by Brandon Webb
At the same time, the charities are not without their own problems, including abuse of funds and undue influence of self-interest among their administrators. As with political organizations, scratch the surface and it’s not unusual to find people lining their own nests instead of taking care of the people they were empowered to help. Don’t get me wrong: There are many organizations that do a tremendous amount of good works. But it’s important to do your due diligence before giving them your hard-earned dollars.
Starting in 2012 I had a problem: I was starting to have some professional success, and I wanted to begin channeling some of the profits from those achievements into supporting the families of Spec Ops heroes who’d given their lives to protect us all. But I also wanted to know exactly where that money was going.
In the teams we had a principle drilled into us from day one: Never complain about a problem unless you have a solid solution. My solution to that problem was to start my own foundation. In the spring of 2012, the Red Circle Foundation opened its doors.
At first our mission was broad and somewhat vague. As we began collecting contributions, we knew we were going to support the families of the Spec Ops community, but hadn’t worked out yet exactly how. The answer wasn’t long in coming.
When Glen died in September, our mission suddenly gained a very personal focus. When I saw how Glen’s family was left hanging with their memorial expenses, and how stressed it made them to have to deal with this financial burden on top of the deep wounds of personal loss, the foundation’s existence suddenly became very real. We made our first payout to the Doherty family for about eleven thousand dollars. It didn’t cover everything by any stretch, but it sure helped. I’ll never forget how great it felt to cut that check.
The Red Circle Foundation is what we in the military call a QRF—a quick reaction force. When these families are hit with memorial costs or emergency medical expenses, they are hit suddenly and hit hard. While private organizations typically have nothing like the bureaucracy of a Veterans Administration, which can be maddeningly byzantine, they can still move way too slowly. It can take weeks to months before funds are deployed to help people in need. This is where the RCF comes in. We can make decisions in hours and provide immediate assistance to bridge the gap, and in the process make a huge difference in people’s lives. The RCF also provides scholarship funds to send children of Spec Ops parents to schools, camps, and other enrichment programs.
Because the foundation is personal to me, involving my own assets in some cases and putting my own reputation on the line in every case, I needed someone I could trust unequivocally to run it, and who would be in a position to step in and make a full-time commitment. That person turned out to be my sister, Maryke, who was then working for a major U.S. airline carrier. Starting as part-time executive director at the foundation, she was able to phase out her airline work and eventually make her position at RCF full-time.
Not long after she started, Maryke came to me with an idea. She told me about an organization that works to bring clean, safe drinking water to people around the world. “I really like what they’re doing,” said Maryke. Not only were they doing good in the world; they were running their operation on what they call the 100% Model, which meant that they relied on private sponsors and corporate donors for all their operating expenses and channeled every penny of general contributions to the projects themselves.
I loved the idea. It would put to rest any doubts or concerns about where people’s money is going, because it’s black-and-white: 100 percent means 100 percent.
We made it our goal to adopt the same model. In the summer of 2013 we held our first annual gala fund-raiser to generate as much money as we could to help meet operating costs, and we continue to hold a gala every year at the New York Athletic Club. Corporate donors cover the rest of our overhead. Which means that if you give thirty dollars or thirty thousand dollars, you know that every penny of that money is going directly to a military family who needs it. Period. As of this writing, we may be the only military charity that does this.
I’ve gone into this brief history of our foundation for a simple reason. I want to close this account of heroes I’ve known with a request: If you’ve learned from them, if knowing about their lives has served to enrich your own, then deepen that bond by giving financially to help ease the burden on their families.
You don’t have to be wealthy or give large amounts for it to be genuinely meaningful. Even the smallest donations can make a difference. (Will Thomas started with a penny, and look where that went.) It doesn’t matter whether you help through our own Red Circle Foundation or one of the other trusted charities set up to assist the families of fallen heroes—provided you do your due diligence and make sure your contributions go where you mean them to go.
My hope for this book is that these men become in some small way a part of your life. And through a simple act of generosity, you can become part of theirs.
One of my most treasured photos: our Naval Special Warfare Sniper School’s graduating class, June 12, 2000. That’s Mike Bearden standing tall in the back row, second from left. My best friend, Glen Doherty, stands smack in the middle (of course). I’m squatting right in front of him, with the dark glasses.
Courtesy of Brandon Webb
For the last quarter of 1999, Mike Bearden was named “Junior Sailor of the Quarter,” a top-honors award given to the “best of the best” of all sailors on their given ship, for “superior performance, outstanding achievements, exemplary personal conduct and military bearing, and demonstrated initiative in performance.” (The “junior” refers to the award given to ranks E4 and below.)
Courtesy of Michael D. Bearden
Here’s Mike after crushing an over-the-beach exercise, giving his teammate some encouraging words as usual. The other guy looks pretty beat-up by the training; Mike never looked beat-up, no matter how tough the exercise.
