by Frank Felton
The words of the late Claude Guthrie echoed ad nauseam by Hank once his grandson got the idea in his head to join the military. While Claude was proud to be a former Marine, he warned others to stay away. It was a calling meant only for those who could survive a meat grinder; a breed apart.
The same sentiment strikes many parents, who, while they look highly on military service, the thought of putting their own children in harm’s way hits too close to home. It’s a natural parental instinct which even Hank Benson was not immune.
Regardless of Hank’s apprehension, Troy would soon graduate high school. He desired to enter the service as an officer. His goal was to command the skies in an F-15E Strike Eagle, the most fearsome aerial platform in the world’s arsenal. It not only owned the air, but could interdict ground forces with death from above at Mach 2.5.
He accepted a scholarship to the ROTC detachment at Texas A&M University, which boasted a Corps of Cadets larger than the enrollment of West Point, Annapolis, or the Air Force Academy. It would be a rude awakening. Those who have been through basic training in any military service will tell you that the objective is to break one down mentally and physically. The goal of the establishment is to put new candidates into a pressure cooker, though on Day One, it felt more like a frying pan.
The basic mental and physical tests allow cadre to see who will react effectively when pressure is applied. Equally as important, they must ensure the individual can function cohesively in an environment that requires teamwork. The military is a well-oiled machine that relies on each part to function. For good reason, there have been no superstars in the service since Audie Murphy in World War II.
“Cadet Benson!” shouted the drill sergeant.
“Yes, Sir!” replied Troy (now Cadet Benson).
“Why are you such a weak, ignorant, sissy!?!? “
“Sir, I do not know!”
“Wrong! That’s not the answer to a ‘Why’ question! Let me re-phrase, why are you such a weak, ignorant, sissy!?!?”
“Correction please, Sir! Sir, the answer is, ‘No excuse, sir!’”
“Good answer.! Now get down in the front leaning rest, and stay there!”
“Yes, Sir!”
He was not one to quit. Four years after he left Thorndale, Troy graduated from Texas A&M University. He earned a degree in aeronautical engineering with a minor in Spanish. He spoke Spanish almost fluently from his childhood days working with Mexican Joe and the other farm hands back in Milam County. He was commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant.
He was awarded a coveted pilot slot by the U.S. Air Force, and would begin undergraduate pilot training only three months after graduation. His grandpa Hank was the only family member to attend his graduation on May 31st. It was the only family he had, really, save for his sister who couldn’t make the trip from Wyoming. While being pulled in numerous directions to celebrate with his friends, Troy found his grandpa in the crowd.
He knew the importance of acknowledging the man who looked after him all those years. The man who also taught him to fly now stood before him. Troy would soon enter an elite group comprising the tip of the spear in the most feared flying force in the history of the world.
As the two men shook hands, Troy felt something he had not experienced for a long time. He felt a sense of completeness, that through all of his life struggles, he had finally arrived on the world’s stage, and his ship had arrived.
“Well, congratulations. You done good,” Hank managed to say.
“Thank you, Hank. Grandpa. Thanks for coming.” Troy replied.
“No problem. Any time.”
“You want to come by later we’re having a reception downtown?”
“Nah, no, y’all go on, I just wanted to stop by.”
“Okay, well, you sure?”
“Yeah, hell, y’all go on. I’ll see you at Thanksgiving.”
~~~
Thanksgiving never came to pass.
Four months after his graduation, in a single day, terrorists would hijack four commercial airliners and crash two of them into the World Trade Center on 9/11.
The United States Air Force would answer the call, and Lieutenant Troy Benson would be preparing for war.
28. Amazing Grace
And they made his grave with the wicked and with a rich man in his death, although he had done no violence, and there was no deceit in his mouth. –Isaiah 53:9
After 9/11, the global landscape would change for the next two decades. A period of complacence would be replaced by a time for alarm. America ushered in a new generation of war heroes and Troy Benson would be at the tip of the spear. His entire life had been spent in pursuit of aviation and he found his new home in the cockpit.
