What do you think is the most important word in the dictionary? President Spencer W. Kimball of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints suggested that perhaps the most important word is
remember. (see "Circles of Exaltation," address to religious educators, Brigham Young University, June 28, 1968, 8). Celebrating this Memorial Day, I would like to remember a few people:
Civil War: Colonel Chamberlain
Spanish American War: Lt. Rowan
WWI Raul Luffberry
WWII: Horst Reschke
Korea: Bill Crawoford
Vietnam: Larry Chesley
Contemporary: Mark McGeehan
While stationed at the Pentagon, I had the opportunity to visit to Underground White House and on the way back to the office, I stopped by Gettysburg. I had just read
Killer Angles. As I stepped on Little Round Top and I could see the battle.... and
Colonel Joshua Chamberlain:
The oldest of five children, Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain was born September 8, 1828 in Brewer, Maine. Chamberlain proved to be an excellent student and entered Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine in 1848 where he excelled in his studies and also met his future bride, Fannie Adams. After graduation in 1852, Chamberlain went on to study at the Bangor Theological Seminary. Three years later, he accepted a teaching position at his old college and married. The couple settled into a quiet college routine and a marriage that produced five children. The young teacher was a firm believer in the strength of the American form of government threatened by secession of the south in 1861. Keenly aware of the circumstances of a divided nation and with his passion for the Union cause "undying", Chamberlain left his teaching position to volunteer his services to the state in 1862. Though he lacked any military background, Chamberlain's educational experience landed him the rank of lieutenant colonel for the 20th Maine Infantry Regiment.
From Antietam to Fredericksburg, to the battle of Gettysberg, Chamberlain honed his leadership skills. By the summer of 1863, Chamberlain had been promoted to colonel and marched the 20th Maine northward in pursuit of Lee. On July 1, the Fifth Corps marched to Hanover, Pennsylvania before turning west toward Gettysburg. An overnight forced march got the troops to a location in rear of Cemetery Ridge the next day and Chamberlain's men took a brief but grateful rest. It was here that Chamberlain faced the distasteful duty of addressing "mutinous" soldiers assigned to the 20th Infantry from the old 2nd Maine, which had been mustered out. A group of men whose enlistments had not expired refused to carry arms and were placed under arrest. Chamberlain's brief speech and his pledge to plead their case caused all but a handful to take arms and join the ranks of the 20th for the coming battle.
The Confederate attacks came in waves, each more intense than the one before. At the height of the fighting, a Confederate bullet struck Chamberlain on his left thigh. Luckily the metal sword scabbard hanging at his side diverted the bullet, leaving him with only with a painful bruise. The colonel leapt to his feet and continued to encourage his men, directing the defense of the rocky hillside. The relentless Confederate assaults shredded Chamberlain's ranks and the situation looked grim as ammunition began to run out. Soldiers ransacked the cartridge boxes of the wounded and dead strewn on the hillside, but there was not enough to continue for much longer and that meager supply soon ran out. Chamberlain had not only been directing his men, but closely observing the southern attacks as well. Sensing exhaustion among the Confederates who were also probably running out of ammunition, he formulated a final plan to defend the 20th Maine's part of the shrinking Union line. There was a brief lull in the fighting when the colonel called all of his officers quickly to a meeting and explained his proposal- the 20th Maine was going to make a charge!
The charge of the 20th Maine Infantry was the climax of the fighting in front of Vincent's brigade and contributed greatly to the Union victory at Little Round Top.
In the spring of 1864, Chamberlain commanded a brigade in the 1st Division, Fifth Corps that he led during the Wilderness Campaign to Petersburg, Virginia. On June 18, 1864, Chamberlain was seriously wounded at the Battle of White Oak Road outside of Petersburg. Taken to a field hospital, the attending surgeon pronounced the wound to be mortal and Chamberlain was thought to be on his death bed. Much to the surprise of all, Chamberlain made a miraculous recovery and by the following spring was strong enough to rejoin the army as a brigadier general, a promotion he had received the day he was wounded. In April 1865, General Chamberlain led his troops at the Battle of Five Forks, which broke the Confederate hold on Petersburg. A sudden change in corps command after that battle placed Chamberlain in command of the 1st Division of the Fifth Corps during the final campaign to Appomattox Court House.
