On June 15, 2002, the VFW Post in Ypsilanti, MI named its post after Bob Arvin. I was asked to give the dedication speech for the occasion and I was pleased to be joined at the ceremony by about 15 classmates in the Detroit area as well as the mayor of Ypsilanti, several state representatives, the Congressional Representative, and other dignitaries. It was a special, meaningful time. 
 
The VFW Post has since established a Bob Arvin Memorial Fund to recognize and encourage young men and women in Ypsilanti to pursue academic excellence, develop leadership skills, and perform community service in a manner exemplified by Bob. This year the post is awarding $5000 in scholarships at a banquet on July 2 and they have asked me back as a guest speaker.

-Fred Laughlin

A few years ago, Tom Brokaw wrote a book entitled “The Greatest Generation,” which was the label that he gave to the World War II generation. Not only have most of you heard of that book, I suspect that many of you veterans were in it -- not specifically by name, but certainly by reference. As an offspring of the Greatest Generation, I believe Mr. Brokaw was accurate in his assessment. Our nation will always be in your debt. 

In 1961, the children of the Greatest Generation were becoming adults when President John F. Kennedy declared in his inaugural address:

“Let the word go forth from this time and place, to friend and foe alike, that the torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans, ... unwilling to witness or permit the slow undoing of those human rights to which this nation has always been committed and to which we are committed today at home and around the world.

Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and the success of liberty.”

You members of the Ypsilanti VFW Post have chosen to name your facility after a member of the President Kennedy’s “new” generation, a person who paid the ultimate price for the “survival and success of liberty.”   We, the classmates of Bob Arvin, are here to underscore your decision. Most of you know about Bob’s many accomplishments in his brief lifetime. They need neither confirmation nor embellishment.  Our mission today is not to focus on Bob’s achievements, but rather on the character that shaped his life and that continues to have a strong influence on his friends and classmates.

I am honored to be here today representing the Class of ‘65, not just as the Class President, but also as Bob’s friend and colleague. Bob and I were born two weeks apart in 1943 in Michigan, where we both grew up. We entered West Point on July 5, 1961 and first met six weeks later when we were assigned adjacent rooms in the Old North Barracks. We were in the same company for the four years at West Point and we shared numerous experiences together.  Three days after graduation in June 1965, Bob was in our wedding party when Maralee and I were married up the road in Port Huron, MI.  After our summer leave, we attended the Airborne and Ranger Schools together in Ft. Benning, GA.  Bob was my Ranger buddy, which was the Ranger School’s version of a spouse.  Later in 1965, Bob and I were assigned to the 82nd Airborne Division in Ft. Bragg, NC.  In October 1966, I went to Vietnam.  Bob arrived in country six months later. We wrote one another while in Vietnam, where I was a Company Commander with the First Infantry Division and Bob was an Advisor to a Vietnamese Battalion.  In October 1967, I was due to complete my tour and Bob was scheduled to rotate from his field position to a desk job back in Saigon. We exchanged letters and agreed to meet at the Tan San Nhut airbase on October 4th.  But Bob was delayed a few days and I left for the States without ever seeing him in Vietnam. A few days later I read in the Port Huron Times Herald that Bob had been killed in action.

I knew Bob as a man of many talents and accomplishments. He was a tremendous leader, a trusted classmate, and a personal friend. He was also a man who possessed and displayed extraordinary character.  I believe the character of a person is revealed by what he does when nobody’s looking or what he doesn’t say when everybody’s listening.  In that context, let me offer two personal stories about Bob.

In 1963, Bob and I were dating our high school sweethearts from Michigan, Maralee Raetzel and Merry Lynn (Lynnsey) Montonye, the women we would eventually marry. We looked for every opportunity to see them.  As Second Classmen (college Juniors), we were allowed two weekends away from post and we decided that one of them would be the weekend of the Penn State game in State College, PA.  Bob and I made arrangements to fly to Cleveland and meet Maralee and Lynnsey, who drove down from Michigan in my parents’ car.  Most of the Corp of Cadets were bussed down to State College.  Because Bob and I were on leave, we were required to be inspected in ranks at noon that Saturday with the other upperclassmen who were on leave.  We met Maralee and Lynnsey at the airport and started south through the hills of Pennsylvania on a beautiful autumn day. Bob and I were in civilian clothes and greatly enjoying the freedom away from Post.  I was driving and it was my job was to get us there on time.