His skill as a pilot would be surpassed by only his bravery in combat. He became a war hero at 24, earning the coveted Air Force Cross in December 2003. Alongside the award came the respect of an entire operational community; both in the skies and from the snake eaters on the ground who fell under the blanket of his top cover. His actions are the stuff of legend, but that is another story in and of itself; it is not obligatory to the story at hand.
Yet his downfall came quickly.
He was dishonorably discharged in July 2004 for conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, and failure to obey an order. When his career was taken away, the pilot inside him was crushed. He soon followed a wayward path that led him overseas; a man without a country searching desperately for a new meaning. He was too embarrassed at the time to move back home, unsure if he would be embraced or shunned.
Now a civilian, he found work with a government contractor in Turkey, a place as good as any to hide from his embarrassment. By June of 2005 he was back on solid ground, as the Cargo Hub at Incirlik Air Base kicked off to support operations downrange in Iraq. Troy would be an equipment operator working long hours to transload cargo onto C-17’s.
Unfortunately, he soon found himself in even more trouble. While partnered with a Turkish man he befriended, he ended up an unwitting foil smuggling contraband over the border between Turkey and Iran. It was the zenith of the Global War on Terror and Iran was a key antagonist. As such, Troy ended up in custody of the CIA in May 2006. The agency locked him away for almost a year in an undisclosed location despite pleadings from his former commanding officers that he was innocent. His record as a combat hero mattered not.
Needless to say, 2004 through 2006 is a period of his life he’d like to forget.
And he would be wrong.
Those years of tribulation laid the cornerstone of his future. By the middle of 2007, he emerged from prison with a new lease on life. It was not all that different than the experience of his great-great grandfather Aiden Benson. The elder Benson returned from his Civil War imprisonment in Louisiana to settle in Texas and become a steward of Sam Houston’s mystery; the Jewel of Hiram.
Trials and tribulation often precede great men and their accomplishments.
His incarceration would soon be at an end. The CIA released Troy to return home for his grandfather’s funeral. Ultimately, it would be a permanent release. By now, Troy was a political liability for the powers-that-be as the 2008 presidential campaign was underway. Candidates sought to distance themselves from any war-related headlines. He was absolutely no threat to the country. The CIA finally realized they were not dealing with an international terrorist, just a misguided young man who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
~~~
Milam County, Texas, August 2007
The young man was now sitting in the front row with me, just a few feet away. I’d never met the kid, but he had the same eyes as his grandfather; brownish green, with an archetypal look of feigned interest. The feigned look was indeed a feint, as his falcon-like vision observed every trait and every action within his purview. His brain quickly processed each observance as friend or foe even more quickly than an infrared countermeasure.
I’d seen this quality before; in his grandpa Hank. He was a true warrior in all aspects, whether here,
at a funeral, or at 10,000 feet in the cockpit of a war machine. I have not a doubt he processed me as “low threat”; a quality I’ve come to embrace in my time on this planet.
We were situated with the rest of the pallbearers at St. Paul Lutheran Church, basically a crew of old farmers from Steve’s Place; among them were Muff Daniels, Lawrence Stanley, and Shorty Biar. Naturally hyperactive, Troy found it uncomfortable to sit still and even more so whilst surrounded by a huge crowd of mourners. He could feel their eyes boring holes into the back of his head, whispering is that him?
His nerves were primarily agitated because he would soon have to stand up in front of this crowd and speak. There were many faces he recognized, but he was never good with names. Ten years make even the most photographic memory lose a clear picture. Regardless, they all seemed to know who he was.
The mighty organ pierced the silence with the melody of Amazing Grace. Tensions waned. Hearts opened. Everyone became suddenly thankful for everything they had. This hymn had the ability to bring every man and woman together. As the music came to an end, a few old ladies cried. Their husbands yawned and checked the time.
