by Chris Kyle
How tragic that is what took you away.
Thoughts of you pass through me every single day.
I know in time that my heart will start to mend
but God, please help me . . .
I’VE LOST MY BEST FRIEND!
I will always remember the boy that you were and the man that you became, but most of all I will remember your friendship!
MISS YA, BUDDY,
“THE MOOSE”
“W,” WRITING ON BEHALF OF “THE TEAMS” AND CHRIS’S FELLOW SEALS
Chris Kyle was and is a true American hero.
He was a hero because of the way he conducted himself in battle. Chris was that guy who always put the mission and his teammates above himself and his own safety. He did this out of instinct. Consequently he found himself acting, in the face of grave danger, more valorously than all but a few American soldiers in the great history of our nation. Chris’s legacy as a warrior lies not at the end of the rounds that he sent to the enemy, but in his uncanny courage to stand in front of those around him when the chips were down.
Chris Kyle is a hero because of the way he conducted himself after he completed his overseas battles. The hero that Chris was on the battlefield did not matter much after his role overseas was done. He, like many others in his generation, found it hard to leave that life—and especially his Teammates—behind. But, because of his uncanny instinct to protect others, and with the exceptional love and support from his wife, kids, parents, and brother, Chris was able to endure the challenge of transition.
It was only in the last year that Chris truly found his new calling: he put others above himself, standing with fellow veterans to help them deal with the struggles of returning home from war. He wanted to encourage kids with severe illness. He wanted to help local law enforcement officers make things better for their communities. All of these things make him a true hero, even today, as his legacy lives on.
Chris Kyle and his family sacrificed everything to make this country, the state of Texas, and their hometown a better place. The courage to face grave danger in order to help those around him was Chris’s greatest asset, and he turned it into a great calling. His family supported and endured that calling. Now, it is our turn. We must stand beside those around us to prove that the United States of America is truly the land of the free and the home of the brave. We must show the courage Chris showed in our communities, our own states, our own country.
BRYAN RURY
LIFELONG FRIEND
There’s no way to single out in a few words the entire lifetime of a man, of a friend, like Chris. He so completely understood friendship and what it meant to be a friend that you just can’t explain it simply.
Chris and I went to school together. He didn’t have any enemies growing up. It seems funny to say, but it’s completely true. He was always looking out for other people. He was involved in a few fights, but he was never the one who started them. He was always sticking up for other kids, including me.
His protective nature went beyond bullies and fights. He only got mad at me once. I was on the track team. We were at a party and, well, kids being kids, for some reason I took a cigarette and was smoking it.
He saw me. He didn’t say anything, but he gave me a look. A real hard, Chris Kyle look.
Later on, he straightened me out. “What do you think you’re doing?” he said, in the sternest voice I ever heard him use. “You better straighten yourself up.”
And I did.
We didn’t see each other for quite a while during his military service. When he came home, I was worried that he would be different, that our friendship would change somehow. But it didn’t change at all, not one bit. We picked up exactly where we left off.
He was just as generous with other people as he was with me. As a friend, as a father—if you needed something, he’d lay it down for you. A year or so ago, there was a bad storm in our area. It knocked down a lot of trees and did some other damage to houses and the like. Well, I went out of the house at 6 A.M., just looking around to check what had happened. Chris drove up in his pickup not a minute later, a chain saw in the back.
We must have worked for several hours clearing the trees that had come down on my property. We hauled three full loads away. Finally, we were done.
“You tired?” he asked.
“A little,” I admitted.
“Why don’t we go see who else needs help?”
How could I refuse that? We spent the rest of the day working around town.
I could tell a million stories—the time he blew off George W. Bush just to be with us at a family event that meant a lot to my wife, the day he hung my Christmas lights because he knew I was stuck at work.
He was a hero on the battlefield. He saved lives there. But when he returned home, he was a superhero to his friends. He lived the meaning of friendship every day.
MARCUS LUTTRELL
FELLOW SEAL, FRIEND
Chris and Marcus Luttrell relaxing in 2012 before a speaking appearance. The two Texas boys were good friends before fame touched each one.
Chris Kyle is not a man I ever thought I would refer to in the past tense. No matter how much danger he faced, we always knew Chris would come out alive with an awesome story filled with close calls. To say I lost a friend this year does not say enough. I lost someone I looked up to as a frogman and Texan brother. He exemplified each word of the SEAL creed, and he deserves the highest honor and respect for what he put on the line to keep his brothers safe from the enemy. I know there are mothers and fathers out there right now who are grateful their son or daughter returned home from war thanks to Chris Kyle. He saved countless lives. Whether he sat high on a rooftop taking out the enemy threatening his teammates, or if he was fighting side by side with a Marine platoon, his mission was always clear: “draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect his brothers.”
