I thought I was through with my penguin suit for the year after the White House Correspondents Dinner/Time 100 celebrathon–and good riddance!–but I had to put it on again last night to pay tribute to General Chuck Boyd, who received the Eisenhower Medal from Business Executives for National Security. There were some very moving tributes on offer–from David Petraeus, Tom Brokaw and a member of Boyd’s motorcycle gang (the general is an avid speed freak at the age of 74)–and I’d like to add a small one of my own.
Chuck Boyd was, and is, one of my mentors. After September 11, 2001, when I decided it was time for me to learn as much as I could about the military, Chuck was a patient and gracious teacher–and an invaluable point of access to others in the military. He never blew his own horn. He never talked about his past. It was through others that I learned that Chuck had been shot down after 105 missions over Vietnam and served seven years as a prisoner of war there. As Tom Brokaw told it last night, the one vow Chuck made in captivity was to become as good a citizen as he could be. He has certainly done that. He remained in the Air Force after the release and eventually became a full 4-star general. He has served in a variety of valuable roles since, including staff director of the Hart-Rudman report which, in 1999, pretty much predicted the sort of attack that occurred on 9/11, and as president of Business Executives for National Security.
A great many fighter pilots were there last night…and more than a few former P.O.W.s, as well as a blinding assortment of brass, and military personnel of all ranks from all branches of the service. Chuck spoke at the end and, typically, called out those who had described him as a hero, a term he detests. He said that he had merely made an unbreakable commitment to the country when he took the military oath. He described what it was like to go on a bombing run in the era before computer-guided weapons, the precision necessary, from the “top of the pop” as pilots say, down through the dive, until the ordnance was released. He said that during those moments “my ass was Uncle Sam’s.” As if that was all there was to it–no courage, just a commitment to country. Good luck trying to sell that one, general!
Now I opposed that war, especially the wholesale bombing of North Vietnam, and Chuck knows that. But I’ve come to stand in awe of the commitment our military personnel make to risk their lives to protect the rest of us. I’ve also come to detest those politicians who send them casually into battle, without considering the necessity of the mission, the short- and long-term risks, and without planning out the consequences. That is a burden our military has borne far too often in my lifetime.
There is a sacred brotherhood (and now sisterhood) that exists among those who have put on the uniform and faced live fire. You don’t mess with that, as Richard Blumenthal has done while giving speeches in Connecticut. You don’t do it even once. There is a profound difference between people like Chuck Boyd and the rest of us–people like Richard Blumenthal and me–who allowed others to serve for us. When we attempt to aggrandize ourselves by pretending to be them, we make utter, craven fools of ourselves. But enough of that…
Last night was Chuck Boyd’s. Every word he uttered had the sterling ring of modesty and truth. I’ll always be honored that he took the time to teach me all that he has.
