Posts
I have been furiously typing away for the last two weeks, putting down
random thoughts and memories about my second assignment to Task Force 2/505 and
although I feel it is a cathartic venture, it has left me exhausted and
somewhat despondent. Therefore I decided
to talk about a former member of Task Force whom I respect and miss very much.
I owe so much to LTC(R) Keith E. Bonn that I felt it was finally time to put my thoughts down for others to read.
The New PL
I first met Second-Lieutenant Keith E. Bonn, 3rd platoon’s new
platoon leader in 1978-9, shortly after I joined the army. This was before 2/505
was referred to as “Task Force” and B Company became “Cold Steel”. After the
two platoon leaders before him, he was like a breath of fresh air. Intelligent,
knowledgeable, and above all a great human being, he was everything and more
you could ask for in a leader even though we didn’t know it at the time. He was
a Ring Knocker and therefore suspect.
If at the time you had told me that I would ever count a West Pointer as
one of my dearest friends, I would have asked you what the hell you were
smoking. However, Keith “Kit” Bonn became not just a friend but confidant,
mentor and sage to my frequent questions about the military and about life in
general over a span of almost three decades. Even when we had lost contact and
I was faced with a difficult decision I would frequently reflect on WWKD? Yes, What Would Kit Do?
While he was our platoon leader, I remember only one tactical error and
it was minor to say the least. I should never have been put on that bridge with
that M60, an overwatch position would have been better. 2Lt Bonn expected much
from his men, but never anything more than he wasn’t willing to give – and he
gave a lot.
Holy Flaming Beer Bottles!
As anyone from the post-Vietnam era will attest, we had very little to
train with, few resources and very little support above company level (at least
from a grunt’s eye view that is). On many occasions our “Loo-tenant” would buy
training supplies out of his own meager paycheck. One time in particular, we
conducted expedient anti-armor training out in the Clay Pits of Area J with a
couple gallons of gas, some oil and empty beer bottles – all purchased by Lt.
Bonn – in fact I do believe the empties were from a platoon party that he had recently
hosted.
So anyway, there we were, mixing gas and oil, filling beer bottles, stuffing
rags down the necks and hurling the burning bottles at an abandoned dumpster
from the protection of a conveniently placed fighting position. It wasn’t a
free-for-all by any means; it was well controlled and managed training. Okay, I
admit Private Woods slipped a couple M16 blanks into his bottle for a little
dramatic effect, but only a couple. For which the LT chewed my ass. More
importantly it built upon the innate confidence of paratroopers to make us
believe that if called upon we would be able to close with and destroy the
enemy even with Molotov cocktails. It was classic Kit Bonn.
The platoon marched back to the cantonment area at the end of training
with heads held a little higher because we had adapted, overcome and defeated
the lethargy that being in “Carter’s Army” could easily infect you with. The
Lieutenant never lost sight of the fact that the 82d Airborne Division was the
tip of the spear and one of the few obstacles the Soviet menace actually
feared, or at least respected.
Can you imagine the shit-storm that would occur if a platoon leader tried
to do some hip-pocket training like this during this era of zero-defects and
risk assessments? I can’t either.
Our training went much like this for the term of Kit’s assignment to the
platoon. We resented (at times) his demanding nature, but he was equally
generous with his praise and thanks. And although he seemed a little
straight-laced and as uptight as his white-wall haircut, eventually, his
leadership style won out on even the most jaded soldier. He really cared about
each and every one of us, believed in the mission and supported the
chain-of-command even when it was questionable that they supported us.
Yes, he was a talker, oh boy, he was a talker. He loved to tell stories,
mostly history, sometimes funny, but usually with an underlying message of
leadership, selfless service and loyalty. I can thank him for introducing me to
Rudyard Kipling – Keith could recite the poems “Gungha Din” and “Tommy,”
by heart.
A Bridge Too Far and French Gasoline
One day the LT stood in front of the platoon and invited all who wanted
to attend the HBO premier of A Bridge Too
Far. He emphasized that it being a movie about our predecessors in WWII he
wanted all of us to join him at his apartment to watch this epic film. The platoon
shuffled in place as people pondered the invitation – not sure they wanted to
give up an evening watching TV. Keith added, “… and I will supply all the food
and beer.” My fellow machinegunner Vince Blossom and I turned to look at each
other and almost simultaneously agreed that this was a major score. A large
portion of the platoon filled his apartment that night where we literally ate
every scrap of food and drank every last beverage in his home. Hell, he even
introduced many of us to our first taste of French gasoline, AKA Cognac. He
positively beamed with pride as we bid our adieus that night. The Platoon was
truly coalescing as a unit.
