In memory of Dwight Davis, who passed away 01 November 2018

The memory is clear in comparison to others that have faded over the years. The early morning Ohio air seemed crisp even though it was the middle of summer, somewhere around the end of July I suppose. I stood by, waiting for Grandpa as I did every morning and evening, during every visit to Ohio throughout my childhood. Grandpa emerged from the garage with his American flag, rolled neatly from the previous evening. The flag was slightly weathered from daily use, but still in good condition. Every so often, during road trips, Grandpa would stop and complain to a business owner who flew a tattered flag. Each morning he carried the colors at a modified port arms, calling me to attention and then present arms, singing a fine rendition of To The Colors while unrolling his flag. I’d watch the flag sway in the breeze, maintaining the best salute a seven-year-old could render until Grandpa completed the tune and slid the staff into the bracket on the garage. My Grandpa taught me what it means to be an American. He taught me about ideals and traits that I now observe in our Army’s Soldiers, and that I hope I embody through service to our Nation and these Soldiers.

You see, my Grandfather sacrificed greatly for our Nation and he still embodies the ideals that make this Nation great. Grandpa was the tail gunner on a B-17, fighting over the European Theater in World War II. Grandpa was shot down, taken prisoner, and remained in captivity until the war ended. We Americans attribute saving the free world and defeating existential threats to our American way of life to the heroes of this era. My Grandfather is a shining example of this greatest generation, the very best that America had to offer. As a child, my Grandfather showed me what it truly means to be an American; those characteristics that define us and make us unique. Americans care about people. American’s are committed. American’s do their duty when called. These characteristics rise to the front, among many others. I learned these lessons as a seven-year-old, holding a crooked salute in the crisp morning air and watching the example of this hero. That is why I serve.

Today, I have the honor of serving among another generation of heroes. The world and the threats we face today may not have the same gravity as they did for my Grandfather’s generation, but the circumstances aren’t really relevant when you are under enemy fire on the battlefield. Today’s heroes, all volunteers, find themselves in harm’s way time and time again. These heroes are men like First Sergeant Bill Langham, a veteran of multiple deployments over a lifetime of service to our Nation. The very mention of his name brings forward another memory of another crisp morning, seared in my memory with the smells of the Afghan countryside, of locals baking bread over a fire somewhere nearby, of sweat and gunpowder. Rounds cracked above our heads, RPGs sailed through the air, we were in an ambush and the situation wasn’t good. I may have been in command, but command is a relative term when you’re being shot at. I tried to make sense of the situation, gaining contact with my platoons to understand what was happening. Men pinned down everywhere, enemy forces everywhere. Someone in the back was wounded. The enemy had isolated one of the fire teams in a ditch, they were close enough to throw grenades. We needed to get some suppressive fires to support them, but no one could move, everyone was pinned down. Fear under fire makes men stop moving. At that moment, I’d stopped moving, and I had to get moving again. Stay calm and steady your voice; the men are listening. But communications are gone, I just noticed the antenna was shot off. We needed to bring the mortars forward. Once the mortars begin firing, the machine gun in the front went down. We can’t get fire to cover our isolated men. “Damn it,” I recall, “the enemy is everywhere.” And then, through the fear and confusion, our First Sergeant went into action. I still see him clearly, moving forward to the machine gun, kneeling beside the team, correcting the weapon malfunction. There are rounds skipping off the ground nearby, but Bill doesn’t seem to notice. Bill is taking heavy fire, help him out with suppressive fire! The machine gun goes into action, the isolated men are okay; we are okay. Bill Langham is an American, and Americans care about people. Americans are committed. Americans do their duty.

I serve to be near heroes like Bill Langham and many others that I’ve met over the years, to help them, and provide a portion of the leadership they deserve. These men and women are the best our Nation has to offer: those who put their lives on the line to defend our freedom and the American way of life. I remember their examples each and every day. Heroes like my Grandfather, Dwight Davis, whose personal example shaped who I am today. Heroes like Bill Langham, willing to risk it all for his brothers in arms and the United States of America. Finally, I serve with the hopes of setting an example to my children. I hope that my example, along with the examples of the heroes among whom they walk, shows them what it truly means to be an American. Americans care about people. American’s are committed. American’s do their duty when called.