After the surrender terms were signed by General Lee on April 9, General Chamberlain was assigned the task of accepting the formal surrender of arms of the Army of Northern Virginia scheduled for April 12, 1865. It was a cool, wet day. Their lines formed on the road leading to Appomattox Court House, Chamberlain's division watched the tattered gray column trudge toward the village. Without hesitation, Chamberlain called his men to attention and saluted the Confederates as they approached. At the head of the Confederate column a despondent General John Gordon heard the shifting of weapons and recognized the honor. He rose in his saddle, reigned in his horse and boldly returned the salute. Former enemies paid their respects to each other in this last act of the war in Virginia.
Chamberlain returned to peaceful pursuits in Maine after the war and was elected governor of the state. In 1871 he was persuaded to accept the president's position at Bowdoin College where he restructured the college curriculum to include science and engineering. Chamberlain was also active in the Grand Army of the Republic, the national organization of Union veterans. He resigned from Bowdoin College in 1883 due to ill health, but continued to write about his war-time experiences and remained active in veteran circles. He later dabbled in several businesses including real estate, but none satisfied him as much as education. In 1893, Congress honored him with the Congressional Medal of Honor for gallantry at Gettysburg. In 1900, he was appointed Surveyor of the Port of Maine, a position which he held until his death on February 14, 1914. General Chamberlain is buried in Pine Grove Cemetery in Brunswick, Maine.
I am a member of the Army Navy Club in Washington, DC—private club. Eating dinner, picture of Lt. Rowan. Went up to the private library—read this book—received his orders in the club, at the table I had been dining at...
Lt. Andrew Summers Rowan:
At the outbreak of the Spanish-American campaign Lieutenant Rowan, under disguise, entered the enemy lines in Oriente, crossed the island of Cuba, and not only succeeded in delivering a message to General Garcia, but secured secret information relative to existing military conditions in that region of such great value that it had an important bearing on the quick ending of the struggle and the complete success of the U.S. Army.
Andrew Summers Rowan, the lieutenant credited with delivering the message, was born on Apr. 23, 1857, in Gap Mills, Va. Following in the footsteps of his father, a colonel in the 180th Virginia Infantry in the Confederate Army, he entered West Point at age 20. He was graduated in 1881 and commissioned a second lieutenant in the 15th U.S. Infantry. During the ensuing eight years, he saw active duty at frontier posts in Texas, Colorado, and the Dakotas, and he also undertook several assignments in South America for the Military Intelligence Division.
For some reason he became intrigued with Cuba and wrote a book about the island. This, combined with his knowledge of Spanish, his reputation as a topographical expert, and his physical adventuresomeness--mountain climbing was his favorite pastime--made him an excellent choice for a top-priority mission to Cuba. Contrary to what Hubbard wrote about the assignment, there was no "message" for Rowan to deliver in a "sealed oilskin pouch" from President McKinley to General Garcia. Instead, Rowan was merely given a verbal order from his superior officer, Col. Arthur Wagner, to determine the strength of Garcia's forces and arrange their cooperation with American forces should a war break out between the U.S. and Spain over Cuban independence.
Rowan first took ship to Jamaica. There he contacted Cuban insurgents, who landed him in a small fishing boat near Santiago de Cuba on Apr. 24, 1898, the day Spain declared war on the U.S. A group of Cubans guided him through dense, insect-infested jungles for six days. Their supplies soon ran out, and during the last days they existed on sweet potatoes. In the midst of this ordeal they met up with several men who claimed to be Spanish deserters. Suddenly, one of the men lunged at Rowan with a knife, but he was quickly decapitated by Rowan's Cuban companions.
