Posted by Jim Sullivan on January 15, 2014:

TINY AND THE COLONEL In my second year at West Point, I had the duty, and the privilege, of escorting the freshman hockey team from the University of New Hampshire, when they came to play against our plebes. They needed a chaperone, and I was next up. That was the duty part. The privilege part was because I saw one of the clearest examples of personal leadership, and one of the most gratifying personal interactions I have ever witnessed. It rings in my heart to this moment. It was a thrill, and the leader in this story is a personal hero of mine. He was a hero to many others in our Army. I met the team at their bus and began showing them around, finally arriving at the locker room. They got dressed and I went ahead to the rink with their sponsor, a man they called Tiny. He owned a sporting goods store in the University town , and he loved hockey, and he loved the kids. He was about 5' 11" tall and must have weighed 400 pounds. He donated lots of equipment and was a benefactor to them in many different ways. The team always traveled with him and he held the status of a mascot, a respected one. Tiny and I were sitting in the refreshment area of Smith Rink, watching the players skate around to warm up. We were chatting and drinking cocoa, when Tiny's eyebrows shot up and he pointed at the slight and trim little Colonel with a neat pencil mustache who walked past us on his way up to the VIP box. "By God, that's Captain Simpson! He has a heart like a lion!" Colonel Charles Maze Simpson III, West Point Class of 1946, was my Regimental Commander. He was a very highly decorated, respected infantryman who had led Americans in combat in Korea and twice in Viet Nam. He was one of the original Special Forces officers, and had once intervened on my behalf when the deputy commandant, Alexander Haig, was after me. So I was known to the Colonel, and he had been stern but fair with me. I loved him and would have followed him over Niagara Falls. But I was about to see something much deeper than any of that. Tiny was full of energy and enthusiasm, and the words came pouring out. "That little fella saved my life and the life of our whole outfit. I was a machine gunner in King Company, 17th Infantry on this little hill, right across the valley from Pork Chop Hill. Pork Chop got all the publicity, but the real tough fight was on our hill, Alligator Jaws. Our CO got killed and then all the lieutenants were killed, one by one. We were running out of ammo and water and the enemy had the base of the hill surrounded. They were pounding us with mortars, and the sun was going down pretty soon, and we knew the big night attack would be coming at us. We were way past being scared. I was sure I wouldn't live to see the next sunrise. We all felt the doom. Then, about 4 in the afternoon, this little Captain from Battalion HQ walks into the perimeter. He had walked up from Battalion, through the enemy's position somehow, to take command of the company. Just as he walked into the center of our company defensive position, a mortar round landed nearby, picked him up and flipped him ass over teakettle, and he landed on his back. We thought for sure he was killed, but he got up, and dusted himself off. He had a bunch of holes in the legs, and I think they were bleeding, but he more or less ignored them. It was Captain Charlie Simpson. He said, 'Good afternoon, my friends. Let's get ready and get set up. Then we will make the enemy turn and run away from here.' I couldn't believe my eyes, and the whole outfit couldn't believe their ears. I had the immediate feeling that we were going to be all right, and that we were safe, and even somehow intimidating. This little Captain had an instant effect on all of us. He spent that evening taking charge and getting us ready, and that night we withstood seven of the most terrifying human wave assaults I could imagine. We beat back each one, with very careful use of ammo and well-aimed shots. Now and then we had to use bayonets, and on one occasion, fists and rocks. After the third charge by this tough and determined bunch of enemy infantry, I started to realize we were beating them. By dawn, the situation had changed, the enemy had pulled back and we were relieved in place by a much bigger, fresh, well-supplied rifle company. We lost about one third of the company. Every man left alive was wounded, most of us twice. Captain Simpson had been at the hottest spot of each engagement and had been hit several more times. He was the last one of us off that hill. I would gladly follow that man into the gates of Hell." My heart was pounding with that story. I looked at Tiny's face and I could tell he was reliving it in a way, and he was visibly affected by the memory. I said, "Let me go tell him you're here, Tiny. I bet he'd want to shake hands and reminisce." Tiny turned red at the thought of intruding in the VIP box and protested. But I knew our Colonel, and knew he would never forgive me if I let this old soldier stay away from his old Captain out of some notion of protocol. "It'll be ok, I promise you, Tiny. Just wait here for a minute." I went up to the Colonel's box, which was maybe just a little bit brash, but I understood my ground here. Colonel Simpson saw me and spoke up. "Mr. Sullivan, I hope you're not up here because you're in some kind of trouble with the brass." "No sir. But the civilian traveling with the UNH team is one of your old troops. You walked by us and he recognized....." That's as far as I got. Simpson said, "Excellent. Bring him up here. We'll watch the game together. Go on." He didn't ask any questions. It was enough to know one of his men was here. I went down and got Tiny, who was flustered and embarrassed and didn't know what to expect, but came along protesting nonetheless. Here is where it happened. I don't think I have ever seen anything quite like this. We entered the box and the Colonel stood up, sized up Tiny and put his hand around his chin, stroking an imaginary beard, and then he said, "Let me see. Alligator Jaws.... Um, King Company, 17th Infantry.....yes, machine gunner.... TINY!!!" This was 1968, then it was 1952. You could see Tiny's heart just expand. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he couldn't speak. They shook hands and embraced, their bond as stout as if 16 years had not intervened. They sat together and laughed, and spoke of that night they nearly died together. Tiny's face was lit up with something spiritual. So I left them and went back downstairs. After that day, I never saw or heard from Tiny again. Colonel Simpson was born in New Jersey on 11 September 1923, and died in Boulder Creek, California on 23 October, 1984. May God rest his valiant soul.

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