Wayne Richard Smith

West Point, 1955

Be Thou At Peace

Posted by Jack McCloskey on January 19, 2002:

In early 1998, Dave Pemberton called to tell me that Wayne Smith had been hospitalized with cancer. Until then 1 had known Smitty only casually, but I dutifully went to visit him and we chatted awhile. He said he knew what he was up against but he intended to fight it all the way. Since I was the only classmate in town who had Internet contact with the class network, I put out an e-mail bulletin concerning his condition. I soon began to get e-mail and phone messages asking about him. Then I realized how popular he was among classmates and other colleagues. He and I were to become fast friends. Seeing the need to keep his friends informed, I visited regularly, reporting his status. When released from the hospital, he went first to a local nursing home, still bedfast. Pembo suggested we round up a few classmates and visit Smitty. As Don Reid, Don Andrews, Pembo and I approached his room, we started singing Benny Havens, a West Point song. We entered the room and he was grinning from ear to ear, talking on the phone with another classmate, Charley Johnson. Smitty's daughter Erin was also there visiting. I think Smitty started to rally that day. From the nursing home, he moved to the V A Hospital, supposedly to the hospice ward. Others around him were dying, but he seemed to be thriving. We classmates decided to try to take him out for lunch, ",.ith the hospital's permission. Dan Moses, Dean Longbottom, Don Reid, Dave Pemberton and I took him out several times, though he was still mainly dependent on a wheel chair. He seemed to enjoy himself immensely. During an early visit, while he was still bedfast in the hospital, we had agreed to attend the opening game of the 1998 baseball season. I was skeptical about whether he would ever make it, but I felt it gave him a short-range goal to aim for. We saw several games that year - and every year through 2001. We began calling our group the Fayetteville Faithful, and I would periodically report our activities and Smitty's progress via e-mail. We organized a surprise birthday party for Don Reid, our most senior classmate. Don was tasked to pick Smitty up at the hospital and bring him to the restaurant. Don was surprised at the crowd of friends and classmates who showed up, but Smitty provided a surprise of his own. I had arrived at the restaurant early to find that our party was being set up on the balcony, with no elevator available for handicapped customers. I insisted that we had to eat on the ground floor because we had a wheelchair patient with us who couldn't handle stairs. They hastily set up some tables downstairs for us. As Don drove up to the entrance, I moved toward the car to help Smitty into his wheel chair . Before I got even close to the car, Smitty got out and strutted into the restaurant using only a cane and proud as a peacock. Those were giant steps for him. He soon left the V A hospital and returned briefly to the nursing home, but finally went back to his own apartment. He bought a car - a convertible, no less - and got around town quite well by himself. He flew to California and Colorado to visit his family, and drove to Washington, DC, and back more than once. He was suffering, but he was not ready to quit. His last big effort was to help promote a dedication ceremony honoring our departed classmate, Tom McCarthy, held at the Airborne & Special Operations Museum in mid-November. Smitty was there that day, but he was showing signs of losing the battle. He and I watched the Army-Navy game together at the Fort Bragg Sports USA complex, and he attended the December meeting of the local West Point Society two days later. He was so happy to relate to us how his West Point ring, which he had lost on a trip to California a year ago, had been found and the finder was sending it to him. The ring arrived a few days later, after he had gone back into the hospital, but while he was still conscious. He saw it, touched it and may have slipped it on a finger, but by then his hands had become quite swollen. Only hours later he went into a coma from which he never fully recovered. Smitty proved conclusively that he was a fighter to his dying day. Knowing him and becoming his friend and looking out for him these four years has, I am certain, made me a better person. Thanks for being part of my life, Smitty, and God bless you. Jack McCloskey

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