Hot Chow in Uwharrie & Dogs in Korea
While on Robin Sage support for the Special Forces Qualification Course in
the Uwharrie National Forest,
our platoon actively patrolled the area and had rolled up one platoon of
guerrillas while they slept in a churchyard. A platoon of Grunt Marines,
between Lt Bonn and our company commander Captain “Burning Bob” Schaffer we fed
the G’s a hot meal and they told us everything we wanted to know about the
ongoing “insurgency.”
One day a dachshund-mix dog wandered into our company perimeter. From the
neglected appearance, he had been likely dumped on the roadside and finally seeing humans, he made a beeline towards us. I still
remember watching the LT cuddle and feed this dog and at first thinking what
the heck was he doing?!? He ended up taking that dog back to Fort Bragg with
him and ultimately it lived a long life as one of his companions. Years later,
Kit also shared a story about how he rescued a couple “Rice Paddy Dogs” in
Korea during his tour with the Manchus, about how he went into debt to bring
them back to the States and how he paid an enormous bill to keep one of them
alive after it were diagnosed with cancer. He loved animals. I guess that’s where his affinity to grunts
came from.
Bold Eagle ‘79
In October
1979, the 2/505 jumped in to Northern Florida for what euphemistically could be
called “war games.” The underdogs, we were light infantry going against a
mechanized/armored brigade. For the most part we held our own against them, but
one night during a movement to a blocking position 3rd platoon had
the most amazing run of luck. Shuffling along in the darkness we hoped to reach
our destination before dawn, but from somewhere in the darkness the Lieutenant
heard a radio break squelch – freezing in place we silently turned and suddenly
realized there were bad guys on our flank! We had caught an entire battery of
towed artillery and their infantry support sound asleep! “Hit ‘em! Hit ‘em 3rd
Platoon!” Kit’s voice boomed in the dark. Without hesitation, we dropped
rucksacks and charged into the inky dark, guns blazing and whooping like madmen.
As we swept through the enemy camp we tackled escaping cannon-cockers and
rousted others from their warm “fart sacks.” Oh boy, this only happened in the
movies. Finally, as we corralled the bad guys, SSG Tony Baker found the Battery
Commander hiding in a port-o-potty. In short order Lieutenant Bonn called in to
company HQ with his report of capturing five split trail howitzers, all
vehicles and personnel intact. There was huge pregnant pause on the radio before
Burning Bob came back, “Give me your location, I’ll be there in 15 minutes.” He
made it in five. Dawn broke shortly after his arrival, and shortly after that
the CO ordered 3rd platoon to sack out for a couple hours.
Dying for Mother Russia
Keith was inspirational in many ways – you could even say coercive. One
afternoon in the late 70s, after he became company XO, he was gleefully driving
back and forth along some firebreaks in one of the training areas with a Soviet
Jeep to act as a target for the platoons conducting ambush training. However, since
I’d just finished 24-hour duty as CQ runner I was exempt from training that
day. I’d had already had a couple beers to unwind and to help me fall asleep
when Lt. Bonn saw me wandering down the hallway and asked if I wanted to be
OPFOR for the day’s training. I thought for just a moment and agreed to do it,
I hustled back to my room to put on my uniform, grab a rubber duck** and for
the rest of the afternoon I rode around in the back of this soviet jeep, dying
gloriously for Mother Russia. No one else could have talked me into doing this on my day off.
Tape Tests and Broken Hearts
Like me, Kit was a big guy who had to work at keeping his weight down. He
succeeded for the most part by sheer willpower. Also like me he wore his heart
on his sleeve and he was for the most part – like me – not very lucky when it
came to love and dating, at least then. Of course, I found out the details much
later after we became friends. We compared broken hearts and he told me about a
former girlfriend. She had come down to visit him at Fort Bragg a few times and
Keith would always introduce her to “his guys.” I’m not sure which he was more
proud of, his girlfriend or his platoon. Anyway, as most tragedy ends, her
heart was meant for another and Kit became a friend to her – a very loyal and
protective friend I might add, something I would emulate myself a few years
later after my first overseas tour, but that story is best saved for another
time.