My Great grandfather was an inventor/entrepreneur. He ran a newspaper in Iowa, organized a dance band and also built cars from scratch. At one point in his automobile career, he became Eddie Rickenbacker’s mechanic (riding with him in various races) and went with him to France in WWI. Both Rickenbacker and my great grandfather were taught by
Raul Luffbery the great American Ace of the Lafayette Escadrille.
"Despite having been born in France of French parentage, Raoul Gervais Victor Lufbery has deservedly gone into the annals of aviation as one of the brave young men who helped in the forging of US military aviation during World War i. Lufbery was born on 14 March 1885, emigrating with his parents to the US at the start of the 1890s. At seventeen and footloose, Lufbery ran away from home, traveling to Europe, and the Middle East before returning to the US to join the Army as a rifleman. It was the US Army that furthered his knowledge of the world by sending him to the Phillipines, from where, on Army discharge , he proceded to explore South East Asia in 1910.
Two years on and Lufbery's path crosses that of French pilot, Marc Pourpe, who hired Lufbery as the mechanic for his Bleriot. At the outbreak of the war both men were still together and by now, back in France. Pourpe volunteered and with his previous flying experience soon found himself with Escadrille N 23.
Initially rejected as a foreigner by the French authorities, Lufbery was contemplating joining the French Foreign Legion when Pourpe, in need of a tried and trusted mechanic, intervened on his behalf. Sadly, shortly after rejoining Pourpe, his benefactor was killed.
During the late spring of 1915, Lufbery was selected for pilot training, gaining his 'wings' on 29 July 1915. His introduction to combat came in October 1915 piloting two seater Voisins with Escadrille VB 106. Happily for Lufbery, he was selected for single seaters early in 1916 and following type conversion training joined the Nieuport II - equipped Escadrille Lafayette on 24 May 1916. French-led, this unit was manned by American volunteer pilots. Here, within the space of less than five months, Lufbery made his mark by becoming an ace, that is having amassed the necessary five 'kills,' on 12 October 1916.
Commissioned in early 1917, Lufbery continued flying for the French with the Escadrille Lafayette until January 1918, when th eunit and its personnel were transferred to the American Expeditionary Forces's control. By now holding the US rank of major, Lufbery was given command of th e94th Aero, equipped with Nieuport 28s. The unit became operational on 19 March 1918 and two months later Raoul Lufbery was killed after falling from his blazing Nieuport 11 on 19 May 1918."
"Theres a hell of a lot of difference in going out alone, no matter what the odds are against you, and in going out as a member or a leader of a group of pilots who may or may not be as good as you are. It is a great responsibility to shepard these pilots out and get back home safe. I prefer to fight alone, on my own."
Lufbery to Rickenbacker, in a discussion on tactics.
"The crass stupidity of certain American brass hats failed to recognize his value as a fine fighter."
Edwin C. Parsons, commenting on his relegation to a desk as the Lafayette Escadrille was absorbed into the U.S. Air Service.
"We silently faced the realization that America's greatest aviator and ace of aces had been laid away to rest."
Rickenbacker, after Lufbery's death.
As a cadet at the Air Force Academy, the Bishop of the ward the cadets attended was a man named
Horst Reschke. I often went to his home for help with my German genealogy and to listen to his stories, His story:
He was born in 1930. His family joined the Church in 1931. His father Max became President of the LDS Branch in Hannover in 1937. Horst often went with his father to visit members and others in need.
Horst wanted to join the Nazi Youth (Boy Scouts to Horst). Max kicked the youth leader outof his home, got arrested, but was acquitted.
On Kristallnacht Max, accomplanied by Horst went to the house of some Jewish friends, the Scheurenburg’s. Max had to fight a brown shirt, but ensured his firends were OK, and went home fearing for his family. Got them to safety and went back to the Scheurburg home. Max pretended he was a Nazi. He flipped his coat lapel in the dark like he was showing his ID and said “I will take care of these two!’ and drove them to the Swiss border. They escaped to Shanghai China. Max collected money for Jews who could not get the payment owed them. Max arrested for aiding and hiding Jews. Went to Bergen Belsen camp. Horst helped a Russian prisoner of war who secretly stayed many nights in their apartment. Horst learned to accept surprise guest on the couch from his father's practices and this seemed the right thing to do.