You veterans here know that in “on-time” means not being late. Noon in the military is when the big hand, little hand, and second hand are all vertical.  After that, you’re late.  

Let me interject one other point: Being named the Brigade Commander during one’s first class year is the highest honor of leadership that can be bestowed upon a cadet. To a plebe the Brigade Commander was just short of divine and from early cadet days we would speculate on who would be the Brigade Commander during our senior year.  Before that fateful Saturday in Pennsylvania,  Bob was probably the leading candidate for the job.  But a high volume of demerits (known as a slug) on Bob’s record would almost surely eliminate him from competition and a slug was precisely what Bob and I would be receiving if we were late for the weekenders’ formation.

I don’t know precisely when our pleasant little ride turned into a panic, but I believe it was when we learned that we had 60 miles to go in 60 minutes – in college game day traffic.  Sparing you the agony of that last hour, I can remember vividly that at 11:59 we were a mile from the Penn State campus; we were stopped in a long line of cars on a two-lane highway; and Bob and I were still in civilian clothes.  I swung the car out into the opposite lane and sped toward the campus as Bob changed into his uniform in the back seat. I won’t tell you how I got into my uniform, but at 12:03, Bob and I were exiting the car on campus in a dead sprint. We were in dress gray, which was a coarse wool uniform that would have made a hair shirt seem comfortable. 

We headed for what looked like the center of the campus, but as we cut through a break in the trees, our feet stopped and our hearts sank. Before us was the campus common, several open acres of green grass. Most of the students were at the football game so there was little civilian activity.  There was, however, in the middle of this open field a crisp gray formation of cadets (weekenders) standing at attention. Toward the end of the first rank of cadets was the Officer in Charge, Major Frances Gosling, affectionately called Goose by the cadets, a moniker that had less to do with his name than the feeling one had during one of his inspections. He was one of the toughest tactical officers in the Corps.  Standing next to Goose was J. Alexander Hottell, a first classman and the cadet in charge of the weekender formation.  Alex’s job was to accompany the officer in charge on the inspection and report the discrepancies noted by Major Gosling.

For a brief moment, Bob and I surveyed the scene. Then, with a shrug, we resumed our sprint toward the formation. We were still 100 yards away from the formation when the Goose finished inspecting the first rank of cadets and moved to the second rank. As we approached, we could see the combination of amusement and concern on the faces of the cadets in ranks, who had monitored our run across the common. Bob and I pulled into the first rank and stood at attention as quietly as our wheezing would allow. Minutes later, Goose and Alex moved on to the last rank. When he had finished his inspection, Goose returned to the front of the formation, instructed Alex to dismiss the weekenders, saluted, turned on his heal, and strode across the common. 

Bob and I sighed in unison. At least we had been spared being dressed down by the Goose in public. In fact, he never acknowledged our entrance into the formation. Maybe he hadn’t seen us. Even so, there was Alex Hottell, who would surely include our names on a delinquency report. It was his duty.

Bob and I started walking toward the stadium with the rest of the weekenders.  Remarkably no one said anything to us – except Alex.  He knew Bob and was well aware of what would happen to Bob’s record if he reported us late to weekender formation. He dropped back in stride with us and asked Bob why he was late.  Bob said simply that we miscalculated the time to drive to State College, especially in the game day traffic.  He didn’t even hint that his buddy Fred [me] had let him down. I then asked Alex. “Did Goose say anything?” Alex was matter-of-fact. “I reported two men absent,” he said “and Goose just said, ‘very well’ and started his inspection.”  

So the Officer in Charge did not know about us.  But Alex did.  The next logical question was, “Are you going to report us, Alex?” I thought of ways to encourage Alex to conveniently forget to report us. But not Bob. He never even hinted that Alex should do something other than his duty.  Bob was not about to ask someone to take the consequences of his (our) mistake. He thanked Alex and we headed off to the game.  

Over the next few days back on post, we waited for the demerits to come down. I apologized to Bob for misjudging the time and prayed steadily that it would not cost him the Brigade Commander position. Bob was ever gracious. He said that he was equally responsible and he never told the story to others without accepting the blame himself. 

My prayers seemed also to draw grace, as nothing came down from the Tactical Department. At the time I wasn’t going to remind Alex that his report never made it through, but to this day, I don’t know what happened. I doubt that we will ever know. I saw Alex several times that year, but I never brought up the incident at Penn State. Nor can I ask him now. Following his graduation in 1964, Alex was awarded a Rhodes Scholarship in Oxford, where he won the British National diving championship. In 1969, he went to Vietnam as the aide to the Commanding General of the First Cavalry Division. In 1970, Alex and the general were killed in a helicopter crash. 

