovo.
In May, Dick moved to Tirana, Albania, to set up the command post and get the airfield ready for the arrival of the Apache battalion and everything else that was deploying into the country. They would use the Tirana airfield as their base to conduct operations in Kosovo. It was a big deal that the Apaches were on their way, so I watched the news and scanned the newspaper for any word about Task Force Hawk. One night I saw Dick being interviewed on Nightline. Seeing him on TV gave me peace of mind, but there had already been a helicopter accident in the task force, and although no one had been killed, there was so much unrest in the area surrounding Kosovo and Albania that I couldn’t help but worry about him.
Before I knew it, it was time for Tyler’s graduation from NMMI. Clint couldn’t go with me because he had his last parade in the corps. I hated to miss it, but I couldn’t be in two places at once. When I started my road trip to New Mexico, I hadn’t heard from Dick in a few days, and while my heart was heavy, I welcomed the eight hours of quiet and solitude. It was an easy drive—no traffic, no congestion, no big cities, just wide-open spaces. I left my worries behind me, and the farther west I got, the better I felt.
I sat in my seat at graduation and looked around at all the families and felt very much alone. It seemed like everyone had family except me. I had to force myself to live in the moment. It was a gorgeous day; the sun warmed my face and I allowed myself to feel happy and at peace. I counted my blessings and watched our youngest son graduate and thought how quickly the two years had passed. I wished Dick was there with me, but I realized it didn’t take away from the moment. I was thankful that I was there. Afterward, there was the usual flurry of activity, picture taking, and good-byes. We loaded up the car with two years’ worth of stuff, and as we left NMMI and Roswell, New Mexico, I felt a twinge of sadness, born of closing another chapter. But as we drove through New Mexico, Tyler behind the wheel, the sunroof open, the radio blaring, and the two of us singing along to Ricky Martin’s “Livin’ La Vida Loca,” I looked at him, just shy of his twentieth birthday and so grown-up, and thought, I am so thankful for the simple pleasures in my life: a road trip with my son and the chance to have some time with him before he goes off again.
Once both boys were home for the summer, the house was full of life again. Clint got his summer job back again at the Pontiac dealership and resumed his flying lessons. Tyler was at loose ends because he would go to ROTC Advanced Camp in July, so there wasn’t really time for him to get a job. He mowed lawns and thought up ways for him and Clint to get into trouble, usually involving paintball wars and fireworks.
The boys were bored and needed their dad. I missed him, too. Dick’s boss called to tell me that Dick was on the promotion list for major general. It was exciting news, but I didn’t even have Dick to share it with. Not knowing when he would return and where we would be moving next, I felt like our lives were on hold. There was another accident in Albania—an Apache crashed, and both pilots were killed—and Dick was beside himself. All of that just added to my unease.
Finally, in mid-June, he called and said, “We’re closing up shop in Albania and making plans to disband the task force. The mission is over, and we should be heading back to Germany soon. I might be home in a few weeks.”
“Thank God, Dick. It’s been a long three months. Oh, I almost forgot—congratulations on being on the promotion list for two-star general! I’m so proud of you! Where do you think we’ll go?”
“Pretty crazy, huh? I’ll be stopping in Washington, DC, on my way home to brief General Shinseki, so he’ll probably give me an idea where I’m going next.”
“Well, hurry home. I miss you, and the boys do, too.”
About a week later, Dick arrived at the Killeen airport. I was so nervous as Tyler drove me there, you would’ve thought Dick had been gone for a year. Clint came from work, and the three of us welcomed their dad home with relief.
On the way back to our house, Tyler said, “Do you guys want me to disappear for awhile, maybe go get an ice cream?” We all laughed. We were reminded of the time when Dick came back from Desert Storm and his parents, who had come to welcome him home, took our sons out for ice cream to give us some “alone time.” We obviously didn’t fool the boys back then, and it cracked us up.
Dick had big news from his meeting with General Shinseki: the general wanted him to work on the
Army staff at the Pentagon. We were moving to Washington, DC.
The week before the movers came, Dick was helping with some chores around the house and in the yard while Nancy and I refurbished my wicker patio furniture. Wearing masks and gloves, we were busy spray-painting when Dick came outside and announced, “The shit just hit the fan in Washington!”
