Haywood Shepherd Hansell

West Point, 1955

Be Thou At Peace

Posted by Chuck Ewing on July 14, 2005:

Haywood Shepherd Hansell III...Tony... Shep... Laroy of Savannah. He was all of those, and he had more personas than handles. He was uproarious, rebellious, entertaining, incisive, boundlessly enthusiastic, committed enough to hack the course -- any course -- and joker enough not to take it seriously. He was everything you could want in a roommate. Despite the pressures from the Tenth Avenue crowd and the annoying interference of the Tactical Department, we yukked our way through the last three years on the rock pile. He made it bearable, even fun. He taught me the hambone, and he showed me that a guitar was more than music, a magic box that kept the gray walls from closing in. It didn't take long to discover that he did everything well. He could drive a volley, land a jab, hit a green, set a hook, and physical prowess was only one of his facets. He was a voracious reader, even when he couldn't spare the time, and he knew more poetry than the muses. He was a friend for life. I stood with him and handed him the ring when he married his beloved Oddie. After that our Air Force paths crossed only briefly. We would go for ages without communicating, and then pick it up again almost in mid-conversation, nothing forgotten, nothing withheld, nothing sacred. We had better luck getting together after the active duty years. Fishing with him whether they were biting or not was a treat and an adventure, the purest distillation of camaraderie. He called three weeks before he left, and he sounded so upbeat I made the great mistake of not going to see him right then. We all knew it was coming, he most of all, and he played it where it laid. No regrets, no recriminations, cheerful to the end. He even did this well. As all in the Long Gray Line, we graduated into harm's way, and we came earlier than most to understand how precious is life. Now, fifty years beyond our cadet days, each new day dawns as a gift. I count them all sweet, and they're all welcome, but it's nowhere near as good as it was when Tony Hansell was here. Be at peace, compadre. Flights of angels . . . .

admin