His name was Edward B. Cribb. To me and the rest of my posse at West Phoenix High School, he was simply "Eddie." His father was an alcoholic, and he had virtually no money. Many of us gave him clothes to wear. He worked at odd jobs enough to get a beat-up old '40 Ford convertible. He loaned it to me once when I needed an item from home to bring to ROTC - couldn't get the thing out of first gear, so drove it the 3 miles and back to and from home with that old flathead V-8 engine screaming.
Eddie and I both were active in ROTC; I was the Exec Officer for our cadet battalion, and he was one of the company commanders in our senior year (1957). Both of us liked the military way of life and figured that one day, somehow, we'd become officers.
I went through college ROTC and was commissioned in 1961. Eddie, bless him, took a different path. He didn't have enough money to finish beyond his freshman year in college, so he enlisted in the Army and qualified through exams for Officer's Candidate School. He was a "mustang" second lieutenant at about the same time I got my bars.
Next thing he did was volunteer for Army flight school at Fort Rucker. He qualified on choppers, and also the Mohawk twin-engine recon planes.
He was sent to Nam. I was assigned to atomic weapons security stateside (this was during the Cuban missile crisis).
Eddie flew Mohawks over enemy territory. He was shot down once and managed to survive crawling through the jungle with just his wits and a .45 pistol. He was found covered with leeches on a sand spit in a river and was choppered out.
In the meanwhile, he had married a nice girl and had a daughter. His son was born on his second tour in Nam. He was never to see his son.
Eddie's Mohawk was hit again by ground fire. His Vietnamese observer ejected. I never found out if he survived. The plane was very low to the ground. Eddie ejected, but there was not enough altitude for his chute to open. He hit the ground hard, and impact broke his back in three places. He died right there in incredible agony, in August, 1963.
A couple of years after his death, my wife and I met his widow and we were shown pictures of their children. Eddie's son was his father's spitting image. It broke our hearts.
Eddie is buried near Fort Benning in the military graveyard. His brother-in-law sent me pictures of the family near the gravestone there.
That gravestone marks the final resting place of a true hero who was my friend. I have thought many times over the years that there but for the grace of God...
Here is the only picture I have of Eddie from Nam. He's the tall guy with his back to the camera inspecting damage to his plane from a runway accident following a blown tire.
This Memorial Day I will go to Arizona's "wall" where his name is inscribed. I will leave flowers and render the hand salute. God rest you, buddy. You are sorely missed.
Please remember Eddie and others who gave their final measure of devotion this Memorial Day.
Eddie and I both were active in ROTC; I was the Exec Officer for our cadet battalion, and he was one of the company commanders in our senior year (1957). Both of us liked the military way of life and figured that one day, somehow, we'd become officers.
I went through college ROTC and was commissioned in 1961. Eddie, bless him, took a different path. He didn't have enough money to finish beyond his freshman year in college, so he enlisted in the Army and qualified through exams for Officer's Candidate School. He was a "mustang" second lieutenant at about the same time I got my bars.
Next thing he did was volunteer for Army flight school at Fort Rucker. He qualified on choppers, and also the Mohawk twin-engine recon planes.
He was sent to Nam. I was assigned to atomic weapons security stateside (this was during the Cuban missile crisis).
Eddie flew Mohawks over enemy territory. He was shot down once and managed to survive crawling through the jungle with just his wits and a .45 pistol. He was found covered with leeches on a sand spit in a river and was choppered out.
In the meanwhile, he had married a nice girl and had a daughter. His son was born on his second tour in Nam. He was never to see his son.
Eddie's Mohawk was hit again by ground fire. His Vietnamese observer ejected. I never found out if he survived. The plane was very low to the ground. Eddie ejected, but there was not enough altitude for his chute to open. He hit the ground hard, and impact broke his back in three places. He died right there in incredible agony, in August, 1963.
A couple of years after his death, my wife and I met his widow and we were shown pictures of their children. Eddie's son was his father's spitting image. It broke our hearts.
Eddie is buried near Fort Benning in the military graveyard. His brother-in-law sent me pictures of the family near the gravestone there.
That gravestone marks the final resting place of a true hero who was my friend. I have thought many times over the years that there but for the grace of God...
Here is the only picture I have of Eddie from Nam. He's the tall guy with his back to the camera inspecting damage to his plane from a runway accident following a blown tire.
This Memorial Day I will go to Arizona's "wall" where his name is inscribed. I will leave flowers and render the hand salute. God rest you, buddy. You are sorely missed.
Please remember Eddie and others who gave their final measure of devotion this Memorial Day.
