At Their Best

As I’m walking to the checkout line at Harris Teeter with an armful of groceries I’m struggling to carry and it’s between me and an elderly man to go next in line, I signal for him to go ahead of me with a smile and a head flick…

“No, you’ve got a lot more on your plate than I do.”

That act of kindness combined with the weight I was trying desperately to hide brought me to tears in the middle of the fucking grocery store. 

I’ve worked with scores of men.  I’ve seen acts of cowardice and acts of heroism go unnoticed.  Men have died and I haven’t thought much of it.  But this one hurt.  This one was worth me dropping everything in my life to make sure everything was done right to make sure he was honored in death, no matter the circumstances.

He was the best soldier I ever had. 

He was never in the “good ole boys club.”  He always did what was asked of him.  He always performed well in battle and saved my life, along with many others, without them even knowing it.  He never asked for awards, but deserved them, along with his Purple Heart.  If I ever made a bad decision, he would respectfully tell me in private that he had a problem and when he spoke… I listened.  He was never considered a subordinate, but instead an advisor that I needed.  He was my right hand man for 27 months of war.  He was what we call, a hard man, whom I loved.  His name was Chris Hall.

Chris loved his family above everything.  He admitted he wasn’t a perfect man… to which I constantly argued after seeing what he did for his country and for the men he protected overseas.  He all but predicted what would happen if he moved back home to Tennessee.  I pleaded with him to go anywhere else to prevent those bad decisions from coming back to haunt him.  I lost that debate.

I got the call at 1 in the morning, then I notified 82 men he served with what had happened.  I was in shock, so I took advantage of that fact by informing people and answering all the questions people had on what had happened and why.

Plans were made for 4 of us to meet up in Newport, Tennessee.  It was a place within 10 miles of where I last lost contact with Chris.  He texted me while I was hiking the Appalachian Trail in late September of 2014, telling me to contact him when I crossed into Tennessee, stating… “Let me know when ya hit Tennessee. My life is falling apart.”  So I did… but I never heard back.

I drove 8 hours from VA Beach, Woody drove 5 hours from Fort Benning, GA, Stoops drove 3 hours from Fort Bragg, NC, Freddy Drove 8 hours from Indiana and drove back in the snow.  Phillips drove several hours from Georgia the day of, only to have a quick meal with the rest of us to drive several hours back while on strict probation.  We weren’t the most tight knit group of men the last time we were all together with Chris… but his death brought out the best in us… just like how we remembered him… at his best.  His death brought us together again.  We would all lay down our lives for each other, no matter the situation.  Over time, we lost track of that… and we could see that in each other’s eyes as we gathered at a local bar to reminisce a man worth anyone’s envy.

I loved listening to everyone’s stories about Chris.  I loved that his oldest son, Matthew, who graduated from the Air Force Academy just days before, came out with us as we slipped him adult beverages and told him stories of the man that raised him.  We told him how Chris bragged about how proud he was of Matthew and all his kids.

The day before the burial of his ashes on a hill just north of the Great Smokey Mountains next to a plot reserved for him, his first wife Nicole and his first child… we waltzed into the funeral home to ask the director if we could properly Christen several flags to be presented to his loved ones.  The director was kind and agreed to allow us to show up early the next morning to unfold, carry over his ashes and then fold a flag for each of the Chris’ loved ones.

Woody made replicas of Chris’ Dog tags to present to Chris’ kids. 

A large crowd came out to support the family at the Hall Cemetery. I jumped a bit after the first shots of the 21-gun salute were fired.  4 of us properly presented flags to 4 of Chris’ children.  I approached his eldest son… who had a mouth just as filthy as the rest of us as I found out the night before… which made us all smile, because Chris would have it no other way as he was so proud of Matthew.  I took a knee in front of Matthew after touching the flag to Chris’s Urn.

“Matthew… It was my honor.”

I grabbed his right hand to put over the flag and patted him on the back of his neck as his tears soaked his pants.  He was in so much pain, but such a tough young man at the same time… like Chris.  I stood slowly and saluted him while dawning my gold spurs, Stetson and beard.

