My Heroes Wear Green

I arrived at my permanent duty assignment with the 7th ID (light) on 2 November, 1986 and was met at the door by 1st Sgt Darryl Gates, SFC Stephen Turner and SSgt. Michael J. Mills. All three men were Vietnam veterans, 1st Sgt Gates with the 25th ID, the Electric Strawberry, SFC Turner with the 23rd ID, Americal and SSgt. Mills with the 1st ID, Big Red One LRRPs. It will, no doubt, come as a shock that I had a big mouth back then and quickly talked myself into a position as the Company RTO, as well as the Guidon Bearer. The three men all took turns trying to dissuade me from both gigs, but I was having none of it. RTOs get lots of face time in war movies and the Guidon Bearer gets to be out front leading the way. That was, to the best of my recollection, the last time I failed to do exactly what any of those warriors “suggested” and that may very well have kept me alive. That’s a debt I can never repay and why, to this day, my Gold Standard for warriors are the Vietnam Veterans. They are, quite simply, my heroes.


I knew I was a soldier when I was 5. I had to wait to enlist until I turned 17 and left for Basic Training/AIT at Ft. Benning, GA a little over a week after I graduated high school. Every man in my family older than me had done it and, though there was no pressure, it was just kind of known I’d do it too. I turned down a chance for an appointment to the US Air Force Academy, US Army Flight School and a full, college ride on the Navy’s dime if I would agree to be an officer on a submarine. I wanted to be an infantryman, mainly so I could bust a cap in a bad guy’s ass. Any bad guy ass would have done. Let me be clear. I have no awards or decorations for valor. What I have is 4 years of honorable service as an enlisted man, most of it in the finest fighting force known to God or man: the 9th Infantry Regiment “Manchu”. The men with whom I served, from the battalion commander, LTC John G. Hathaway, another ‘Nam vet with the 173rd who lost a lung in that war, down to my fellow privates were then, and are now, my heroes.



Since my time in uniform I have had the high honor to meet everyone from Medal of Honor recipients to payroll specialists in the Army National Guard. I’ve escorted men and women home from deployments in the Middle Eastern war zones and taken KIAs to their last resting place. I’ve had a beer with veterans of the Frozen Chosin, Battle of the Bulge, Ia Drang Valley, Fallujah, and Operation Anaconda, as well as veterans from a number of places no one but they remember and a lot of men and women who never heard a shot fired in anger. They were draftees, veterans for whom it is a familial obligation to serve, kids who enlisted after 9/11, some that served between wars and many who would simply rather not talk about it. Every one of them is my hero.



When I first met Sgt Major Jon Cavaiani, Medal of Honor recipient and a POW for nearly 2 years it was after a ceremony in Philadelphia. We were at the Philadelphia Vietnam Veterans Memorial Society “Hooch” and I asked if I could buy him a drink. When he said sure, I told him how impressed I was with his citation and how proud I was to have served in his Army. He, with the equanimity I have found to be consistent amongst Medal of Honor recipients, said, “Ah hell Hill, it wasn’t anything you wouldn’t have done”. “I’d like to think so Sgt Major”, I said, “but all I did was carry the radio for my infantry company”. I still vividly remember the look that only E-9s can summon as he grabbed me by the front of my shirt. “I don’t ever want to hear you say anything like that again. We’re a team. From the cooks in the mess hall to the LRRPs out alone in Indian Country, no man can do anything without the others. Every man’s service is a valuable as any other. I just happened to be where I was”. For that, as much as the Medal he wears around his neck, the Sgt Major will always be my hero.



To me, it’s always been braver somehow to enlist during war, but a WWII Ranger who served with the 2nd Battalion and climbed the cliffs of Pont du Hoc thought differently. I was standing in line at the opening of the World War II Memorial when I noticed two women wearing shirts with a photo of a WWII Ranger on the back. I asked who he was and they pointed to an older gentleman in line ahead of us. Turns out it was his sister and wife wearing the shirts. I was in awe of a man who could summon the courage to make it across the beach at Normandy and then climb the cliffs when seemingly ever German soldier on the planet was trying to kill him, and said as much. He looked at me rather mischievously and said, “When did you enlist son?” “In 1985”, I responded. “I don’t remember any war going on then”, he said. “No sir, it was pretty quiet”, I said, with somewhat down-turned eyes. It was then that he put a knuckle beneath my chin and raised my eyes to meet his. “Well son, that makes YOU my hero. I enlisted because I had to. The war was on and we each had to do our part. YOU enlisted because you wanted to and that’s ever so more important to me”. He made my chest swell with pride, and for that, he and all the veterans of WWII, men and women who literally saved the planet, including my grandfather who served in Merrill’s Marauders, will always be my heroes.



I could go one about men such as Dr. Leonard Miller, an RTO in the 24th ID who went ashore at Inchon during the Korean War, or women such as Maureen Robinson, who served two tours as a nurse in Vietnam and adopted an orphan of the war. Or two of my Lionesses, a female soldier named Jess and female Marine named Erica who embraced me after a speech I gave one 4th of July, where I extolled them and theirs for their service. I never forget Sgt Major Cavaiani’s admonition and have adopted it as my own. If it’s good enough for him it is certainly good enough for me, and I have passed it along to the O.E.F. and O.I.F. veterans with whom I have become so enamored. I address each and every one of them as Hero, because in my mind they, too, are a special breed worthy of the moniker. Once, after we escorted an O.E.F. veteran home to his house, his parents had a barbecue and beer spread ready for us all. The young Sgt was clearly overwhelmed by the attention and didn’t truly have the words ready when someone shouted, SPEECH, SPEECH. I yelled, “WELCOME HOME HERO! Anything you say will be right”. I remember how embarrassed he looked as he said, “I’m not a hero sir. I’m just a soldier who did his job”. I pushed my way through the throng surrounding him, grabbed him by both shoulders and said, “Sgt I truly love you, but I get to choose my heroes”.



I can understand why those who have worn the uniform would shy away from being called hero, even if they do wear the Medal of Honor around their neck. There’s something a little crass about calling yourself a hero, even if you are one. Hero is a word that gets thrown around for performances on the basketball court and for writing big checks to good causes. It’s a word many people don’t think much about when they use it. I don’t consider my service heroic and would certainly never call myself hero. I know though, that in a country with somewhere north of 330 million people, only about 25 million of them have EVER worn the uniform of the military. I also know that the overwhelming majority have never seen combat and for those that did, most sometimes wish they hadn’t. None of that matters to me. The brother/sisterhood of arms is bigger than that. It’s about knowing how the other guy feels when he talks of the people with whom he served. It’s knowing that, no matter our skin color, political affiliation, economic circumstance, age or gender, all of us once upon a time raised our right hand and swore to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, and sincerely meant it. Every person who has every worn the uniform of the United States military signed that blank check, up to and including our very lives, when we swore the oath and I have yet to meet any who regretted it. It may be different for some, but, because I get to choose, everyone who has ever worn the uniform will always be one of my heroes and, I, now and forever, get to choose my heroes.