Chris gave a piece of his life to the SEAL Teams, but there came a time when he needed to refocus on his family. No matter how difficult his decision to leave the military, he knew he was doing the right thing for his wife and two children. He became well known after the much-deserved success of his first book, American Sniper. The ways he handled himself under the spotlight and shared his passions are a testament to the man he was. Chris gave away the proceeds of his book to veterans and families of fallen teammates. He was the founder of a security company that was dedicated to teaching fine skills to law enforcement and other security details. He was committed to his family, he was committed to helping veterans, he was committed to several charities, he was committed to serving others. That was Chris. He lived by his own rules, and I couldn’t respect him more.
I have to pay tribute to Chris’s wife, Taya. Taya is carrying the torch for Chris, their kids, and those he fought to defend. She has promised to see through all of the projects Chris left behind (including the excellent book American Gun: A History of the U.S. in Ten Firearms), as well as to ensure that Chris’s memory is honored as it should be. I think Chris married a person who may be stronger than even he was—that’s saying something. With Chris’s spirit beside her, she is never out of the fight.
ASHLEY PURVIS SMITH
FAMILY FRIEND
Before I even met Chris, I knew him through Taya. I was curious, of course, but not overly so until the first time I heard her talking to him on the phone.
Taya was very guarded at that stage in her life. She had a successful career, a confident air, and a brilliant ability to make people laugh with her quick wit and charismatic ways. But there was a whole other side to her—a deeply loving, nurturing, vulnerable side that very few were allowed to see. I remember her sitting in the backseat of my car, talking quietly on the phone in gentle, almost giggling tones to this new man she had met. She sounded so young, so happy. Her reaction to him made me very curious.
When I first met Chris, I had to laugh. He was a mix of gentleman and instigator with a twist of overgrown puppy. He was youthful then—playful,
polite, and unhindered by political correctness. Taya and Chris both had a happy flush in their faces when they were together. He was smart enough to keep up with her, gentle enough to gain her trust, and playful enough to make her life fun.
Chris was also very observant. I remember being impressed when Taya told me that Chris had delivered the perfect coffee to her one morning early in their relationship. She had never told him how she took her coffee, so she asked how he knew. He had simply paid attention. He was like that; he had a keen eye for detail.
He was also a lot smarter than most people recognized. He didn’t flaunt it, but you could see it in the way he processed things. And he loved crossword puzzles. Whenever he came to stay with our family during the holidays, they were a staple by the bedside—and all around the house, for that matter.
I loved to tease Chris about being my punk little brother. He was great to tease—always laughing and happy to give it back. He was fantastic with my kids. We all have fond memories of him hog-tying my then eight-year-old stepson and challenging him to find his way out of the knots. He knew how to empower through rough play, yet somehow the nurturer in him always knew when to quit so that it remained fun for everyone.
I remember early glimpses of the deeper side of Chris. I especially remember the stricken look on his face when he took a very brief break from Taya’s side as she went through labor with their son. It was a horrific experience, and Taya was passing in and out of consciousness as she attempted to give birth. Chris had been with her nonstop, hour after hour. At one point he came out to the hospital lobby. His father stood and Chris walked straight to him in long strides, his face tight and etched with pain, and embraced him. The emotion was palpable. It was pure, raw, barely restrained, and I’ll never forget it.
Over time, the need to survive day-to-day life hardened them both. I remember Chris coming back from war, still joking and laughing, but no longer an innocent youth. He was a man trying to reintegrate, and although he was a loving father and husband, his fuse was shorter. There were still times, though, when I was struck by his softer, less jaded side. He was playful and gentle when he interacted with children, he was patient and kind with horses, and more than once I saw him hold a puppy with a tenderness that I have rarely seen in a full-grown man.
I never respected Chris more than when he made the decision to leave the military. It was not something he wanted to do, but he chose to be a father and husband to a family that needed him to take a bigger part in their lives. For me, that is the selfless act that has meant the most. He was very blunt in saying that it was a choice he was struggling with, and yet he was able to stand by his choice and work to make that choice a positive one for everyone. He never stopped remaining open to his family and he was ultimately an amazing husband and father who cherished those roles.
Even after his book, his notoriety always caught me by surprise. He still preferred a quiet holiday with his family or an evening on the porch swing, surrounded by family and longtime friends. It was easy to forget that there were so many looking up to him.
I knew Chris over the course of many years, but I didn’t know him as well as I would have liked. In the days surrounding Chris’s memorial, I had the extraordinary privilege of spending time with some of the people Chris valued. They were amazing, accomplished, thoughtful, and strong. His loss affected them all so deeply.
The public response honoring him was overwhelming and awe inspiring. It is something I will never forget—and it made me even more aware of how many people he touched in the time he spent on earth. There were a lot of layers to him—and the more I know, the more I wish I would have known.
AL HEMMLE
PRINCIPAL, MIDLOTHIAN HIGH SCHOOL
When people do for our country what Chris Kyle did, it elevates them to a special status. But what truly impressed me about Chris was his unassuming, matter-of-fact heroism in everyday life.
