Harvey A. Garn

West Point, 1955

Be Thou At Peace

Posted by Bill McWilliams on July 3, 2003:

So, Mike Garn, you decided to pass in review in front of the Lord? I expect you did it in fine style, with a grin from ear to ear. It's been more than awhile since we last saw one another, but we've certainly marched together more than a few times. I remember well the first day we met. July 3, 1951 - Beast Barracks. You, Al Bundren, and I - and probably another whose name escapes me - in that first hectic day at West Point, shuttled back and forth to the third floor room assigned us in Central Area, dropping the ever-increasing load of uniforms, shoes, combat boots, and other soldiering equipment the Beast Detail loaded us with. And there was that smile. The quick, harried hand shake, and it was off to the races the rest of the day. The Morman boy from Sugar City, Idaho. We sweated through Beast Barracks together, got acquainted through quiet conversation in the evenings and after taps, in 4th New Cadet Company. You took Beast Barracks far better than me, and was ever the steadying hand, along with Al Bundren. Then it was off to I-1 with you, me to K-1, and the compartmentalized life kept us somewhat in different worlds - except I remember well the day you gave me a boxing lesson, in the Physical Education Department's Plebe boxing class. I still howl laughing whenever I think of it. I had a good left jab. I know that because Mr. Kroeten told me so. Got the big head, big time. But when you and I got in the ring together, Mr. Kroeten told me something else. "When you jab, keep that right hand and right shoulder up. Don't drop that right hand. And don't drop your left arm after you jab. Straight out, quick, straight back! Jab! Jab! Jab!" Mr. Kroeten talked. You listened. I didn't listen enough. Then came the command, "Box!" I threw a couple jabs at you, and hit home. Thought I was doing pretty good. Mr. Kroeten - "Keep that left up when you jab, McWilliams. Straight out and straight back. Quick!" Jabbed again - "Wham!" A smashing right cross hit me. Staggered to my right, knees buckling, seeing stars. Shook it off. Got back into position. A couple more jabs. Another error - dropped my right as the left jab launched. "Wham!" A wicked left hook hit home. This time I lurched to my left, my left ankle buckled under as wobbly knees gave way and I crashed to the mat on my left side. The room was swirling, and stars were dancing again. Someone was waving their hand in front of my face asking "How many fingers?" Who ever heard of a boxer spraining his ankle boxing? Well, I did. They had take off my shoe, check the ankle, help me out to an ambulance and haul me to the hospital for X-rays. I hobbled on crutches a few days, but never forgot the boxing lesson you gave me. And three years later there we were together again, on Second Beast. You the cadet company commander, me the first sergeant. We took the Beasts of '58 on the Plebe Hike and relived our Plebe Hike, only we were the instructors this time. Then came the first class academic year, and you became the cadet battalion commander, 3d Battalion, 1st Regiment - and there were Bob Henry, Lou Crandall and me, your staff. We did so many practice parades and reviews, and so many of the real thing, I lost count. But one thing was for sure. You did it well every time. Just as you did in academics and anything else you chose to do. Don't think you and I were ever in the same academic section together. Your excellence there left all but a small number of us far behind. When we graduated we went down different paths - you in the Army, me the Air Force. I saw you one time while we were on active duty. You came through Reese Air Force Base in Lubbock, TX. You stopped by in your red sports car after you had completed your Rhodes Scholar work, and your preparations to instruct in the Social Science Department at West Point. The year was 1961, not long before you joined the faculty at the Academy. You stopped by to visit with Dale and Eddie Ward, and, as I recall, Dale and Eddie invited us over. Ronnie and I visited with you briefly. We crossed paths only one other time - at a reunion, the 30th, I believe. By that time, you had long since left the Army and gone on to other pursuits. Life plays funny tricks and brings ironies. You left the small town in Idaho, headed toward a far different life, eventually in Virginia. Our three grown children all Texans by birth, one by one, migrated back to your native Idaho, to Boise, after we served two years near another small town in Idaho - Mountain Home. So, how was that last pass in review Harvey Arlen "Mike" Garn? I bet the Lord smiled when he saw that snappy saber manual and "eyes right." You always did it so well. And I'll bet you smiled that irrepressible smile of yours, too. You always did. If you'll pardon the fighter pilot lingo, Mike, "Here's a nickle on the grass, to save a fighter pilot's ---!" The nickle is bright, polished, and sparkles in the sunlight. Just like you always do. In memory of a friend and classmate, Bill McWilliams

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