Billy Hicks

 

It was early 1969 in my first year as a junior officer—a 23-year-old Engineer second lieutenant, studying the art of leadership—assigned to an Engineer battalion at Ft. Lewis, Washington.

Ft. Lewis had a large Replacement Depot where soldiers returning from Vietnam were processed for their next assignment.  Any soldier who had not re-enlisted and who had more than six months left in service was available for short-term assignment on the post. 

Our company needed fill-in labor for a large construction project near Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, and what we got from the Depot were mostly Infantry sergeants.  My platoon got two of them.

Now, I’d anticipated that sergeants who were short-timers and who were ordered to perform manual labor would have an attitude, but that wasn’t the case with these two.  They were very sharp and were happy to have something to do.  I made them both squad leaders.
 

One was Sergeant Billy Hicks from Charleston, South Carolina.  Billy was a skilled carpenter and a natural leader who constantly displayed a positive attitude.  He'd greet me first thing each morning with a big smile and a sharp salute, and report that his squad was ready and eager to get to work.  And they always were; he led by example and his squad really enjoyed working for him.

 

So, it was highly unusual when, one morning, Billy appeared deeply depressed.  For him to be dejected even for a moment was highly unusual; this was definitely not the Sergeant Hicks I had come to know.  I asked him what the problem was.  He said it was nothing.  Clearly it wasn't ‘nothing’ that had him so deeply despondent. 

 

I asked one of the other sergeants what was going on.  He told me that Billy's wife was back home in South Carolina, pregnant with their first child.  Billy had just received word that morning that there were complications, and the baby was coming earlier than expected.

 

His problem was that he was stuck on the opposite side of the continent from his wife, with no money for a plane flight because he had sent all his pay home to his family.  And even if he did have money he had no leave time, since he had used it all when he'd first returned home from Vietnam.

 

I didn't say anything to Billy.  What could I say?  I hadn't run across anything like this in all my officer training.  But I felt I couldn't just let it go.

So I sought help from those who might be able to assist him.  I was able to get funds from the Red Cross for a plane ticket for him, and I talked to a chaplain who was able to get him two weeks' emergency leave.

 

It was an absolute pleasure giving Billy the news.  He couldn't stop thanking me.  I told him he could repay me by bringing me a cigar when he returned.

 

Two weeks later he arrived back from Charleston beaming with pride, and after morning formation he began handing out “It’s a Boy” cigars.  When he gave me mine I asked him what he had named his son.

 

“We named him after you, Sir.”

 

“Really?  That’s cool.  ‘Richard Hicks’.  That’s a good, strong name.”

 

“No Sir.  We didn’t name him Richard,” he said with a broad smile. 

 

“We named him 'Willis', Sir....   Willis B. Hicks!!!”

Life lesson learned:
If I, in the role of leader, receive a heartfelt gesture of respect and gratitude from someone for whom I'm responsible, it's a pretty good sign I'm doing it right.