Horst knew of Helmuth Huebener; Hamburg and Hanover not too far apart—less than 100 miles; When visiting Berlin, Horst asked me to visit Plotensie -the Blood tribunal—which I did. I saw where Helmuth died living what was right in the face of the entire Nazi war machine.
Horst often went to deliver apples hidden in his armpits for Jewish friends in the ghetto. He was also threatened for these acts. His family saved him by rolling him up in a rug and mailed to a relative...
Immediately after the war many Germans were not trusted by the Allies. The Russian Officer Horst had protected came to the Reschke's rescue with this testimony: “I am Captain, Red Army. There is a family living in this apartment house which has not only treated me well, but has literally saved my life by giving me shelter here. Had they not done so, you would have found my body among those others.” Nikolai went back to Russia to find his family but couldn’t get any farther than East Germany. He escaped and went back to the Reschke home.
Hanover Germany, where the Reschke's lived during the war experienced 128 air raids and the city 89 percent destroyed. The Reschke family survived.
As a cadet at the US Air Force Academy, I had the opportunity to meet some great people. One was our janitor. I will let another former cadet tell the story. (for more information you can go to this website to read about his visit with the President of the United States: http://www.homeofheroes.com/profiles/profiles_crawford2.html)
William "Bill" Crawford certainly was an unimpressive figure, one you could easily overlook during a hectic day at the U.S. Air Force Academy. Mr. Crawford, as most of us referred to him back in the late 1970s, was our squadron janitor. While we cadets busied ourselves preparing for academic exams, athletic events, Saturday morning parades and room inspections, or never-ending leadership classes, Bill quietly moved about the squadron mopping and buffing floors, emptying trash cans, cleaning toilets, or just tidying up the mess 100 college-age kids can leave in a dormitory. Sadly, and for many years, few of us gave him much notice, rendering little more than a passing nod or throwing a curt, "G'morning!" in his direction as we hurried off to our daily duties. Why? Perhaps it was because of the way he did his job-he always kept the squadron area spotlessly clean, even the toilets and showers gleamed. Frankly, he did his job so well, none of us had to notice or get involved. After all, cleaning toilets was his job, not ours. Maybe it was his physical appearance that made him disappear into the background. Bill didn't move very quickly and, in fact, you could say he even shuffled a bit, as if he suffered from some sort of injury. His gray hair and wrinkled face made him appear ancient to a group of young cadets. And his crooked smile, well, it looked a little funny. Face it, Bill was an old man working in a young person's world. What did he have to offer us on a personal level? Finally, maybe it was Mr. Crawford's personality that rendered him almost invisible to the young people around him. Bill was shy, almost painfully so. He seldom spoke to a cadet unless they addressed him first, and that didn't happen very often. Our janitor always buried himself in his work, moving about with stooped shoulders, a quiet gait, and an averted gaze. If he noticed the hustle and bustle of cadet life around him, it was hard to tell. So, for whatever reason, Bill blended into the woodwork and became just another fixture around the squadron. The Academy, one of our nation's premier leadership laboratories, kept us busy from dawn till dusk. And Mr. Crawford...well, he was just a janitor.
