Ed, I wanted to wish you the very best on this, your 73rd birthday. You were born in a small town in Arizona on February 2, 1939. We didn't meet until we both went to West Phoenix High School as freshmen in 1953. Both of us had interest in the military, so it was natural that we chose to join the Jr. ROTC cadet battalion. We were both cadet buck privates then, and we had a lot to learn. I enjoyed your company, and we bonded as we learned military science. We learned the ins and outs of the M1 Garand (U.S. Rifle, caliber .30 M1, gas operated, clip fed semiautomatic shoulder weapon), and we each had one issued to us to care for during the school year. We also learned about the M1 carbine, the B.A.R., the M1911A1 .45 pistol, the M1917 machine gun and the 60mm mortar. We both worked up through the cadet ranks together, I becoming a cadet major and you a cadet captain in our senior year.
You didn't have a lot of money back then, Ed, as your family was poor and your father suffering from alcoholism. I and other buddies often gave you clothes you could not otherwise afford. Still, you worked at part time jobs and saved enough money to buy a beat-up old 1940 Ford convertible. I remember you loaned it to me one day to go home and pick up some ROTC equipment I had forgotten, and I could not get the old wreck out of first gear. I'll never forget making the 6-mile round trip in first gear, with the old V8 flathead roaring the whole way! We shared a lot of good times together, growing up and becoming men.
We graduated, and both of us enrolled at Arizona State. Your funds ran out after the first year, and to make ends meet and serve your country, you enlisted in the Army.
It's been a long time since I last saw you. We met to tip a few when you were on leave at the old Westward Ho Hotel, a landmark in Phoenix, in 1960. You were a proud Spec 4, and told me that you had applied for OCS to become an officer, with the objective of being trained as an Army aviator. We corresponded a few times, and I learned that you had become a 2d LT, and had made it through flight school, qualifying first on helicopters and then on the twin-engine Mohawk recon plane. I also had received my commission through ROTC at that time, and we both had become married. It was not long after that you were sent to Vietnam, and I to duties in atomic weapons training and security in New Mexico.
The next couple of years were busy for us, and we each had a couple of kids in those years. My wife and I had a couple of girls, and you and yours had a girl and a boy.
I read about you from an article you wrote in the Army Aviation Digest. It seems your Mohawk was shot down over Vietnam by ground fire, and you managed to survive to be picked up on a sand spit in the middle of a river, covered with leeches and lucky to be alive. That must have been a hell of a time for you.
In the meanwhile, I had returned home from the Army to join the 158th Infantry Regiment of the Arizona National guard, and had obtained a civilian job. I had been working there for a few months when one of our high school buddies came bursting into my office with the news. I could hardly believe what he told me.
Your plane was downed again by ground fire, and you ejected too low for the chute to open. Your wife later told us that your back broke in three places, and you did not have an easy death. You were on your second tour in Vietnam, and never got to see your newborn son. You never saw your 25th birthday, either.
You'll be happy to know that your son was the spitting image of you. Your wife showed us his picture. He grew up to be a fine man; and he is almost 50 years now. Time does fly. Your wife remarried to another Army officer, and they made a good home together. I correspond with her, your son, your sister and brother-in-law now and then, and it's evident to me that they all still miss you.
I do too, Ed. My thoughts are with you on this, your 73rd birthday. You were a true hero. If I were closer to Fort Benning, I'd visit your grave there and lay flowers. But as second best, I thought I'd just say these few words. You were a good friend, and I wish with all my heart you had lived to enjoy this birthday today.
John
R.I.P. Edward Bernard Cribb IV
February 2, 1939 - August 26, 1963
You didn't have a lot of money back then, Ed, as your family was poor and your father suffering from alcoholism. I and other buddies often gave you clothes you could not otherwise afford. Still, you worked at part time jobs and saved enough money to buy a beat-up old 1940 Ford convertible. I remember you loaned it to me one day to go home and pick up some ROTC equipment I had forgotten, and I could not get the old wreck out of first gear. I'll never forget making the 6-mile round trip in first gear, with the old V8 flathead roaring the whole way! We shared a lot of good times together, growing up and becoming men.
We graduated, and both of us enrolled at Arizona State. Your funds ran out after the first year, and to make ends meet and serve your country, you enlisted in the Army.
It's been a long time since I last saw you. We met to tip a few when you were on leave at the old Westward Ho Hotel, a landmark in Phoenix, in 1960. You were a proud Spec 4, and told me that you had applied for OCS to become an officer, with the objective of being trained as an Army aviator. We corresponded a few times, and I learned that you had become a 2d LT, and had made it through flight school, qualifying first on helicopters and then on the twin-engine Mohawk recon plane. I also had received my commission through ROTC at that time, and we both had become married. It was not long after that you were sent to Vietnam, and I to duties in atomic weapons training and security in New Mexico.
The next couple of years were busy for us, and we each had a couple of kids in those years. My wife and I had a couple of girls, and you and yours had a girl and a boy.
I read about you from an article you wrote in the Army Aviation Digest. It seems your Mohawk was shot down over Vietnam by ground fire, and you managed to survive to be picked up on a sand spit in the middle of a river, covered with leeches and lucky to be alive. That must have been a hell of a time for you.
In the meanwhile, I had returned home from the Army to join the 158th Infantry Regiment of the Arizona National guard, and had obtained a civilian job. I had been working there for a few months when one of our high school buddies came bursting into my office with the news. I could hardly believe what he told me.
Your plane was downed again by ground fire, and you ejected too low for the chute to open. Your wife later told us that your back broke in three places, and you did not have an easy death. You were on your second tour in Vietnam, and never got to see your newborn son. You never saw your 25th birthday, either.
You'll be happy to know that your son was the spitting image of you. Your wife showed us his picture. He grew up to be a fine man; and he is almost 50 years now. Time does fly. Your wife remarried to another Army officer, and they made a good home together. I correspond with her, your son, your sister and brother-in-law now and then, and it's evident to me that they all still miss you.
I do too, Ed. My thoughts are with you on this, your 73rd birthday. You were a true hero. If I were closer to Fort Benning, I'd visit your grave there and lay flowers. But as second best, I thought I'd just say these few words. You were a good friend, and I wish with all my heart you had lived to enjoy this birthday today.
John
R.I.P. Edward Bernard Cribb IV
February 2, 1939 - August 26, 1963