My reflections turned inward as well. For a moment, I stopped thinking about the things I needed to learn about Troy, and reflected on the life of Hank. This was Hank’s funeral, after all. It is important that we remember the deceased, and pay them homage when it ought to be due them.
Hank lived a good life.
Many of his close friends had long since passed away, save for me and a few other old timers. He never went to church, but today the church was overflowing. If sellout crowds redeem souls, then this sinner was already in Heaven. I doubt that is how it works, but it will do just as much for the soul as a lifetime of good works.
Photos of Hank as a young and spry 30-year old adorned the lectern area. Former employees, rugged construction workers with calloused hands, had the twinkle of tears in the corner of their eyes. The man that gave them a job, put food on the table, and gave them sustenance had passed on to the great unknown. By any measure of life, Hank made a positive impact on the whole town.
If only these folks knew the half of it.
Pastor Mahan finished his brief sermon in typical German-Lutheran liturgical style. Hank had not been a regular churchgoer, if at all; in fact, he hadn’t been to a service in several years. Pastor Mahan didn’t have much to work with despite Hank being a bona fide member of his flock. He had tried to reach out and witness to Hank on many occasions, but was always rebuffed.
Pastor Mahan knew that Hank was a Mason. Some Lutheran priests give fault to Masons, and do not allow them to be members of the church. For what reason, I am not sure.
Where there is the Fear of God to guard the dwelling, there no enemy can enter. – St. Francis of Assisi
Hank lived a life of the sword. As do I. As does his grandson. Guarding the door is the most basic task in the Lodge of Freemasons. It is a task which goes unappreciated. It is that duty for which Troy Benson stood trial, and lost his career; and to which Hank went unrecognized, praised for his benevolence alone; and not for the death and destruction he prevented.
The Bible admonishes us to seek fellowship, but Hank rarely obliged. While certainly not a Nazarite, as was Samson, he was never violent. There was no untruth in his word. He lived in isolation; a life in his own prison. He lived it in plain view of the world.
Not all work of the Lord is glorious. Those tasked with less than pure responsibilities often fight difficult struggles in reconciling their given obligations. How other to ascribe to the executioner, who takes life as part of his duty? Does he not ensure the masses are kept safe from evil?
Or the soldier, who takes the life of an enemy which would otherwise seek to kill the innocent?
Such men are instruments of the Lord’s wrath. They righteously carry out his vengeance. In a world of evil, war is necessary. It is necessary far more often than not.
Hank was one of those instruments.
His heart was pure. Yet even for him, his Judgment cometh, and that right soon. His bones returned to dust.
~~~
Given the events of his leaving the Air Force, Troy hoped to make this trip quietly. It was a difficult chore, because half the town of Thorndale would be at his grandfather’s funeral. His plan to duck-and-cover showed little sign of promise.
He was not keen on the idea of being on display for the entire town to see, but he certainly could not skip out on his grandfather’s funeral. He needed to do the old man justice, and deliver a eulogy that would reflect the life he lived.
His sister was here as well. Her presence gave him strength. It was good to see her. Heck, he was happy to see just about anyone who knew him other than the failure he saw in the mirror. It would be the first time in many years they had met. When times were tough, he reached out to his little sister for a word of reassurance on an overseas call, and vice versa. Dottie was no longer the little girl riding in the Go-kart; she was the life raft he reached out to in his time of need.
Dottie and her husband arrived the day before the funeral, and picked Troy up at the airport. They caught up and reminisced about happier times. Troy got to meet her new husband, Lane, who seemed like a decent enough fellow. They were married and living up in Wyoming, having bought a ranch with a herd of Red Angus and Hereford cattle.
Troy and Dottie met with their grandfather’s attorney the morning of the funeral. To their surprise, Hank left his entire estate to the two of them. It was a very basic will, which the attorney handed over in Hank’s original handwriting: “The boy gets the land and all the stuff, the girl gets the money.”
They both looked up after reading it, and laughed.