That changed one fall Saturday afternoon in 1976. I was reading a book about World War II and the tough Allied ground campaign in Italy, when I stumbled across an incredible story. On Sept. 13, 1943, a Private William Crawford from Colorado, assigned to the 36th Infantry Division, had been involved in some bloody fighting on Hill 424 near Altavilla, Italy. The words on the page leapt out at me: "in the face of intense and overwhelming hostile fire ... with no regard for personal safety ... on his own initiative, Private Crawford single-handedly attacked fortified enemy positions." It continued, "for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at risk of life above and beyond the call of duty, the President of the United States ..." "Holy cow," I said to my roommate, "you're not going to believe this, but I think our janitor is a Medal of Honor winner." We all knew Mr. Crawford was a WWII Army vet, but that didn't keep my friend from looking at me as if I was some sort of alien being. Nonetheless, we couldn't wait to ask Bill about the story on Monday. We met Mr. Crawford bright and early Monday and showed him the page in question from the book, anticipation and doubt on our faces. He starred at it for a few silent moments and then quietly uttered something like, "Yep, that's me." Mouths agape, my roommate and I looked at one another, then at the book, and quickly back at our janitor. Almost at once we both stuttered, "Why didn't you ever tell us about it?" He slowly replied after some thought, "That was one day in my life and it happened a long time ago." I guess we were all at a loss for words after that. We had to hurry off to class and Bill, well, he had chores to attend to. However, after that brief exchange, things were never again the same around our squadron. Word spread like wildfire among the cadets that we had a hero in our midst-Mr. Crawford, our janitor, had won the Medal! Cadets who had once passed by Bill with hardly a glance, now greeted him with a smile and a respectful, "Good morning, Mr. Crawford."
Those who had before left a mess for the "janitor" to clean up started taking it upon themselves to put things in order. Most cadets routinely stopped to talk to Bill throughout the day and we even began inviting him to our formal squadron functions. He'd show up dressed in a conservative dark suit and quietly talk to those who approached him, the only sign of his heroics being a simple blue, star-spangled lapel pin. Almost overnight, Bill went from being a simple fixture in our squadron to one of our teammates. Mr. Crawford changed too, but you had to look closely to notice the difference. After that fall day in 1976, he seemed to move with more purpose, his shoulders didn't seem to be as stooped, he met our greetings with a direct gaze and a stronger "good morning" in return, and he flashed his crooked smile more often. The squadron gleamed as always, but everyone now seemed to notice it more. Bill even got to know most of us by our first names, something that didn't happen often at the Academy. While no one ever formally acknowledged the change, I think we became Bill's cadets and his squadron. As often happens in life, events sweep us away from those in our past. The last time I saw Bill was on graduation day in June 1977. As I walked out of the squadron for the last time, he shook my hand and simply said, "Good luck, young man." With that, I embarked on a career that has been truly lucky and blessed. Mr. Crawford continued to work at the Academy and eventually retired in his native Colorado where he resides today, one of four Medal of Honor winners living in a small town. A wise person once said, "It's not life that's important, but those you meet along the way that make the difference." Bill was one who made a difference for me. While I haven't seen Mr. Crawford in over twenty years, he'd probably be surprised to know I think of him often. Bill Crawford, our janitor, taught me many valuable, unforgettable leadership lessons.
And now, for the rest of the story.........
Pvt William John Crawford was a platoon scout for 3rd Platoon of Company L 142nd Regiment 36th Division (Texas National Guard) and won the Medal Of Honor for his actions on Hill 424, just 4 days after the invasion at Salerno. You can read his citation at www.army.mil/cmh-pg/mohiia1.htm.
On Hill 424, Pvt Crawford took out 3 enemy machine guns before darkness fell, halting the platoon's advance. Pvt Crawford could not be found and was assumed dead. The request for his MOH was quickly approved. MG Terry Allen presented the posthumous MOH to Bill Crawford's father, George, on 11 May 1944 in Camp (now Fort) Carson, near Pueblo. Nearly two months after that, it was learned that Pvt Crawford was alive in a POW camp in Germany. During his captivity, a German guard clubbed him with his rifle. Bill overpowered him, took the rifle away, and beat the guard unconscious. A German doctor's testimony saved him from severe punishment, perhaps death. To stay ahead of the advancing Russian army, the prisoners were marched 500 miles in 52 days in the middle of the German winter, subsisting on one potato a day. An allied tank column liberated the camp in the spring of 1945, and Pvt Crawford took his first hot shower in 18 months on VE Day. Pvt Crawford stayed in the army before retiring as a MSG and becoming a janitor. In 1984, President Ronald Reagan officially presented the MOH to Bill Crawford.