I’d known Chris when he was a student, even though I never had him in a class. When he was a senior, I coached the freshman football team, and I became acquainted with him through that connection. He was a very well-balanced kid, involved in FFA (Future Farmers of America) as well as sports, a really good kid and in a lot of ways typical of the sort of well-rounded young men we hope to graduate from Midlothian.
Once he went into the military, he took himself to a new level. I think he really found himself there. He decided he wanted to achieve, and he ended up doing that. He became one of the elite.
When he came home, though, he didn’t act as if he was special. He didn’t come off as a celebrity or someone “too good” for us. It was just the opposite. He remembered his roots, and he made himself available to help others on a very personal level.
I asked him one day to speak to our faculty and our graduating seniors, and he was very enthusiastic about it. He connected immediately with the kids as well as the adults. He talked for an hour and a half to our young people about the importance of an education and, I think more importantly, about how honesty and hard work set you up for success no matter what you do. I could see the kids making a connection.
I asked him back a few times, and he always came. In fact, I tried to pay him—he was spending so much time out of his busy schedule that I thought it only fair that we pay him like we would pay any outside speaker. He wouldn’t have it, even when I insisted. The best I could do was have him name a charity for us to send the fee to. That was the kind of guy he was.
We had a student who was involved in a little bit of trouble. The young man landed in our disciplinary program. This was a kid I knew could do better, but for some reason no one seemed able to reach him. I gave him my personal copy of American Sniper, and the young man really related to it. Chris heard about it, and the next thing I knew, he was insisting on talking to the young man himself. It made a very positive impact. I’m sure he helped plenty of other young people that way.
Out of the many things he told our students, one in particular really stands out. Chris believed that there is a time in people’s lives when the opportunity comes along for them to make something of themselves, whether it’s to achieve something important, or maybe to turn themselves around from a bad direction to a good one. Chris felt that if he could be there at that moment, he could have a big impact. If he thought investing his time could help a person, he did it.
That to me is what a hero is all about. To me, that’s as big a hero as you can be. So, as important as what Chris Kyle did on the battlefield was, what he did one-on-one with our students was even bigger.
GLENN BECK*
TALK-SHOW HOST
I was trying to think last night: What do I take away from all of this? What is the story I will tell my eight-year-old son when I get home and kneel at his bedside?
Maybe it’s this:
Son, there was once a boy whose daddy gave him a BB gun. He was little—he was about your age, and he learned to shoot it. And he got really, really good at shooting. It’s one of those things that God gives you, but then he asks you in the end: What did you do with your talent?
And I know what you’re thinking, buddy: Shooting a gun can come from God? Yes, son, it can. Everybody gets their own talents from God, but that one has to come with another talent, because it comes with such responsibility. If God is going to give somebody the “gun gift,” he has to make sure that another gift is already in place, and that’s discernment. The gift of knowing good from bad in a second. I pray that you will never have to pull a trigger, son. But if you do, you’d better be right. Your head better be clear enough to ask God for an answer, and to trust what you feel.
The little boy whose dad gave him a BB gun grew up to be a hero. Chris had discernment. He was crystal clear about the good guys and the bad guys. But killing bad guys was not all there was to Chris Kyle. He was a hero for how he loved as well. He gave away his chance to be rich so that his friend’s mom could have a house and food. His friend had died in battle.
Once, in the car, his sweet
wife confessed her weaknesses. She said, “I’m a mess, Chris.” But her husband didn’t make her pay for that. He loved her. He said, “Babe, you’re a package deal.”
His legend was growing as a warrior, but rather than build on it he left the military to be a dad. You see, Raphe, when God told Chris to shoot, he did. When God told him to sheathe his sword, learn how to love even better than he shot, he listened and obeyed, and he did that for her.
It’s discernment. Knowing the difference between right and wrong. Having the courage to be honest. It’s like Sir Galahad: his strength was as the strength of ten because his heart was pure.
And then, when my story is told and my little boy’s eyes are closed, I will probably stay on my knees a little bit longer than usual and lay my head on that little boy’s chest and thank God out loud that I’ve been given this gift of a son. And I will quietly, once again, ask God to help this dad be just a little more like Chris Kyle.
____________
* Transcribed from a recent broadcast.
JEFF BURGE
DALLAS POLICE DEPARTMENT, FRIEND
On a wet, chilly January 2012 evening in Dallas, Texas, I was fortunate to have the opportunity to accompany Chris and Taya to the first of what would be many stops on the American Sniper book tour. The turnout for this event was beyond anyone’s expectations and it was soon evident that the bookstore had seriously underestimated the volume of fans that would show up and stand for hours in the long line that snaked through the entire store.
Chris, though obviously blown away by the crowd, was not in the least bit deterred and made a point to engage each and every fan who came to see him. I watched as he signed books and posed for photographs. He thanked veterans for their service and families of servicemen and -women for their sacrifice. He shook hands, gave hugs, and, with genuine humility, addressed every man as “sir” and every lady as “ma’am” (ball cap removed, of course). He stood the entire time. That’s the man he was. It’s how he was raised—nice job, Wayne and Deby.