“That’s Grandpa,” exclaimed Dottie.
“Yes, that’s him. Short and sweet,” replied Troy.
“He had a way with words, I can assure you. You two ought to be damn proud of your grandpa,” said the attorney. “That guy, well, we are sure going to miss him.”
The attorney assured the two he had taken those instructions and written up an airtight will. Few would know better than he, as he’d served as the Milam County District Attorney many years previous. He was now a private practice attorney in Cameron. His given name was Llywelyn S. Hollis, an affable and energetic man in his late 60’s. He was a long-time friend of Hank’s. Lewis, as they called him, gained Grandpa’s trust in the most interesting of ways.
Mr. Hollis was a man who followed the law. As district attorney, he prosecuted Hank for fleeing a police officer back in 1987. Hank was celebrating his 60th birthday at the time and was driving his Harley on County Road 486 after a weekend of fishing and whiskey.
Hank never looked in his rearview mirrors. As such, he didn’t bother to stop once a local cop gave pursuit for the offense of going 70 in a 55. Deputy Dog didn’t catch up to Hank until he was in the driveway of his home, but nonetheless, the loyal Dog promptly arrested Hank for evading arrest and fleeing a police officer.
Hank spent the night of his 60th birthday in jail.
~~~
Pastor Mahan experienced a rare moment of anxiety.
He invited Troy and Dottie up to pay tribute to their grandfather. He’d known the boy would be here, and he understood the tragic past of this family. However, allowing a layman to speak in church was always risky, as they might lack the tact to which a congregation is accustomed.
As Troy stood up, he unfolded the eulogy he typed the day before. He’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep over the last two days, mostly because he stayed up late writing, and reliving all the memories he had of his grandpa.
He paused.
It was an uncomfortably long pause. A few heads in the church pew looked left and right, wondering if something was amiss. This town hadn’t seen Troy for 10 years. Back then he was but a young, recalcitrant buck aimed on conquering the world. The last time he spoke publicly in this town was when he gave his valedictory address to the high school graduating class.
That
was a doozy of a speech. He kept a copy of it and re-read it two days ago. It gave him goose bumps; not because it was Churchillian, but because it was so clichéd and naïve. Looking back, he now wondered how many knowledgeable folks in the audience thought to themselves “this kid has no clue about the real world.” Such is the understanding of the world for a 17-year-old.
For the man who knows nothing, anything is possible.
Ten years of reality sat between him and that valedictory address. This speech would be far more real than the former. As the pause finally came to an end, Troy prepared to release his first words. Some in today’s audience thought they were about to witness a public emotional breakdown; some probably even hoped.
Since news of the death a few days ago, Troy wanted this eulogy to be perfect. He spent every free minute since, writing, and then re-writing every word. The guest of honor, as imperfect as he was, deserved nothing less. His grandfather was the man he respected above anyone else on earth. Troy burned the midnight oil to make sure his ramblings were a tribute, and not a mourning.
And of course; it had to be topped with a dash of humor.
29. The Eulogy
Life is a comedy to those who think; a tragedy to those who feel. - Jean Racine
Troy spoke from the heart.
“They say a good ball team plays to sellout crowds. Well as I look around here today, I’d say that Grandpa packed them in pretty good.”
He had no great life lessons to pass along. He wasn’t running for office. Nor did his message have much of a Biblical reference, save one. This was all about remembrance. The congregation gave him a sympathetic laughter, a patronizing reply just to break the tension. He limbered up a bit. It was a huge relief to get those first words out; it should all be downhill from here.
He moved on to the next.
“You know, I’ve never done a eulogy before, so I’m a bit nervous. But grandpa used to say that even a blind hog can find an acorn.”
More laughs sprouted forth from the congregation, this time, a few even appeared genuine. Self-deprecating humor seemed to be a winning ticket, which is good, because that was the foundation of his entire speech. The past few years had taught him that if you can’t laugh at yourself, you’ll find life more difficult than necessary.