In pilot traning I had some great instructors. One was a returned POW who also happened to be LDS,
Colonel Larry Chesley. His words upon takeoff were always: “OK Mitchell, Make my nose bleed!” Here are a few more of his words:
I grew up in Burley, Idaho. We lived on a farm and I learned to work hard at an early age. I enlisted in the Air Force in 1956 when I was seventeen years old and spent two years in Japan and nearly two years in Germany. In 1960 I took an Honorable Discharge and began college at Weber State College in Ogden, Utah. I was married and had one child and worked full time for Boeing at Hill Air Force Base (AFB), Utah. I finished a four-year course of study in less than three years, graduating with honors.
I reentered the Air Force at Officer Training School (OTS) at Lackland AFB, Texas. I graduated as a Distinguished Military Graduate. From OTS I went to Pilot Training, then to fighter training in the F4C Phantom, I graduated as the outstanding pilot of my class (Top Gun).
I volunteered to go to Vietnam in the Fall of 1965.
I was shot down and captured on April 16, 1966
and was released from prison on February 12, 1973,
nearly seven years in captivity.
While a prisoner of war at one time I was in a room of 48 men and there were 5 Larry’s. So I ask them to give me another name. They started calling me "Lucky", like one might call someone "tiny" who was large.
I had broken my back in three places in the ejection
and had received no medical treatment to it.
I had beriberi and lost over 60 pounds in two months.
My wife divorced me etc, etc. The name just stuck. After I got home I remarried and we had three children adopted three more and had a Navajo boy living with us. Then my wife Annette and our six-week-old baby got killed in a train/car crash. After I retired from the Air Force I ran for an elected office in the State of Arizona. I ran eight times and won two.
During those very sick days from January
through about the last of March, the pain was so intense
that I could think of nothing but pain.
Even thoughts of my wife and children whom I loved so much, and who I normally thought about all the time, were ousted by the demon pain. Those were very trying times. In all, I was in pain for between four and five months, and after I started getting my health back my feet still hurt badly for several more years. Even today they are not completely normal.
When the guard left the first time, Jim and I knelt by our bunk
and took turns praying that God would soften the hearts of our enemies.
When Jim's punishment was so insignificant,
Jim Ray Baptist and Larry Chesley Mormon knew
there was a God who could and did soften the hearts of our enemies.
The real moral to my story is this. Jim Ray loved me more than he loved himself. He was willing to put his very life on the line for me. We do not have as many Jim Rays in the world as we used to have. Today, to many of us are just worrying about ourselves, looking our for number one. Most of us don't have to put our life on the line to help others, there are so many ways in which to help. Most do not cost anything except maybe a little time.
It is my deep and abiding faith that keeps me going.
I know I am a child of God. I know He was with me in prison.
He healed my back and watched over me.
I know Jesus is the Christ the Son of God and the Savior of all mankind.
I know we have a Prophet on earth, that there is a plan of happiness. I know I will live again in a perfect body in a perfect place with my wife and family for Eternity.
God is not some unimaginable person to me,
He is real and I know He loves me
and wants me to live like the example
Jesus set for me and for everyone.
You see, I really am LUCKY.
"Lucky" Larry Chesley
I volunteered to go also - with
my wife's blessing. Jim and I went to Ubon, Thailand with a squadron from
George AFB, California. We arrived 16 December 1966. Four months and 76
missions later on 16 April 1966 I was shot down.
Major Sam Johnson and I were on a "milk run" mission about 30 miles north of
the DMZ. This started my long stay in North Vietnam-almost seven years. I
was sick much of the time during those seven years. My illness was caused by
my bout with beri beri from December 1966 to April 1967 which left me in
such a weakened condition that I caught everything that came along. I lost
approximately 60 pounds, leaving me weighing only 100 pounds. While in
prison, I received news that my wife had remarried. Because I had not been
allowed to write for four years, neither my wife nor my family knew I was
alive. I received my first letter four and a half years after my shoot down.
