“Good,” she said, clear-eyed and strong. “We’ve always been happy, and we’ll always be happy.”
Looking into her blue eyes, I knew she was right—and why.
Epilogue
He went like one that hath been stunn’d,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.
—SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”
In the late afternoon of July 23, 2010, Secretary of Defense Bob Gates came to our quarters on Fort McNair, and we sat briefly in the living room before walking across the street to McNair’s parade field. We had moved into the large brick quarters in the summer of 2008 after leaving TF 714. For the first year I’d run each morning alongside the field as I headed out the wrought-iron gates of the post, along the Potomac River, and across Memorial Bridge to the Pentagon. On weekends I’d cross the field to McNair’s gym, often passing soldiers practicing drill.
Today the field was uncharacteristically crowded with a formation of 3rd Infantry “Old Guard” soldiers and a setup of chairs and bleachers on either side of the brick reviewing stand. In and around the seating were a sea of family and friends who’d gathered. My father, the now-old soldier, was too weak to travel, but my four brothers and a group of classmates from West Point, one of whom had flown from his farm in North Dakota, were on hand. Importantly, some of the men and women with whom I’d shared the fight of the last decade were there. I wanted to thank them. The occasion was simultaneously happy and sad, a beginning and an end. I’d been to countless retirement ceremonies in thirty-four years, but never my own.
We walked out the door and to our designated seats. Although we’d set the ceremony for early evening, it was still blazing hot. I’d asked an old friend, Major General Karl Horst, commander of the Military District of Washington, if the Old Guard could do the ceremony in army combat uniforms, ACUs, instead of the normal dress blues. Although it was uncommon, he’d readily agreed. I wanted the last uniform I’d ever wear to be the one I believed most reflected the soldier I’d been. And in the heat, I hoped it was more comfortable for the troops that stood on the field.
As I stood on the field, I thought about the future. In a few days Annie and I would clear our quarters and make what I assumed would be our last of so many moves. Everything else was unclear.
I had no idea that a few days later I’d get a note from Jim Levinsohn, the director of Yale University’s Jackson Institute of Global Affairs, and in September begin an extraordinary experience teaching young people.
Life would go on. In April 2011, the Department of Defense inspector general’s office would release a summary of its review into the allegations outlined in the Rolling Stone article. The investigations could not substantiate any violations of Defense Department standards and found that “not all of the events occurred as portrayed in the article.” These conclusions came out quietly, almost a year after the tornado of controversy the article created, but they were important to me. Maybe more important, also that month, I would accept First Lady Michelle Obama’s request to serve my country again, this time on the board of advisers for Joining Forces, a White House initiative for service members and their families.
That evening on the field, as they were supposed to, every part of the ceremony went smoothly. The precision of the soldiers on the field, the sequence of speeches and awards, and even the emotional appearance of old friends, projected a sense of orchestrated perfection. It was life, as we might have once hoped it would be. No friction, no mistakes, and no casualties.
But my life hadn’t been like that. Instead it had been a series of unplanned detours, unanticipated challenges, and unexpected opportunities. Along the way, more by luck than design, I’d been a part of some events, organizations, and efforts that will loom large in history, and many more that will not. I saw selfless commitment, petty politics, unspeakable cruelty, and quiet courage in places and quantities that I’d never have imagined. But what I will remember most are the leaders.