Courtesy of Michael D. Bearden
At age eight Mike was still small for his age—but always ready to get in the game.
Courtesy of Michael D. Bearden
Mike and Derenda’s son, Holden, was just ten months old at the time of Mike’s accident. Today he is a strapping big guy with an outsize personality just like his dad’s.
Courtesy of Michael D. Bearden
Dave Scott first joined SEAL Team Four as an enlisted man in the early nineties, years before he joined our platoon at SEAL Team Three as an officer.
Courtesy of Kathleen Colvert
For Dave, leaping out the door of a C-130 at ten thousand feet was like stepping out for a stroll.
Courtesy of Kathleen Colvert
Dave, the impeccable perfectionist, on a workup with his Team Three platoon in 2002, shortly before his last deployment.
Courtesy of Kathleen Colvert
Dave was as ready for action at age twelve, in his wetsuit, as he would be as an adult. I think he was born ready for action.
Courtesy of Kathleen Colvert
Dave and Kat beaming with happiness on their first wedding anniversary, in June 2002, four months before Dave’s fatal accident in the Pacific.
Courtesy of Kathleen Colvert
Matt Axelson (on the right, here age three and a half) and his big brother, Jeff (age six), were incredibly close.
Courtesy of Cindy Oji
Matt in the fall of ’85, at the age of ten. His natural blond Afro used to drive him crazy; sometimes he’d sneak the family’s dog clippers and buzz his own hair short.
Courtesy of Cindy Oji
Matt and his beautiful wife, Cindy, at their wedding. If you look close, you can see their eyes are both still teared up. That was one seriously happy day.
Courtesy of Dote Photography, Woodland, CA
This is one of my favorite photos of Matt; even in a cap and dark glasses, his quiet personality shines.
Courtesy of
Cindy Oji
Matt was always the total professional. Here he is in the field, in Afghanistan 2005, not long before Operation Red Wings, completely at ease and ready for anything.
Courtesy of Cindy Oji
As John Zinn’s dad says, “John was hell on the M60,” a machine gun he used with great skill.
Courtesy of Jacqueline K. Zinn
John was an outstanding athlete and a competitive water polo player, so at home in the water his instructors nicknamed him Neptune. He was also the ultimate cool lifeguard in high school.
Courtesy of Jacqueline K. Zinn
John, his wife, Jackie, and their two girls took time off at Lake Tahoe for Christmas in 2009, never imagining it would be their last Christmas together.
Courtesy of Jacqueline K. Zinn
As passionate an entrepreneur as he was, John was never a workaholic. His family always came first, and taking time to chill with his two girls was a top priority.
Courtesy of Jacqueline K. Zinn
Minutes after this photo was snapped, John demonstrated how safe his Indigen Armor vehicles were by riding in this armored car as it was fired on by heavy-caliber weapons, and coming out without a scratch.
Courtesy of Jacqueline K. Zinn
Here’s Chris Campbell, at about age twenty, with his long locks and brand-new wheels. The sandals, man, the sandals.
Courtesy of Cindy Campbell
“What’s special about Chris,” said his friend and fellow North Carolinian Randy Kelley, “is not that he’s larger than life. It’s kind of like he is life.”
Courtesy of Cindy Campbell
Chris loved the outdoors; to him the ocean was a second home. Here he is on the boardwalk: “Welcome to my world.”
Courtesy of Cindy Campbell
Chris had an amazing ability to be at home wherever he was. No matter where here was at the moment, he never seemed to want to be anywhere else.
Courtesy of Cindy Campbell
Campbell never lost his temper and always had a smile on his face, no matter what. Here he is on the beach with his daughter, Sam—who has clearly inherited that famous Chris smile.
Courtesy of Cindy Campbell
Heath Robinson was one of my Team Three teammates at Echo Platoon, when we went into Afghanistan immediately after 9/11 and cleared the massive cave-complex training grounds at Zhawar Kili. We ended up in the winter in some seriously high altitudes—with virtually no cold-weather gear.
Courtesy of Debora Robinson-Coxe
Talk about climate contrast: from our deployment in the frigid mountains of northern Afghanistan to a different platoon serving in the desert of Iraq.
Courtesy of Debora Robinson-Coxe
Heath had an insatiable appetite for self-improvement; his work ethic became legendary among the teams. Here he is, decked out in camo, eating up the intense training of sniper school.
Courtesy of Debora Robinson-Coxe
Heath’s nickname was Hollywood, because of both his good looks and his love of movies. The guys called this photo of Heath in full battle gear with helo in background his “Hollywood shot.”
Courtesy of Debora Robinson-Coxe
Heath in Afghanistan, ready for a priority mission, not long before the downing of Extortion 17 in August 2011.
Courtesy of Debora Robinson-Coxe
Even at age eighteen months, JT Tumilson was already a lady charmer.
Courtesy of Kathy Tumilson
A friend once described JT as a “human Labrador: smart, athletic, and you want him to be with you everywhere you go”—an inside joke, because JT’s one constant companion was his chocolate Lab, Hawkeye.