Though I was tortured, beaten, and generally mistreated, I was not treated
as harshly as some of the others.
I am a Mormon and I believe deeply in my religion. It was one of the
strengths I clung to during those dark days. I believe in a God who is like
a Father, One who cares about His children. I had a patriarchal blessing
when I was young (about 14) and it said that if I were ever called into war
that no matter what would come or what would go, I would be returned to my
loved ones. So I never doubted for a moment. I knew that I would come home
someday.
.
While at the Academy I got to know another great American, who was in the squadron next to mine. We had a lot in common and often had hallway conversations that would last over an hour. His name is
Lt. Col. Mark C. McGeehan:
A selfless man of faith and family, U.S. Air Force Lt. Col. Mark C. McGeehan died June 24, 1994 protecting those under his command from a rogue senior pilot.
Lt. Col. McGeehan's willingness to give the last full measure of his life to spare others is testimony of his leadership and commitment to do right.
Born in East Liverpool Jan. 10, 1956, McGeehan was reared in Chester, one of nine children. Upon graduation from Oak Glen High School in 1974, he attended the U.S. Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, Colo., where he received his commission in 1978. His professional military education also included Squadron Officer School, where he was a distinguished graduate, and Air and Command and Staff College.
A senior pilot and instructor with more than 31,000 flying hours, Lt. Col. McGeehan advanced through the ranks, serving in such capacities as aide-de-camp to the commander; a faculty member of Air Command and Staff College, where he was chief of the military history and doctrine branch; operations officer of the 325th Squadron; and finally, commander of the 325th Bomb Squadron at Fairchild Air Force Base.
It was while serving as commander, that Lt. Col. McGeehan faced a challenging dilemma. After receiving numerous complaints from his junior aircrews about the unsafe flying habits of one of the wing's senior pilots not under his command, McGeehan took evidence of the maverick pilot's recklessness to the wing leadership, using the appropriate chain of command, and requested the pilot be grounded. Lt. Col. McGeehan's request was denied.
With the denial, McGeehan took the remaining option available to protect his pilots and order that on one under his command was to fly with the maverick pilot. If a co-pilot was needed, McGeehan said that he would go.
On June 24, 1994 in preparation for an air show Lt. Col. McGeehan was co-piloting a B-52H bomber when the rogue pilot exceeded flight restrictions for the craft. The bomber sideslipped into the ground, killing everyone on board, the pilot, two crewmembers and Lt. Col. McGeehan.
The decorated lieutenant colonel who was active as a Boy Scout leader, Little League Coach and the Catholic Church, left behind his sons, Patrick, Brendan and Collin, and his wife, Jodie.
Ironically, just weeks before his death as Lt. Col. McGeehan was preparing to hand over the unit flag of the 325th Bomb Squadron for deactivation on July 1, he wrote in an article that was printed June 10, 1994 in the military publication Strikehawk:
"When we think of those who went before us, we should do so with humility, respecting their great personal sacrifice. When we honor our heritage and those with whom we share a common bond and purpose, we are all enriched, and our lives are made a little more worth living."
I would like to end with a thought by Colonel Chamberlain, that he offered in a Memorial Day address in Springfield, Massachusetts, in 1897:
"...everyone has in him, slumbering somewhere, the potencies of noble action, and on due occasion these are likely to make themselves manifest and effective." The secret to unlocking those potencies could be found in the two souls residing in each person, for by striving for one’s better soul, the soul of love and community, one could thus find the path toward greater glory, the road toward true heroism. "Every man has in him the elements of a hero," a conscious effort to put others before himself and to achieve a "largeness of action." In all of this, there is something lofty and spiritual, the fulfillment of divine destiny. [cited in: The Gettysburg Nobody Knows, edited by Gabor S. Boritt, 1997]