That certainly got our attention. Dick had written an honest After Action Review (AAR), a standard requirement after any operation or mission on lessons learned, and sent it to General Shinseki. Intended for General Shinseki only, it had somehow been leaked to the press and had created quite a stir in the Pentagon and on Capitol Hill.
Dick’s stunned look scared me. “I have to go to Washington and testify before the House Armed Services Committee.”
“What does this mean? I don’t get it, Dick. Are you in trouble?” I was aware that Task Force Hawk had become a controversial operation, and while I knew that Dick had done everything that was asked of him and had done his job well, I couldn’t understand why he was being summoned to DC.
He brought me out of my reverie when he said, “Vicki, I’ve got to get up there this weekend. I testify on Tuesday, but on Monday, I’ve got my murder board.”
“For God’s sake, what’s a murder board?”
“It’s just what they call the practice before the testimony. I’d better get packing; I’m leaving on Saturday.”
“That’s the day after tomorrow! What about the movers next week?”
“I’ll get someone to help you.”
Over the next two days, with my head still spinning, I helped Dick get ready to leave. He packed his Corvette with his uniforms, including dress uniforms for testifying; important folders and files; and his golf clubs. Don’t think that went unnoticed by me. I thought, What the hell is he going up there for, to play golf or save his career? But I knew the golf clubs were in the same category as the flight helmet—never leave home without them.
I was close to tears. “Dick, you just got back from Albania. I’m overwhelmed; we have so much on our plate right now.”
“I know, Vick. This isn’t how I planned this, either. For all I know, this testimony could be career-ending for me.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s not fair—you haven’t done anything wrong! You gave an honest assessment of the mission. They can’t fire you for that, can they?”
“I hope not, but budget cuts, money, and fixing a worn-out aviation fleet are very touchy subjects on Capitol Hill and in the Pentagon. I stand by what I wrote in the AAR, and I’m going to be honest with the committee. That’s all I can do.”
Dick called the night before his testimony to tell me that it was going to be televised, but our TVs had already been packed, so I wouldn’t be able to watch it. He read me his opening statement, and I told him it was perfect. I wished him luck and told him to call me the minute it was over.
Dick did a great job testifying, and in the end he was able to get enough money to update, reset, and overhaul most of the Army’s aviation fleet. It was a huge deal, for which he was lauded in the halls of the Pentagon. Whew!
PS: During that time, the complainer in me wanted to stomp my foot and just say no to the new plan that was thrust upon me at the last minute. I wanted to complain that Dick had just returned from a deployment, I wanted some time with him, and I didn’t feel like moving alone. But to whom was I going to complain? It wasn’t Dick’s fault. If I had learned one thing over the years and our many moves, it was that the US Army was pretty much in charge. I sucked it up and took it like the true Army wife that I had become, and decided that I should be a little more concerned about Dick and what he was facing in DC than about my need for the perfect moving plan. My, how I had grown.
17
Washington, DC, 1999–2000
We were on the brink of a new century. Who could have foreseen what was ahead for our country, how all of our lives would change in those first years of the new decade? Who could have predicted how all of that would impact the Army and my family?
It was also the beginning of a new chapter, a milestone in Dick’s career. He was getting promoted to major general and, for the first time in his career, he would work in the Pentagon. For twenty-seven years, he had managed to avoid working in “the building,” and, except for attending the required schools at Fort Leavenworth and Carlisle Barracks, he had spent his entire career in tactical units with soldiers. He was proud of that fact; to him, it was a badge of honor. Sitting behind a desk in the Pentagon was not his idea of fun; plus, it meant no flying. The reality was that there were only so many jobs for Dick at his rank. And much like when he was younger and worked at the battalion and brigade staff levels, it was time for him to work at the highest level: the Army staff. So while he may have acted as if he were dragging his feet, he was ready for the next step in his career progression. And for both of us, having spent most of our time living in small Army towns in out-of-the-way places, the prospect of living in our nation’s capitol, with its history, monuments, museums, and so much culture, was more than appealing.