I circled around the crowd to grab another flag with Stoops.  He would present the woman who stood next to Chris over 3 long deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan with a flag she didn’t know was coming… her name is Nicole.  They were best friends and loving parents.  Stoops’ family lived right next door to Chris’ and I thought that would mean a lot to the both of them.  I presented the last flag to the woman Chris told me raised him, his Step-Mom.  I knelt beside the urn, touched the flag to it, stood and turned to Theresa to proudly kneel again.  She grabbed the flag.

“He spoke very highly of you.  It was an honor.”  I stood and saluted.

We went to a church just down the road afterwards and grabbed his 4 children to speak to them in a private room while everyone else gathered in a chow hall.  We shut the door as the children sat.  Woody told them how important Chris was to us and how we would all watch over his kids for all time. They were presented his dog tag replicas and we hugged them all, promising to always be there for them.

I wrote a letter to his kids and gave them to Nicole.  I told her to read the letter and she would know when to give it to each child.  I wanted them to know what their father was like at his best… not his ending.  They needed to know he was the best and no matter what happened after the military, they will know who he was at his best… always wanting great things for them while looking after his brothers.

That night we all went to Chris' youngest son's second basketball game and cheered like idiots before parting ways in the morning.  Little Ethan looks just like his Dad and is a constant memory of a great man.  

My heart aches the same now as it did when I lost my Mom.  I love Chris for all that he did and all that he taught me.  Whenever any of his kids contacts us down the road, they will have our full attention to help in any way we can... simply because of who there father was and the loyalty he earned. 

We all miss someone… may we remember them at their best and smile.

Best Seat in the House

I remember walking into the old Ferguson building that resembled a 50-year-old middle school to find the incoming inaugural football coach, Matt Kelchner.  I had never played before, besides with neighborhood friends right before Turkey Day dinner as we all went home to eat after being bloodied and bruised by each other.  I figured if I was going to start playing in college, that a brand new team would be so awful and I could pick up the game quickly.  Holy shit was I wrong on both accounts.

“I’d like to walk onto the football team.”

“What do you play?”

“I’ve never played before, but I want to try out for receiver.”

“Huh… Well come to workouts in the spring and we’ll see what you’ve got.”

Workouts were early in the morning and if it weren’t for my freshman year suitemate, Chris Blancett, coming into my dorm room to check to see if I was awake to go with him, I probably would not have continued on this adventure.  Thank you, Chris.  Workouts commenced and they were hilarious.  We had young guys that had played their whole lives.  We had guys with gray hair and broken down bodies.  We had guys that had vodka coming out of their pores from just a few hours earlier and would quickly take a trip to vomit in trash cans after a few sprints… which made other guys join them because of the smell aerating around the stuffy b-ball court of old Ferguson.  Guys were even getting arrested.  I thought, “I think I got this.”  Again, way off.

We didn’t have cuts because there weren’t enough of us to make a full 100-man roster so we were all invited to the dreaded summer training camp known as “two-a-days,” meaning at least two practices a day and meetings in between and after during the hottest part of the summer.  I went out with excitement and enthusiasm.  I noticed that coach had found quite a lot of players to either transfer from bigger schools, where they weren’t getting the playing time they wanted or beefed up players straight out of high school.  They all looked like titans to my scrawny ass, but I was small and under developed my whole life so the scrapper mentality took over as I lined up to catch some passes.  After three successful catches and making up my own routes since I didn’t know the difference between a hitch, curl or post route, coach pulled me aside.

“Umm, you’re too slow.  What other sports have you played?”

“Baseball, basketball, soc…”

“Soccer, ok, we need a kicker! Go kick.”

“I have no idea how to kick a football.”

“That’s ok, the team chaplain is the kicking coach and he’ll help you out.”

            Not off to a good start, but if kicking literally got my foot in the door as a sophomore then that’s what I would do.  I went to see the kicking coach and I quickly learned he was as experienced at coaching a kicker as I was with football.

“Alright kicker! You see those those goal posts?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Kick the ball at ‘em!”

            Needless to say, I started off as a 3^rd string kicker.  I eventually moved to 2^nd string kicker and 1^st string smart ass.  There were so many of us and our faces were hidden by the helmets, the coaches had us put tape on the forehead portion of the helmets and then we were to write our names on them for quicker identification.  I decided to write “Gladiator” on mine so every time I put it on, I recited Russel Crowes revelation in the movie “Gladiator” to the evil Caesar, “My name… is Gladiator.”  This brought a lot of laughs to the locker room since I was probably the last person you’d put in the “bad-ass” department… of anything.  The coaches weren’t always in the mood for jokes so it quickly turned to “Vance.”

