Dear Veteran Teacher,
By veteran teacher, I don't mean one with many years of experience, although that's admirable too. I am talking about the teacher who slipped on a starched uniform, marched on foreign soil, locked eyes with the enemy, and years later decided he wanted to wage a different kind of war by battling complacency in the dangerous halls of a high school.
Like many gatherings, Veterans Day assemblies have been nixed due to coronavirus. For me, this restriction stings more than most because it's the day that ushers in the Thanksgiving season and reminds us that veterans deserve our undying gratitude every single day. In this respect, Veterans Day is more than an assembly, a free meal, Lee Greenwood on repeat, or a measly blog post. It's daily reverence to the people who've sacrified their freedom so we can enjoy ours. For every sleepless night, deployment, and missed dance recital, we thank you, and we know your reply to that thank you would never be "no problem."
We know because this was an ongoing debate between Commander Sam Vickers and a colleague. Standing in the epicenter of the school, also known as the teacher workroom, they shared their befuddlement per the "no problem" response to someone saying thank you. For two years, they were mildly obsessed over the new response and its seemingly ungracious connotation. They even exchanged news articles and fought valiantly to restore gentility. It didn't work. Students still rattled out, "no problem," in mockery. I think it bothered Commander Vickers because in his mind, if it wasn't a problem, inconvenience, or sacrifice was it really even deserving of a thank you? The proper response was always, "you're welcome," not a flippant, "no problem."
Commander Vickers, whom I'll always remember as a true gentleman in his starched taupe uniform, was from a breed as many would say, "they don't make anymore." It is true: to know him was to love him, and I did, very much, love him. Everyone did.
He was never in a hurry and was the epitome of a Patriot and a leader. When he spoke, he commanded respect. Everyone listened. For the life of me, I can't recall if he wore cologne. My guess is no, but that didn't keep his voice from sounding like Old Spice. His speech was slow, soft-spoken, and he talked out of the side of his mouth, just a little. I would give anything to hear that hypnotic voice again. He told me of his high school years at Permian, the school featured in Friday Night Lights, and year after year, he asked the best interview questions on the Pacesetter committee, questions like, "If someone were to say thank you to you, do you feel like 'no problem' would be an adequate response?"
He didn't say a casual "no problem" to an SGA sponsor who thanked him after she collapsed in his strong arms upon learning one of her former students, LCplTravis Nelson, had just been killed by enemy fire in Afghanistan. When she was inconsolable, he softly patted her back and reassurred her that 19-year-old Travis died doing what he had been trained to do. He told her Freshman Day must continue and reminded her Travis had been in his ROTC unit and that he knew him well enough to know he would want a new set of troops to experience the same privilege he had being a Pace Patriot.
He also didn't say "no problem" when he agreed to be the Executive Director of the Santa Rosa Chamber of Commerce, nor did he say "no problem" when he toured from sea to shining sea aboard the USS Eisenhower. He most definitely counted the cost when he climbed inside the cockpit of the P-3C Orion and hunted down Russian submarines in the Cold War.
After 22 years of serving his country, he spent 18 years serving his school as an ROTC instructor and led them to national honors in 2003. Because of his countless acts of service to humanity, Congressman Gaetz honored him before the Speaker of the House as one of Northwest Florida's most notable citizens. His name was added to the Congressional record.
In 2018, the world lost a true hero. He was the John Wayne of Pace High School and a face the entire community loved and respected. Commander Sam Vickers is an emblem of every veteran who has ever made a sacrifice for his country.
A letter home is required of every soldier before going off to war. The hope is that this letter will never be read. Sadly, such was not the case for LCpl Nelson. In his letter home, he wrote, "I have no regrets. I died for a meaningful cause."
At 19 years old, he discovered something many people spend their whole lives never learning. Like Travis, Commander Vickers died doing what he had been trained to do- love and serve others well. Regardless of age, when the death knock comes for each of us, may we all answer that we died serving others. To do so is the measure of a life well-spent.
In a year marked by turmoil, strife, and political unrest, I am grateful to a God who shed his grace on America by lending us one of the finest in his army for 71 bountiful years. He was an anchor of strength and confidence in a world fraught with chaos and discord. I miss him. I know you do too.
It may be a silly prayer, but I often ask God, "Will you please turn me into a Commander Vickers- minus the Old Spice, of course?"
-CDB