Allow me a few more minutes to recount a second incident that I believe testifies to the kind of person Bob was.  After our 30 days of leave following Plebe year, we new sophomores or “Yearlings” attended the cadet version of Army basic training at Camp Buckner.  As part of our training, we were all instructed in hand-to-hand combat in something called “The Pits,” which was a large circle filled with sawdust. The last day of our hand-to-hand training was capped off by a free-for-all to determine the King of the Pits, who was literally the last man standing. Get knocked off your feet and you were out.  I got an early exit from the free-for-all and a ringside view of the continuing battle, which meant that I got a good look at Bob systematically dispatching the competition. Not surprising to those of us who knew Bob, he ended up being crowned the King of the Pits.

Three years later, a few months after our graduation, Bob and I again found ourselves in the Pits, this time in Ranger School at Ft. Benning, GA.  We were Ranger buddies, which meant that we did everything together and assumed joint responsibility for our individual and collective performances.  In spite of having to do everything with me for  nine weeks, Bob was one of the favorites to be named top graduate of our Ranger class.

The scenario was identical to Camp Buckner including the free-for-all at the end of last class in the Pits. By then, Bob’s reputation was a secret to no one and he was even money to again be King of the Pits. The free-for-all began with buddies pairing off.  I put my best move on Bob and was soon looking up from the sawdust, giving me first choice of seats from the sideline where I watched Bob move skillfully through each opponent. But I also noticed something else.  Perhaps eight or ten muscular classmates, mostly former Army football players, had formed a circle around another classmate who was probably the smallest man in our Ranger Class. Their purpose, it seemed, was to protect this little guy from the other combatants in the Pits.  Anyone who tried to penetrate the circle was systematically taken down by one or several from the ring of strong men. As the free-for-all progressed, it was clear that Bob would eventually need to deal with this group. Sure enough, Bob was left facing the group of conspirators protecting their diminutive classmate, who had not been forced to touch a single person. One might think that Bob, the only one left who was not party to the plot, might be worried. Nope. He was fully prepared to take them all on, preferably one at a time. However, the gang was not about to risk piecemeal defeat and they rushed Bob in unison.  

I don’t remember how many guys there were in total, but I know that Bob took out about half of the group before going down himself. The remainder of the group in well-rehearsed fashion individually attacked the Littlest Ranger, who artfully put each of them on his back.  After the sawdust settled, we had our King of the Pits -- a 145 lb wonder standing over the last of the behemoths, whom he had deftly thrown over his shoulder.

It was obviously a sham, a practical joke played on the Ranger instructors.  I was concerned that they would not appreciate our making fun of their sacred Pits. But the instructors took it in good humor and even seemed to enjoy the charade.

The other concern I had was Bob. He had not been party to the prank and had it not been pulled off, Bob would likely have added King of the Pits to his qualifications for Honor Graduate of our Ranger class. I’m sure that like me many classmates looked over at Bob to get his reaction to the caper. Although weary from taking on half the poundage in our Ranger class, Bob was genuinely amused by the joke. Still I figured that even Bob would be a bit upset and that I would get his true reaction in private.  But, if he had a different reaction, I never got it. These were his classmates and friends, who had managed to pull off a trick on the instructors. Besides he had given his best. That was all that seemed to matter to Bob. Even after he lost out in the Best Ranger combination (Bob was honorable mention), he never blamed it on the prank in the Pits.  

These are two stories from my experience that speak to Bob’s character, but I know you would like to hear from other classmates.  Accordingly, in preparing for the ceremony today, I asked three of Bob's classmates who were not able to join us to share their views about Bob in a letter. Each one accepted readily. I have the full text of their comments here and I will leave them for you to keep and display as you see fit.  For my remarks today, I would like to read excerpts from each of the letters. They not only reflect thoughts about Bob from classmates, but they come from three perspectives that meant so much to Bob. 