Courtesy of Kathy Tumilson
JT’s brother-in-law Scott McMeekan snapped this shot of JT on what would turn out to be his last visit home for Christmas, eight months before Extortion 17 was shot down in Afghanistan in August 2011.
Courtesy of Scott McMeekan
At his funeral, JT’s faithful Lab, Hawkeye, walked down the center aisle, lay down in front of the coffin, and didn’t budge for the rest of the service. Within days this photo went viral, capturing an anguish over the loss of so many of our finest warriors that resonated nationally.
Lisa Pembleton/Getty Images
This is a ceremony I’ve come to know too well: On August 19, 2011, SEAL team brothers kneel in a gesture of respect and grief after pounding their Tridents into JT’s casket.
Courtesy of Kathy Tumilson
Everyone’s best friend: Glen Doherty poses for a family snapshot with his sister, Kate; Kate’s boys; and his mom, Barbara.
Courtesy of Kate Quigley
At one point in our crazy death-defying cross-country trip in 2005, after we’d lost communications and visibility and the plane’s wings were starting to ice up, Glen turned to me, laughed, and said, “Hey, at least we’ve got each other.”
Courtesy of Kate Quigley
The Doherty clan—Glen, Kate, and Greg—knew how to have good times together and did so every chance they got.
Courtesy of Kate Quigley
Long after we’d both been through the teams, Glen and I were still constantly hanging out together—especially if it involved the outdoors. Here we are getting ready for a one-and-a-half-mile swim event in 2011.
Courtesy of Brandon Webb
Glen and I had a blast together with fans at a book-signing event in Times Square, New York City, August 2012. It was the last time I saw him. A few weeks later he was killed in Benghazi.
Courtesy of Kate Quigley
GRATITUDE
Instinctively I knew this was a story that needed to be told, but the telling proved to be more challenging than I expected. Writing is normally a fairly straightforward process for me; a story wants out, and it pours itself onto the page. Not so with this book. It was surprisingly tough to work out just how to shape my experiences and memories of these great men into a positive narrative that others could learn from and take inspiration from, and not simply a chronicle of tragedy and loss. My writing partner, John David Mann, and I anguished for months over the best way to proceed. John, I’m forever in your debt for sticking with me during this difficult journey. It was worth it!
John and I also owe a huge thank-you to Brent Howard, our editor at New American Library. You went out on a limb for us after our manuscript had a rough start. Your support, thinking, and contribution have been extremely valuable, and we have a better book because of it. Our thanks also to Kara Welsh, our publisher, for believing so strongly in this book; to Pete Garceau for that incredibly powerful cover design; to copy editor Tiffany Yates, for your perceptive and sensitive touch; and to Christina Brower, for too many assists to count. And another huge thank-you to our literary agent, Margret McBride, for connecting us in the first place and seeing this project through.
This book is dedicated to the families who raised the remarkable men described in these pages. It was your love and unwavering support that forged these modern-day American heroes. You stood ready to give your all, and did so bravely, proudly, and without bitterness, despite the depth of your losses. John and I especially want to thank those family members who graciously shared your time and memories with us, willingly opening old wounds and sharing your private pain so that we could bring these stories to life. (Fortunately that pain is intermingled with lasting joy, love, and hilarity; there were plenty of laughs mixed in with the tears in those interviews.) Thank you to Michael and Peggy Bearden, Wendy Bearden, Derenda Fugate, Jack and Maggie Scott, Kat Colvert, Donna Axelson, Cindy Oji, Michael Zinn and Jackie Zinn, Cindy Campbell, Debora Coxe, Kathy Tumilson, Joy (née Tumilson) McMeekan, Kate (née Doherty) Quigley, Greg Doherty, and Barbara Doherty.
And thank you to the friends and teammates who did the same, climbing on the phone in the midst of hectic schedules to help us bring these memories to life: Walt Ander
son, DeVere Crooks, Eric Davis, Elf Ellefson, Josh Emrick, Dave Fernandez, Lee Ferran, Ron Griffin, Randy Kelley, Sean Lake, Travis Lively, Mike Ritland, Dave Rutherford, and Clint Smith.
I also want to thank my own family for their unwavering support in this process: Thank you to my mother, Lynn, for your honesty and incredible support. Thank you to my father, Jack; you were a major influence in my decision to enlist in the Navy and, ultimately, to join the SEALs. Thank you to my sister, Maryke, for agreeing to take on the major task of running the Red Circle Foundation. I had no idea how tough the nonprofit world is. It’s such a relief to be able to trust someone so completely to always do the right thing, no matter what the situation.
Thank you to my incredible children, who continue to amaze me every day. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of the three of you and of how lucky I am to be present in your lives. You may not know it yet, but you serve as my inspiration to improve myself and push beyond what I think is possible in my own life.