American Sniper

by Chris Kyle

  As the father of three boys, I realize that I bear the responsibility of teaching and modeling for my sons what it means to be a man. A real man: a man of faith, integrity, honor, discipline, patriotism, and self-sacrifice. Chris Kyle was the embodiment of all these virtues. Over the years, I have cautioned my boys about looking to public figures or celebrities as role models. All too often, we are left disappointed when we discover that the public persona is nothing like the person they are privately. Not so with Chris. He was the real deal. I am deeply honored to have called him friend and proud that my boys will forever look up to him for the role model and hero he was . . . and will forever be.

  DR. KAREN HANTEN

  PEDIATRICIAN, FRIEND

  Karen Hanten and Chris share a good laugh after shoving birthday cake into each other’s face at a party. It was a family ritual.

  As the Kyle family pediatrician and Taya’s dear friend, I knew Chris first and foremost as a husband and father. Speaking of legends! He made such an impact on Taya and his children’s lives that I truly believe they are blessed with his memory and the undying love and devotion he gave them. I will never forget his deliberate, selfless, and complete love for them; it had no boundaries.

  I loved the way Chris never tired of telling Taya (whom he almost always called “babe”) how beautiful she was to him, even when she was soaked head to toe after a water fight with the kids. Or how he so wanted her to be happy that he’d bring home Chinese food time and time again, despite the fact that he really, really disliked Chinese food.

  Because of Chris, the kids always answer, “Yes,” never “Yeah”; they say “sir” and “ma’am” and treat their elders with respect. Their favorite thing was to run at full speed and jump on Chris while he was on the couch; even exhausted, he never tired of playing with them. They love to play and roughhouse, but they know when to stop and respect limits, even one of Chris’s own: don’t mess with another person’s hat.

  My family and I have always had great respect for our military. Chris’s passionate dedication to his fellow soldiers and veterans has set a higher bar for the degree of commitment my family and I now have to them. Chris will always be a role model to our kids, demonstrating what we owe our military, and I am grateful to him for that.

  Personally, I will miss his quick wit and incredible intelligence, his huge smile and laugh, and shoving cake in his face every birthday party, even though he always got me back worse. Before every deployment, I always promised Chris I would care for Taya and the kids as I would my own. That commitment remains steadfast.

  KELLY JOB

  WIFE OF CHRIS’S SEAL TEAMMATE RYAN JOB

  Ryan in October 2008, shooting a record-setting elk with the help of a computer-assisted scope and a close friend.

  Chris was one of the few guys who really made an effort to keep in touch with my husband Ryan after he was seriously wounded. Chris was part of Ryan’s healing process, supporting him as he went through many difficult operations and gradually overcame his disabilities. Ryan was blinded in the war; Chris was one of the people who helped Ryan realize he still had a lot to do with his life.

  Then, when Ryan died during surgery, Chris became my friend as well. I’d known him, of course, but until then, he had always been more Ryan’s friend than mine. With my husband gone, Chris and his wife Taya came into my life in a much more personal way. They showed me that it was still possible to have a good time—I remember being with them at a wedding, smiling and relaxing and just feeling very warm in their presence.

  Chris would check in by phone whenever he could, to see if I needed anything.

  “You’re stuck with me now,” he’d always say. “Don’t forget that.” He and Taya became part of my support network, always there if I needed to call on them.

  His tragic death hurt us all. I was able to offer to support to Taya, finding strength I wasn’t sure I had.

  It’s ironic: Sometimes you end up in friendships with people because of bad circumstances, and those friendships somehow become stronger and more meaningful than you ever could have imagined. You grow as a person, and you give something back. You do your share to help others and make the world a better place.

  “DAUBER”

  FELLOW SEAL, FRIEND

  “Dauber” and Chris following a medal ceremony in San Diego. Afterward, Chris unceremoniously but characteristically tossed the medal into a drawer to gather dust.

  I checked into SEAL Team Three in 2005 while they were finishing up their deployment. While I waited for my new platoon to return to the States, I went to sniper school. By the time I finished and finally met Charlie Platoon, Chris Kyle’s legend had spread far and wide. I was excited to be one of a few snipers in his platoon, and a little anxious at the same time, especially as a new guy.

  I learned quickly that working with Chris was nothing to be nervous about. He put others around him at ease while motivating them to perfect their craft. He made me want to be a better sniper. Despite setting the bar extremely high, he also made me feel that I could do as well as he did if I worked hard enough.

  My most vivid memories of Chris are from our deployment to Ramadi, Iraq, in 2006. We often used a particular four-story apartment building for sniper overwatches. We’d been in-country for a couple months and had established a routine. One afternoon we set up to overwatch and provide security for an American patrol. To the west of us was a stretch of approximately one kilometer known for insurgent activity. The rest of the platoon snipers found spots to watch from inside while Chris and I settled in together on the rooftop. We stayed on the roof for twenty-four hours. Between the two of us, we killed twenty-three insurgents (the breakdown of kills favored Chris—heavily). That overwatch marked an important moment for me in my career as an operator. I realized my own potential and our incredible potential as a unit. Chris showed me what perseverance, attention to detail, and relentlessness can accomplish.