            Training camp ended and the inaugural season kicked off with a loss.  I was buried on the bench, but did my part to help out and tried to learn the game while being the ball bitch or scout team All-American.  Then 9/11 happened.  I spoke to a marine recruiter, but in the end decided to finish school before heading into the military.  I ended up making the travel squad because Coach wanted to bring two kickers for some reason.  I had no idea why until we loaded up the busses for a trip to Averett.  Coach jumped onto my bus and pointed right at me.

“Williams ain’t here!  You’re kicking tomorrow!”

            The bus went nuts as we found out the starting kicker didn’t make it on time and my face turned pale. 

“Vance! Look at your face!” Veney shouted.

            My heart sank because I knew I wasn’t ready.  Tyrell Veney was one of our D-ends and a part of the infamous “four horsemen,” whose talent I idolized.  He was also alphabetically stuck with the kicker for roommate assignments that night.  

“Do you think we’ll win by a lot tomorrow?” I asked.

“I don’t care by how much.  We just have to win.”  He always stayed positive and it was contagious.

            I had called my parents and told them I would be starting, but it wasn’t a big deal so they shouldn’t make the long drive from the D.C. area.  My Mom was fighting cancer and I didn’t want her to see her son fail, so if I succeeded I’d ask them to drive to the next game.  Game time!  I was nervous as hell.  After one of the kickoffs I ran down the field to make contact to get the nerves out.  David Briggs saw me fend off a block.

“Aight kicker! I see you fightin’!”

            That was as good as it got for me that day.  Five extra point attempts.  I missed wide left, hit each pole once, hit one of my lineman in the left ass cheek as the holder, Rich Ingram, patted my backside in support each time.  I finally made one after I saw the play clock expire.  I didn’t think it would count so I took a practice kick thinking there would be a penalty, but the refs gave me a pity point.  I’ll take it.  There was even a fake field goal that nobody told me about, so it was a scene straight out of Charlie Brown as the ball was taken from my sight at the last second.

            I learned I didn’t want to be a kick that day.  Coach Schmidt would later tell me in an attempt to make me feel better…

“You have to have either ice in your veins or shit for brains.”

            I had neither.  We made history that year by being the first football team in their inaugural season to make the NCAA playoffs on any level.  I was proud of that one-point contribution from a guy that had never played before, yet disappointed I couldn’t do more.  Coach stuck up for me in the media and I’ll never forget that.  Not a single one of us can say he never gave us a chance.   

Eventually I was allowed to join the DB’s as a last string corner for my senior year.  I got my ass kicked every day and I loved it.  Freshman thought I was a freshman due to my stature and lack of knowledge and ability.  The first time I hit somebody, I was the last one to get up.  I learned you’re not supposed to tackle with your head down.  I saw blinking stars and my right shoulder sagged.  The guys saw my effort and started teaching me the game.  One day, coach wanted to toughen up the DB’s, so we lined up against the “four horsemen.”  I was looking face to chest with Veney.  He laid up for the first hit.

“C’mon man! Hit me! It’s to make us both better.”

Veney just glared at me.

            The next time the whistle blew I was on my backside real quick as Veney helped me up.  He knew I wanted to get better and as much as he didn’t want to beat me up, these tough matchups would help me more than him.  My whole body hurt the entire season.  I finally felt like I was a part of the team and I may not have earned play time, but I earned a morsel of respect.  As the last game was played and we gathered in the locker room.  I sat down to just take it all in.  Veney saw me get a little red eyed, walked across the locker room and gave me a hug, along with all the other seniors.

“Alright Mat, alright.”

“Alright Veney.”

            With absolute pride and just knowing where I belong and don’t belong in this world, I’ve never been a football player.  Sure, I was on the team and had great moments in those 3 years, but I never saw myself as a “football player.”  Instead, after knowing those men and experiencing the comfort of my first taste of camaraderie…  I was a fan.  I was a fan with the best seat in the house.

Much love to all my CNU football brothers!

Gettin' Hitched!