Loyalty, Integrity and Honesty – Above All
Else
Keith demonstrated his friendship and loyalty on a daily basis, a trait
sorely lacking with many other “leaders.” Sometimes he demonstrated these
attributes in a way that was not to our liking, but looking at it in retrospect
he as usually right.
Kit’s time in the company was one of change. A very talented officer, he
moved from our infantry platoon to the mortar platoon and eventually company
executive officer. At some point in time he put his career on the line to
support some of the company’s NCOs. They had some complaints about training and
other important issues with really no way to present their concerns to the
Chain-of-Command. Kit became that conduit and arranged a meeting for the NCOs
through the open door policy. No one came. The NCOs had chickened out and Lt.
Bonn was left holding the bag. He was shunted off to Brigade HQ never to be “in
the line” again.
I had already PCSed to the 1/509th in Italy when this happened,
so I don’t know all the details; suffice to say it was not pretty.
Speaking of the ’09, before I transferred to Europe, Lieutenant Bonn
wrote a letter of introduction for me to present to my next platoon leader –
who by happenstance was a classmate of Kit’s from West Point. Secret handshake
complete, I was given the M60 – again. Nonetheless, lessons learned from Kit
and B 2/505 helped me prove myself in my new assignment and quickly gain a
promotion to fire team leader. Today, that letter (typed so carefully on a
manual typewriter) is one of my most treasured mementos of days gone by.
On Brigade Staff
Living in the nebulous world of staff puke, (his words, not mine) he made
the best of his new role in 3rd Brigade, and the Golden Brigade of
the 82d Airborne Division benefited from his penance. In those days before
Power Point he created slides for briefings by hand. Wrote page after page of reports
and operation orders annexes. Filling in information on butcher-block paper. He
worked himself harder than anyone else. He wanted to support the line troops in
word and deed.
Despite only being separated from his beloved paratroopers by Ardennes
Street, he rarely crossed that demarcation line – but it didn’t stop us from
crossing over to talk to him. When I returned to Division after my short overseas
tour, and a dismal failure in the Special Forces Qualification Course (the
first time), I went looking for him. He always had time for one of “His Guys,” we
caught up with each other’s lives but once more slowly began to spin in
different orbits. Eventually, he returned to West Point as an instructor and in
those pre-email days we would occasionally exchange letters and Christmas
greetings.
West Point and Enlisted Men
In 1984, I finally graduated from the SFQC and in due time transferred to
Fort Lewis, Washington where I became enmeshed in a whole new dimension of the
army that I had never experienced before. It was simply wonderful and although SF
was fraught with its own set of problems, having more input and influence on
training and warfighting was something that I embraced wholeheartedly. Kit
would have loved it and he would be surprised to know that his standards of
excellence were passed on many times over in many countries.
One day at the PX I discovered a brass plaque with the
quote that is supposedly from an 1894 Army Officer's Manual that reads:
"Enlisted men
are stupid, but extremely cunning and sly, and
Bear considerable
watching."
I got a chuckle out of it and knew Kit would too, so I bought it and sent the plaque to then-Captain
Bonn at West Point. Many years later he told me that that plaque had gotten him
in trouble more than once with the powers-that-be of West Point. His boss told
him that it was inappropriate and he shouldn’t let the cadets see it. The good
captain’s response to this observation was that an enlisted man (one of HIS
guys) had sent it to him and he used it as an opportunity to teach leadership
to the cadets. It stayed on the wall.
California and Planet Ord
Eventually, we lost touch with each other once more. It
wasn’t until 1989 while I was enduring a yearlong language course at DLI in
Monterrey, California that, during a moment of melancholy I tracked him down by
calling West Point and asking for him by name. The very helpful lady on the
other end of the phone line gave me his forwarding address and as luck would
have it, he was currently assigned to Fort Ord, just a short 20-minute drive
from my current location. In those pre-internet days, tracking him down was
expensive and time consuming, but I was finally able to determine his
assignment at the Inspector General’s office. The IG? That was odd. Definitely
had to be a story there.
On an off day from school, I made the short trip up to
“Planet Ord,” and found the IG’s office. The look on his face when I walked
into his office was priceless. We shook hands and he gave me a huge bear hug,
since this was before the days of “man-hugs” it was totally unexpected. We just
spent the time catching up with each other’s lives. In fact we sat there
talking until well after sun down and everyone else had left for the day. It
was great to see him. That was about the time he told me to call him Kit. He
told me that we were friends and I didn’t need to call him sir – except for
when we were in uniform of course. Some people might take this as pretentious with
a touch of arrogance, but it was classic Kit and was meant as a complement of
the highest order.