  Chris’s desire to protect others was most evident after Ryan Job was shot on August 2, 2006. After the incident, the platoon was back at our camp post attempting to regroup and make sense of what had happened. Despite six months of success on the battlefield, I was dazed by Ryan’s injury. As we sat and contemplated our own mortality, there was a sense of uncertainty about how to move forward. While I sat quietly with the others around me, I noticed Chris. He was calmly and methodically refitting grenades, loading mags, and preparing to go back out. He felt no uncertainty about what the next step was—he planned to go out and get the ones responsible for taking Ryan from us. His calm and confidence provided an example for the rest of us. He became our leader when we ventured back into the streets to exact revenge on our enemies.

  It was an honor to work with Chris in the SEAL teams and I am proud to have called him teammate. I am thankful that our relationship didn’t end when our enlistments did, and even more proud that I called him friend.

  KIM AND KENT STUDEBAKER

  CHRIS’S PARENTS-IN-LAW

  Kent and Kim Studebaker, Taya and Chris. January 2013

  We have so many memories of Chris. We really enjoyed getting to know him better and to spend time with him. We’re just sorry we didn’t get more time.

  Kent remembers going out to play golf at the San Diego Naval Base golf course. Chris had not played golf before, so this was a real challenge to him. He made the usual mistakes—whiffing his drives and so on. But he also hit some really good shots. The wonderful thing was that he was able to laugh at the mistakes and really enjoy the good shots. His ability to laugh at himself and his genuine humility made it fun for the rest of the party to be out there with him.

  Kim remembers watching Chris climb around on play equipment with the kids and tenderly watching out for their safety. She remembers birthday parties where he got smacked in the face with a cake and howled with laughter as a great cake fight began. She remembers the Christmas the kids got new low-rider bikes and Chris took them out to teach them how to ride them. She remembers him laughing and ro
lling in the snow up at Mount Hood, hanging on for dear life in the inner tube behind our boat, and riding a horse so comfortably it was clear he was a natural.

  He always helped set the table when he visited—even if he had to ask what side the forks went on. And he always had a good helping of buttermilk pie—even though the lactose tended to upset his stomach.

  The bedtime stories, the big warm hugs, the way he changed the kids’ diapers, the way he laughed at his little girl’s jokes, the way he picked up on his wife and children’s moods, the way he just “got” people, the way he was a dad—they’re all memories that flood back and say he was a real man, a loving husband and father.

  But maybe our best memories of Chris have to do with him, his kids, and Texas. When his oldest was born, Chris had a bit of Texas dirt flown to him in California so the first thing his son’s feet touched would be Texas soil. Chris made sure his son had a cowboy hat to wear from a very young age, and he confessed that he loved to hear his baby’s laugh over the satellite phone when he was deployed to Iraq.

  One of the last times we saw them all together was in December of 2012, when we went with them to Six Flags, the amusement park. Not everyone in the family was a big fan of roller coasters. Chris seemed to love them, even though he was actually afraid of heights. We’ll always remember his raucous laughter watching his wife and son as they went on the ride, and the way he comforted his daughter when she was scared and annoyed during the day. As strong as he was, he was also a gentle, loving father. We’ll all miss him very deeply.

  ANONYMOUS

  ACTIVE-DUTY SEAL, FRIEND

  If you knew Chris well, you knew he was no “Legend.” He was a son, a brother, a SEAL, a husband, and a father. Most of all, he was a friend.

  In the Teams, we use the term brotherhood when referring to the bond all frogmen have with one another. It is a bond of blood and sweat. It starts in BUD/S and stays with you until you are carried to your final resting place; then it is passed to your family. Chris was a friend and “brotha” to me, and even though we did not talk every day, our bond allowed us to pick up where we left off with just a hug and a few words about how life was treating us. It was easy to love this Texas cowboy. He was the best the SEALs had to offer. He took care of the boys, loved the Teams, and loved his family.

  Chris and I met after we assumed the position of leading petty officers (LPOs) for our platoons in Task Unit Bruiser. He was the Delta Platoon LPO and I was the Charlie Platoon LPO. We were the backbone of the Task Unit. At that time Bruiser’s SEALs had a reputation as the toughest SOBs at SEAL Team Three and we both strived to continue that tradition.

  During the first part of our training cycle, Chris and I spent considerable time at work together. We spent even more after hours, fixing the world’s problems over many beers and whiskies. I don’t think I’ve ever gained so much admiration for another man. So much so that without discussing it with my wife, I made up my mind that Chris would become the godfather of our firstborn.

  My wife was taken aback that I would give such a large task to a man she knew little about and I had only known for a short time. I have a few lifelong friends from home as well as supportive older brothers and brothers-in-law who would also have been fine choices. But for me, the decision came down to picking a man I wanted my son to remember and who could tell him best about the man I was: a father, a husband, and a warrior.