If Dick’s promotion to brigadier general was the ultimate family celebration, his promotion to major general was the opposite. In the bowels of the Pentagon, where Dick’s new office was located, a group of coworkers and friends crowded into a small room while General Jack Keane read the promotion orders and I pinned on his new rank. It was lunchtime, so the ceremony was brief. After cake and coffee, Dick took me to lunch to celebrate. Neither one of us knew our way around DC, so we went to the only place he knew how to get to that was close to the Pentagon. While we drove down I-395 in the Corvette, I looked at the gleaming silver stars on his shoulder epaulets and realized what an extraordinary moment it was. The fact that we were going to an ordinary place like TGI Friday’s just made us laugh.
While we ate our cheeseburgers and fries, I couldn’t help remarking to him, “Can you believe this, Dick? You’re a two-star general!”
“I know, Vick—pretty crazy, huh?”
Dick and I were surprised at his rise in rank. I think we always knew he would make the rank of colonel—most of our friends did—but when he got his first star, we thought that was as good as it gets. However, when he got his second star less than two years later, that was amazing to us. Neither one of us ever took any promotion for granted. The “eye of the needle” definitely got smaller the higher up Dick went, especially in the general officers’ rank. The year Dick was selected for brigadier general (one-star), only forty-four were selected out of approximately nine hundred eligible colonels. Then, when he was selected to the rank of major general (two-star), only twenty-five were selected out of approximately one hundred eligible one-star generals. We had seen many of his peers who were good leaders with great files not make it to the next rank. You can try to predict, you can do everything that is expected of you and do it well, but the bottom line is, not everyone makes it. Because it was unexpected, we appreciated it all the more.
We moved into our quarters at Fort Myer, a quiet little post situated right next to Arlington National Cemetery and home to some of the top brass in the military—some of the service chiefs, the chairman of the joint chiefs, and plenty of one-, two-, and three-star generals. Steeped in history, it was also home to the famous 3rd US Infantry Regiment (the Old Guard). The post sits on a hill overlooking the cemetery and, beyond that, the Potomac River and Washington, DC. Our house, a big, red brick duplex with lots of character and a wraparound screened-in porch, was one hundred years old and unlike any set of quarters we had ever lived in. To us, it was a mansion, and I loved it the minute we walked through the door.
I had told both boys that we were living on a pretty famous post with even more generals than at Fort Hood, and that I didn’t want any childish shenanigans going on—no paintball wars, fireworks, or pyrotechnics of any kind. I told them they would have to behave themselves and act their age. I could tell they didn’t believe me and could just picture them rolling their eyes as they sai
d, “Yeah, Mom, whatever.”
Dick was on the Army staff in the G-3, the Operations Center. After one week in his new job, he explained to me, “The G-3 is the heartbeat of the Army, and if I have to work in the Pentagon, it’s one of the more exciting places to be. But, Vick, the hardest part is not learning my new job; it’s navigating my way through the rings and halls of the Pentagon. It’s so huge that I get lost daily!”
“But what does it feel like to be a two-star general in the Pentagon? You must feel pretty special.”
“Just when I think I’m somebody, I look around at all the one-, two-, three-, and four-star generals, and it’s very humbling. The joke is, two-star generals are a dime a dozen here.”
That summer, Tyler graduated from the Advanced Camp at Fort Lewis, Washington, and Dick swore him in as a second lieutenant at the commissioning ceremony. When Tyler arrived at Fort Myer to spend a couple of weeks with us before leaving for Texas A&M, he understood his very first day just what an important Army post it was. He sauntered out onto our back porch, shirtless and in his boxer shorts, and noticed a big parade and ceremony going on at Summerall Field, which our house overlooked. When he saw the military police and their dogs, he headed back inside. The TV was on, and he saw President Clinton speaking at a large military ceremony, but what caught his attention was the scroll along the bottom of the screen saying, “Change of Command for the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Summerall Field, Fort Myer, Virginia.” He looked closer and saw, in the background behind President Clinton, the back of a big brick house. Holy crap, he thought, that’s our house on TV!
“Mom, I had no idea there was a ceremony with the president and all the top military brass practically in our backyard! I didn’t believe you when you told me we were living on such a historic Army post!”
At the end of the summer, Tyler and I flew out to College Station, Texas. He was following in his brother’s footsteps, having been accepted into the Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M. It was the first time in four years that the boys would be attending the same school. I left College Station with a light heart, thinking how glad I was that they were together again.