After we reconnected in California, we visited back and forth and
ultimately I introduced him to a friend of mine. You see, she was a Korean
Linguist and due to go back to ROK shortly for a new assignment. Problem was
she had a cat and was unable to take it with her. I immediately thought of
Keith and in short order he was fostering an all black cat along with the other
animals he was caring for. Although the arrangement was strictly to foster
“Blackie” for Lisa’s 13-month tour, when she returned stateside she quickly
discovered that her cat was no longer hers and now was firmly attached to Kit
and the rest of his furry brood.
As time moved on, we once more lost track of each other –
with only a vague idea of what the other was doing. I’d gone overseas to
Okinawa, Japan and he’d gone, well, elsewhere.
Then one day after I had returned to Fort Lewis, I got the
urge to reconnect. As I began to make calls to track him down it had appeared
that I had missed him at Fort Lewis by just a few months. He’d gotten an LNO
job at I Corps and ended up spending a long time down in Honduras. I finally
spoke with a compassionate sergeant major that filled me in on the remainder of
Kit’s career. He’d done a long tour in “Hondo” followed by an assignment at
TRADOC where he would ultimately retire – as an LTC.
Ouch, never thought that would happen. He always seemed to
be destined for stars. After I finally reconnected with him sometime later, he
told me some of the horror stories that he’d endured throughout his career.
Indifferent and/or incompetent commanders were a big problem for him and with
his immense desire to do things the right way he was usually at odds with his chain
of command quite frequently. Being passed over for command was a death knell
for an officer’s career, so between that and other painful truisms of a
peacetime army, he made his way to retirement.
By this time Keith somewhat reluctantly retired and he had met
the love of his life. His world revolved around Patti and their children. I
still have the detailed letter talking about his retirement ceremony and how
truly awesome it was. Other letters and Christmas cards reside in a box of treasured
correspondence from my past.
Lieutenant Colonel
Keith E. Bonn was a warrior without a war and since he wasn’t quite what some
of those in power desired, he was shunted off to the side and ignored.
Retirement and New Lives
In due time I retired and began working on my undergraduate
degree. I interviewed Keith, now Mr. Bonn for a paper about the experiences and
obstacles of Veterans (re)entering the workforce. I discovered through our
interviews that his transition to civilian life was not much more fruitful than
mine or many other vets. Granted, this was pre-9/11, but he had a tough go of
retired life.
His doctorate intimidated potential employers; his combat
arms background scared others. Being a genuinely nice guy confused even more
people. He just couldn’t make civilian life work; therefore he ultimately decided
to start his own business, being a published author of Military history, it
made sense for him to start a publishing firm specializing in military history.
Kit and Patti put their hearts and souls into the business while raising a
young family and caring for his elderly father. Lean years followed, but little
victories added up as they worked on their dream together.
Of Heroes and Mortal Men
Ultimately, Kit’s father passed away, something that I know
was especially hard on him. Most people have to go out and find their heroes, however,
Kit’s hero had raised him.
Life continued grudgingly onward as their business haltingly
grew larger. Kit’s innate love of soldiers led him to establish and maintain a
loving relationship with an infantry unit that had fought with valor during WWII.
He told their story as they embraced him as their scribe. Life seemed to be
going well for them.
As life went on, we exchanged emails, letters, Christmas
cards and an occasional phone call. I do regret not talking to him more often,
but I didn’t want to impose on him and besides, we always reconnected right?
Sadly, some time later in 2005, Kit died suddenly from
complications from an undiagnosed case of diabetes. Unable to attend his
memorial service I wrote about a couple funny stories where quite frankly, Kit
was the butt of the joke. I shared those stories with the best of intentions,
to show what a wonderful guy he was, keep in mind, he relished these stories
and told them with great gusto even though he looked a little foolish. That was
the kind of person Keith Bonn was. Straight forward, honest and humble and a
leader of men doing great things, my life was enriched by knowing him, by
serving with him, by being able to call him friend.
I hope with this writing I can show his widow and his
children how important he was to so many other people besides them. Rest InPeace Kit, we miss you.
**
Rubber Duck – a 1:1 scale hard rubber facsimile of a weapon, usually used when
carrying a real weapon would be unsuitable for training, such as water
training.
