A Belated Thank You To A Solider
By Rich Paleski
Sometimes the title doesn't say enough about the story to follow; this is one of those times. I hope you will stay with my story long enough to see the gratitude that I feel for an unknown soldier.
Growing up on a military base gives a child unique perspective on the world. One thing all of the children of Clarksville Base at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky knew was our country was at war. We all knew that the only reason young soldiers passed through the main gate of Ft. Campbell, Kentucky was that they were on their way to war.
I believe it was called field training. The young men that we saw every day running along the road and chanting cadences or in other outdoor training exercises were all going to Viet Nam. They were going to that foreign place with the funny sounding name to fight the Viet Cong and defend our country. The men from "Our Base" would soon be joining the men we heard about on the nightly news and we couldn't help but to be concerned for them. All of the faceless men in uniform standing in perfect lines waiting for their turn to run the confidence course or to pick up what looked to a child to be a large Q-tip and practice fighting one another with them. To a child, it looked like fun but still we were concerned. We all knew why they were training and where they were going. Without exception when each unit's training was complete, the young soldiers would board an airplane and disappear from the military base that was our home. They would arrive half way around the world in a foreign land and hope that their training was enough to keep them alive. Still, we watched their training with unspoken anxiety every day from the windows of the schoolroom, from the car as we went to the commissary, or to the gas station that sold gas for 24 cents a gallon.
It was the summer of 1967, I was 7 years old, and my younger brother John was 6. My Father had finally returned home from a long military commitment and our family was now reunited and relaxing for the weekend. We were attending a base sponsored picnic at the Fort Campbell Rod & Gun Club. I remember it as a beautiful place with a lake on a hill that fed a small waterfall. We used to fish for trout in the water just beyond that waterfall. From there the water flowed along a small tree lined brook that went through a scenic picnic area. Small charcoal grills were placed near most of the tables. Families and soldiers, (Marines, Green Berets, and the 101 Airborne) were all enjoying the sunny weekend. It was one of the few benefits that soldiers and military families on the base had. It was a popular place to gather on summer weekends. The smell of steaks and hamburgers cooking and the sound of laughter from people enjoying their weekend is still fresh in my mind.
My younger brother John and I were often out exploring the area. We would walk up and down the edge of the brook collecting river rocks for our fish tank. Like many brothers we were in a competition to find the most, or the coolest looking rocks. My brother's pockets were bulging full of some really nice samples. We would notice a nice stone and race to grab it before the other could see it.
As my brother walked on top of the drenched stepping stones that lined the edge of the brook he lost his footing and fell into the water. John didn't even make a splash as he sunk to the bottom. The sound was more like a thud as the deep, dark, black water took him under. In an instant, he was gone and there was barely a ripple in the water to mark the spot where he once stood. How could it be that in one split second, my brother John was gone? I was petrified at the thought. The irony of that brook's calmness was now mocking me. The peacefulness of the slow moving water hid its treachery. As if to rub salt in my fresh wounds the nearly still water continued to move quietly past the place where my little brother had been moments before. Perhaps it was quietly tempting its next unsuspecting victim.
I immediately turned to run in the direction of the picnic tables and ask for someone to help, hoping that I would remember where my brother had fallen into the deep water. I looked once more at the shoreline but there was still no hint of where my brother John might have gone under. Nothing but the quiet of the deep water flowing past the spot where John once stood.
The closest picnic table was full of young Army recruits from the 101st Airborne. The Screaming Eagles. All of those young men were sporting crew-cuts and wearing white T shirts. As I started to run in that direction I noticed the table that they were all standing around was full of 16 ounce beer cans. They had started to construct a sizable pyramid of cans. It really was a remarkable structure that stood maybe three feet high off of the picnic table. I was instantly disheartened. How could I expect help from that group? As that thought passed through my mind, I noticed one of those young men coming toward me. He was marching briskly toward the brook. There was an urgency to his large strides; his legs were covering a lot of ground with every step. He nearly ignored me as I spoke, "My brother fell into the water" My hand pointing to the brook.
The young off duty soldier passed me, still ignoring anything I had to say. He went directly to the water's edge, got down on the ground and holding onto one of the rocks he stuck his right arm deep into the brook. The black water was deeper than it looked. I remember that the young man's entire arm, right up to his shoulder blade was below the water line. His T-shirt now stained with the evil water that had devoured my brother. I stared at the serious and determined look on the young man's face. His head turned sideways and it was nearly lying on the surface of the black water. His arm was darting back and forth as if trying to find a lost set of car keys. A moment later, the man pulled his arm above the water line and there in his grasp was my brother. Just moments ago I thought I would never see him again. The young soldier had my 5 year old brother John by his hair. As my brother's head cleared the surface I heard John make some gasps for air then I saw John's eyes open as if he was waking up from sleep. The rest of John was still below the waterline.
The young soldier looked at me, smiled and asked "Hey kid, is this your little brother?" Afraid that the man might throw him back in if I said no, I nodded and managed to say "yes, yes sir, that's John" He pulled the rest of my brother onto the shoreline and said "you two be careful now OK?" In an instant he had turned and walked back to the table where his buddies were standing to witness the rescue.
Cheers of laughter erupted from the table where just moments before that young man was spending time with his friends building a massive pyramid of beer cans. I looked at the picnic table as that young man returned to be with his friends. That group of new friends would eventually become a unit and they would be shipped off to Viet Nam. I noticed the rest of the young men were still standing near their creation of 16 ounce beer cans waiting for their friend to return. Possibly to give him a slap on the back before they all turned their attention to that massive accomplishment of beer can architecture.
There was a larger accomplishment that day. A life was saved, the life of my brother was returned to my family by an unknown United States soldier from the 101'st Airborne who then went back to be with his friends to share some leisure time. He didn't care to be recognized for that heroic deed. Yes, that young man was a hero well before he set foot on the soil of Viet Nam.
Years later my brother and I realized how close he came to a tragic end that day. With John's pockets full of those attractive river stones, there was no possibility that he could manage to swim up to the surface of the water.
Just as important we often think about those young soldiers who were doing their best to make their own fun on their day off. They were far from their home, thrown together with other young men they didn't know. All of them knowing their destination would soon be Viet Nam. They were 18 to 20 years old and wondering if they could count on the young man next to them to be there if their life depended on it. On that day, I think one soldier proved to his friends that he was worthy of their trust.
I wonder if that now 60+ year old man fully realizes what he did on that day? I choose to believe that he and his unit made it back safely from Viet Nam and that he knows the sincere gratitude that two much older men feel for his actions that day.
Thank you who ever you are...