  I was no longer the boy from Indy that my friends and relatives knew. I was a SEAL. Chris knew that part of me best. I knew that he would love my son as I did, with a strong hand and an open heart.

  When I told Chris my wishes, he was just as surprised as my wife. Still, he took on the responsibility without hesitation or question. He did it with his whole being and with conviction. Friends became family. Two men from totally different walks of life, a country boy from Texas and a city kid from Indiana, became lifelong friends and brothers, and our families became family.

  But God works in mysterious ways, and our plans do not always follow his.

  Chris’s untimely death has taught me another valuable lesson about who I am, and who I have to be. When I met my wife I was in BUD/S. She only knows the SEAL, and has yet to truly find the man under all the armor and Kevlar. This is what Chris wanted to give back to Taya and the kids, “the man”; that’s the reason he left the Navy. He gave them more of the man and less of the SEAL. They thrived because of it.

  I understand that lesson now. Life is short and you never know when God will call his warriors home. So it’s important to take advantage of what little time you do have.

  The Teams and the country have lost a great warrior and a better man. His presence in our lives will be missed. He has fallen, but he is not forgotten.

  I miss you, brotha.

  KIM ESSARY

  NEIGHBOR, FRIEND

  “Team Kyle” with Chris—from left to right: Chris, Shelby Essary, Taya, Kim Essary, and Mike Essary. The Essary family joined the Kyles and other friends to wish Chris well during the airing of the television show Stars Earn Stripes.

  I got my first glimpse of Chris when the moving van pulled up in front of the house Chris and Taya had just bought. I would peek out the window every little while, curious about our new neighbors. One can only imagine my thoughts when I saw our new neighbor carrying body targets out of the moving van!

  I remember the first time my husband Mike and I met Chris. Taya and the kids were out of town, so we invited him over. As we sat on our back porch, there were the normal questions one asks someone they’ve just met. Chris briefly touched on the fact that he had been a sniper for the Navy. I have always been patriotic and have an enormous amount of respect for those who risk their lives and fight to keep us free, but until that time I had never had the pleasure of sitting and talking candidly with someone in the military service.

  As we all talked, it was obvious Chris was what us Texans refer to as “a good ol’ boy.” I thought to myself, I like this guy—he seems genuine and down to earth.

  Taya and I quickly became friends, and over time we formed a deep and close friendship. Mike and I had known some of Chris’s background in the military, but we had no idea of the degree that he had touched people’s lives over the years. It was obvious Chris was patriotic to the core and very passionate about what he believed in, but to us, Chris was just Chris: a neighbor and friend who wasn’t any different than anyone else, other than the fact that he was an ex–Navy SEAL. While he loved deeply the men and women he served with, and had a passion and love for all vets, his main focus was now on the one thing he loved more than anything, his family.

  One evening Chris opened up and shared with us how hard the decision had been to leave the military. He admitted that he felt he had let his military family down. He spoke of the deep bond formed when people fight together in combat. “There is no other friendship like it in the world,” he told us. I will always remember that conversation; it allowed me to understand Chris more.

  In many ways Chris was a no-nonsense type of guy; what you saw was what you got, and if you didn’t like it—that was your problem, not his. But he was never arrogant. He had a healthy confidence about him; it complemented his gentle and loving side. To me, Chris was a man who had gone through hell and back, made some hard decisions in his life, and was now focusing his heart and soul into his family.

  After Chris wrote American Sniper, I used to tease him that I would get around to reading it when I didn’t have anything else better to do. It wasn’t until months later, when Mike and I were at the airport and saw it on the front table in a bookstore, that we decided to buy it.

  Mike read it first. “You should read this,” he told me when he was done. “There is a lot I never knew about Chris.”

  I have to admit that I didn’t get to it right away. When I did, I was shocked. I remember calling Taya and telling her, “I can’t quit crying!”

  I have to admit that it was odd at first reading about our friends, but it definitely helpe
d us to see a side of Chris that we knew very little about. My family and I had always respected him for what he had done for our country, but after reading the book, our respect grew immensely. After I finished, I put all teasing aside and marched across the street to their house. I looked Chris straight in the eyes and said, “I read your book and I had no idea. Thank you for all you have done and for all your sacrifice.”

  I had tears in my eyes. He smiled that Chris Kyle smile and didn’t say a word. I slapped him on the arm and said, “By the way, your book made me cry!” I think Chris enjoyed that comment more than anything.

  In the days after he died, my family saw an outpouring of love that was simply amazing. As we drove in the procession to Austin for the final services, we were in complete awe at the hundreds and hundreds of people who came out to pay their respects to Chris and his family. We had no idea of all the lives Chris had so deeply touched, and we were honored and privileged to call him our friend.

  LARRY TOON

  CHAIRMAN OF ELIZABETH TOON CHARITIES

  I first met Chris and Taya shortly after Chris left the Navy. I met him through a mutual friend—former Dallas quarterback Roger Staubach. Chris had recently begun training military and police officers in a variety of tactical arts. We were looking for a unique fund-raising opportunity, and Chris offered to host a training session. It turned out to be a highly successful fund-raiser.