The first of these perspectives is the US Army. General Eric K. Shinseki is the Chief of Staff of the Army, on whose shoulders rest decisions of monumental importance to the security of the Nation today and well into the future. Like so many of us classmates, Ric benefited from Bob's leadership while he was with us and has been inspired by his memory since his untimely death. Ric writes that: 

Bob Arvin was a warrior, an athlete, a scholar, a patriot, a gentleman, and a remarkably gifted leader for one so young.  He was an inspiration to all those who were privileged to know him. He demonstrated such rare qualities that we who knew him well find it most fitting that you honor his memory in this very special way.  As we honor the life and memory of my classmate, we also remember and honor all those soldiers, past and present, whose dedication and sacrifice preserved the privileges we now enjoy - living in a nation considered to be the bright and shining hope for the world.  That kind of respect and reputation is, for the most part, delivered by young Americans like Bob Arvin.  

Eric K. Shinseki
General, United States Army

The second perspective is the United States Military Academy. Dan Christman was first in our class in academic achievement and served as the Brigade Adjutant. He was Bob's friend and colleague. Dan recently retired as a Lieutenant General after completing his assignment as the 55th Superintendent of the Academy. Dan writes that:

Bob Arvin loved the Army and the camaraderie he found there.  And he loved his country.  Despite the anguish of those difficult years in the late 60's, Bob had an abiding faith in American institutions and American values. He was the ultimate "leader of character" - - inspirational, dedicated, value-laden.  More than anyone I met, Bob embodied West Point's motto, "Duty, Honor, Country."  

West Point celebrated its 200th birthday this past spring.  The founding fathers who established this national treasure - - Washington, Adams, Jefferson - - envisioned graduates exactly like Bob Arvin who would become the professional leaders of the best military in the world. Bob's attributes reflected the finest traditions of the "Long Gray Line."   We miss him greatly.  But Bob Arvin will continue to inspire future generations of military leaders, long after his death, because of the excellence of the life he led while on this earth.
 
Daniel W. Christman
Lieutenant General, Retired

The third perspective important to Bob is that of his classmates from the Class of 1965.  David Kuhn is a businessman in California, who, like Dan Christman, was a member of Bob's Brigade Staff. In 1989, as President of our class, Dave was highly instrumental in encouraging the Academy to name its gymnasium after Bob. With names like Eisenhower, Lee, Grant, Pershing, and MacArthur on its buildings, it is clear that the Academy bestows such honors on only those graduates who have achieved extraordinary distinction.  Dave says in his letter:

Just as was the case when the United States Military Academy chose to name the Cadet Gymnasium in honor of Bob Arvin, it is especially fitting that his home town, Ypsilanti, of which he was so proud, would choose now to honor Bob by naming this VFW Post after him. Bob was a leader who was respected and liked by his peers, those he led, and those he followed.

As a member of Bob's Brigade Staff, as one of Bob's roommates, and as a friend and admirer, I can honestly say that hardly a week goes by that I don't think of Bob.  It gives me great pleasure every time I visit West Point to see the signs pointing to Arvin Gymnasium and to know that West Point cadets for generations to come will be reminded of Bob and the fine example he set.  And it pleases me further that now future generations in Ypsilanti will be reminded of Bob Arvin and all he stood for.

David B. Kuhn, Jr.

I could read letters and tell stories from scores of classmates who would testify to the kind of respect that we had for Bob’s leadership and character, but I need to close.

There are over 50,000 names on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington, DC.  Many of you have visited the site. And perhaps you have traced a name from the wall with a pencil on a strip of paper that the Park Service provides for that purpose. A few years ago, my son was at the Memorial and returned with this strip of paper traced from Panel 27E, line 68. It reads simply “Carl R Arvin.”  It’s just a name among thousands of others, but in many respects the technique of drawing Bob’s name from off the Vietnam Wall reminds me of what we as his classmates have tried to do here today. In our stories and letters about Bob, we have attempted to trace for you what comes to mind when our memories sweep softly back and forth across the name Carl R Arvin. What emerges is a name, yes, the new name of your VFW Post; but what we also picture is a man of extraordinary character, personal courage, and dedication to values that he died for including a undying loyalty to his friends and colleagues.

As President Kennedy’s new generation, we in the Class of ’65 have helped carry the torch into the third millennium and on to the next generation. If the flame on the torch burns as brightly today as it did forty years ago, it will do so for several reasons, not least because of the model set by the Greatest Generation, particularly you veterans who went before us. It will also burn brighter for having standards set by leaders and friends like Bob Arvin. With the action you are taking today, you people of his beloved hometown have honored Bob’s memory, his family, his country, his class, and particularly yourselves.  Please accept our congratulations on your action and our gratitude for allowing us to be a part of this memorable occasion.