The Hurricane passed the day before, temps were in the high 70’s, sunny with a slight breeze, everyone was recovering from an amazing rehearsal dinner and ice breaker gathering for out of town guests the night before.  The bridesmaids were upstairs keeping my Alex calm as the groomsmen kept me from doing anything stressful.  We sipped on beer while smoking cigars my father in law, Gregg provided as I noticed a big, beautiful yellow butterfly floating around us on the front porch.  The officiant, Josh, was making last minute edits as I could tell he wanted it to be perfect.  He left his wife and two sons, sacrificing a long weekend the Army afforded him and flew all the way from Louisiana.  I can’t think of a more honorable man to marry us. 

I told Josh not to go around back to the reception tent.  I wanted to put a special gift at the table of all my Army brothers that made the trip from all over the country.  Some of them couldn’t afford flights, but came anyways.  Some of them couldn’t fit in their own cars, but crammed in and drove hundreds, maybe thousands of miles.  Some of them were accompanied by very pregnant wives on their birthday weekend, but they sacrificed their time and comfort to be with me on my greatest day.  I miss them every day of my life and there are so many more.

I was relatively calm until 10 minutes before the ceremony as it was my best man, Mike “The Kuhn” and I in a suit upstairs.  I have tied thousands of ties in my life.

“Mike, is this good?” I asked

“No,” he smiled.

            The Kuhn had to tie my tie for me as Gregg, my brother in law Joe (who I think I called Josh because I was so nervous) and my Dad arrived in the room.  My hands were too shaky.

“The hell is going on?”

“Nothing. It just means you love Alex and want everything to be perfect for her.”

            The best man strikes again by calming me down.  I made sure I had my vows, gave Mike our rings, gave man hugs, took a shot of American Honey with Mike, grabbed a framed picture of my Mom and headed downstairs to the staging area.  I saw one of my groomsmen, Robert, coming back from the parking lot.

“Everything OK?”

“Lilly is changing Wyatt in the car.  We can go ahead and start.”

“We’re not having this wedding without her, tell her we’ll wait, there’s time.”

            Robert and Lilly are my friends and played a big part in Alex and I meeting in Alex’s cousin’s (Jeff) garage at a New Year’s Eve party.  Lilly brought Wyatt out in the stroller.  Show time.  Josh addressed the crowd and came back to me to begin.  I heard the violins as I escorted my Dad down the aisle with Mom’s picture clinched to my side and didn’t look up once.  Dad had told me to just take a deep breath, so I took several and didn’t see anyone’s face in the crowd as I put Mom’s picture in a chair next to Dad. I did get a glimpse of my sister, Heather, who was one of the bridesmaids, smiling and trying to keep it together just as much as I was.  A lot of people told me later on that there was a yellow butterfly floating around Alex and I during the ceremony and we all agreed that was Mom.

            Josh spoke clearly, eloquently, made everyone smile, laugh and come together in supporting our marriage.  Alex said her vows as I tried so hard to keep it together.  My face was already hurting from smiling ear to ear I was so happy.  I initiated my vows by unintentionally addressing Alex like she was a private in the Army that did something I didn’t approve of.

“ALEX!” I scratchily yelled to her face as she leaned back and eyes were wide.

            I had taken one too many deep breathes and let out all the nerves in that one beautiful name.  After I heard people laugh, I felt more calm and was able to get through the vows with just a couple of tears.  Then when Josh gave the word, I kissed my wife and dipped her as low as I could to show how excited I was to be a married man to a wonderful woman.  Josh joined the wedding party for pictures.

“How did it go?” I smiled as relief and joy took over my entire body.

“Great, everyone heard you laughing from behind these trees as I was directing traffic and then everyone else started laughing at your laugh.”

“Ha! I do have an obnoxious laugh.”

            There were too many highlights to put in this one story.  I only got to say hello to half of the people that came and didn’t even have the chance to say bye to my Dad, but I think people understand.  The thing about weddings that I’ve seen over the years is they go by really quick and mine was no different.  It did bring me great joy to take a step back at one point to observe just about everyone there was standing and conversing with people they had never met, but had a great story to tell about how they each knew Alex or I.  I enjoyed that moment very much.  The different tables represented a fraction of our lives that included people that loved us as much as we loved them.  There were no politics or grudges or drama.  Just smiles, laughs and a good damn time we’ll always remember and always be grateful for.  People keep asking me if I feel any different now.

“I’m a lot happier… all the time.”