I remember when we were kids, my brother, Stewart David "Stew" Beckley Jr. (we called him Buddy), was already fascinated with the Army and engineering. We played Army games with our neighborhood friends. With our Army surplus trench shovels, we built forts, trenches, even a 30-foot tunnel, all of which Buddy designed. He signed his sixth grade autograph book "Buddy Beckley West Point '66" as he'd already decided he was going to go to West Point at the early age of 11.
Besides engineering, Buddy was also fascinated with chemistry. He got bigger and bigger chemistry kits, and, in those days, you could get almost anything at the drug store, including sulfuric acid. We started making gun powder, and then our own homemade cherry bombs, seeing what we could blow up with them. I remember a friend of my father's, who was a chemist, being pleased when I told him about my and Buddy's exploits with chemistry, until his face turned a bit white when I told him that we made a more powerful form of gun powder by using potassium chlorate instead of the usual potassium nitrate. He said potassium chlorate is dangerously volatile. (I shrugged and said, "Oh, we know that we can even explode it by just hitting it with a hammer," which made him turn even a little paler.) Buddy left his chemical imprints by permanently staining the kitchen sink a bright purple and by spilling some sulfuric acid, which burned a hole in the carpet.
Mom managed to get an appointment for Buddy to West Point from a senator from Oklahoma.
All was well, until a few weeks before his time to report, disaster struck. Buddy got into a car accident and broke his hip. When it came time to report, mom and my sisters went with Buddy up to West Point. They waited in trepidation as to whether he'd be allowed to join the Long Gray Line. It was with relief and joy that they saw the line of accepted applicants come out in a line, with buddy hobbling along on his crutches.
At West Point, he was in the Protestant Chapel Choir all four years and in the Glee Club his last three years. He had permission to practice the organ in the chapel, and sometimes in the early evening he'd go up to the bell tower to play his bagpipes. Word was that it could be heard a ways up the river.
I, my mom, and my sisters went up to visit him for a football game. Someone took a picture of him and me walking together up the path to Michie Stadium. There he was all crisp in his uniform, and I was a long-haired hippie musician in a London bobby cape. I remember walking next to him, feeling so proud of him! I have fond memories of going to visit in the fall, during which you could stand at the Point and look up the Hudson amidst all the gorgeous foliage and heritage. Sometimes I'd think it's one of most beautiful places on earth.
His unit in Vietnam was the 2nd Battalion, 506th Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division. He had a particularly dangerous assignment. He was captain of a recon unit. If I remember correctly, a recon unit's job is to go out and find if the VC was in a particular area, and you'd find that out when they started shooting at you. He would record things to send home to us on this little hand-held tape recorder. I remember one he sent from a foxhole, where they had to wait and were pinned down by the enemy. From the tape, you could tell he was grim, saying this one's bad, and if you get this tape, you'll know we made it out. I remember watching my mom while we listened to it. I could see her thinking over and over, he's going to make it home.
But I think the thing that I was proud of him most occurred while he was in Vietnam. He was given an order that he knew would be suicide, and he refused the order. He knew that to do so would be the end of his career in the Army, but he refused the order in order to protect his men.
After Vietnam, he was posted Stateside to his dream assignment, with the Old Guard in Washington, DC, where he was in charge of a unit that had the Color Guard and the Fife and Drum Corps. He and I had been in the Wanderers Drum and Bugle Corps together when we were younger, and we both loved fife and drum corps. He left active duty in 1973 but remained in the U.S. Army Reserve until 1992, retiring as a lieutenant colonel.
In 2004, I went to visit Buddy and his wonderful wife Linda in Hawaii. They lived on nine acres in a custom-built Philippine mahogany home south of Hilo with a big assortment of dogs, chickens, goats, etc., and where orchids grew like weeds. They even had an outdoor bamboo shower. Buddy had built an entire plumbing system that captured rainwater from this huge cistern. And Linda made the house and outbuildings so beautiful with all these artistic things. Quite a lady! I remember Buddy proudly showing me his ham radio setup, which was still using all the equipment he'd built decades ago from Army surplus radio parts. At night, we sat in the midst of the warm Chinese lanterns talking softly.
It was the last time I ever saw him.
Buddy was my only brother, and I miss him greatly. And I am still so proud of him.
— Ben Beckley
Source: West Point Association of Graduates 2022 TAPS
Besides engineering, Buddy was also fascinated with chemistry. He got bigger and bigger chemistry kits, and, in those days, you could get almost anything at the drug store, including sulfuric acid. We started making gun powder, and then our own homemade cherry bombs, seeing what we could blow up with them. I remember a friend of my father's, who was a chemist, being pleased when I told him about my and Buddy's exploits with chemistry, until his face turned a bit white when I told him that we made a more powerful form of gun powder by using potassium chlorate instead of the usual potassium nitrate. He said potassium chlorate is dangerously volatile. (I shrugged and said, "Oh, we know that we can even explode it by just hitting it with a hammer," which made him turn even a little paler.) Buddy left his chemical imprints by permanently staining the kitchen sink a bright purple and by spilling some sulfuric acid, which burned a hole in the carpet.
Mom managed to get an appointment for Buddy to West Point from a senator from Oklahoma.
All was well, until a few weeks before his time to report, disaster struck. Buddy got into a car accident and broke his hip. When it came time to report, mom and my sisters went with Buddy up to West Point. They waited in trepidation as to whether he'd be allowed to join the Long Gray Line. It was with relief and joy that they saw the line of accepted applicants come out in a line, with buddy hobbling along on his crutches.
At West Point, he was in the Protestant Chapel Choir all four years and in the Glee Club his last three years. He had permission to practice the organ in the chapel, and sometimes in the early evening he'd go up to the bell tower to play his bagpipes. Word was that it could be heard a ways up the river.
I, my mom, and my sisters went up to visit him for a football game. Someone took a picture of him and me walking together up the path to Michie Stadium. There he was all crisp in his uniform, and I was a long-haired hippie musician in a London bobby cape. I remember walking next to him, feeling so proud of him! I have fond memories of going to visit in the fall, during which you could stand at the Point and look up the Hudson amidst all the gorgeous foliage and heritage. Sometimes I'd think it's one of most beautiful places on earth.
His unit in Vietnam was the 2nd Battalion, 506th Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division. He had a particularly dangerous assignment. He was captain of a recon unit. If I remember correctly, a recon unit's job is to go out and find if the VC was in a particular area, and you'd find that out when they started shooting at you. He would record things to send home to us on this little hand-held tape recorder. I remember one he sent from a foxhole, where they had to wait and were pinned down by the enemy. From the tape, you could tell he was grim, saying this one's bad, and if you get this tape, you'll know we made it out. I remember watching my mom while we listened to it. I could see her thinking over and over, he's going to make it home.
But I think the thing that I was proud of him most occurred while he was in Vietnam. He was given an order that he knew would be suicide, and he refused the order. He knew that to do so would be the end of his career in the Army, but he refused the order in order to protect his men.
After Vietnam, he was posted Stateside to his dream assignment, with the Old Guard in Washington, DC, where he was in charge of a unit that had the Color Guard and the Fife and Drum Corps. He and I had been in the Wanderers Drum and Bugle Corps together when we were younger, and we both loved fife and drum corps. He left active duty in 1973 but remained in the U.S. Army Reserve until 1992, retiring as a lieutenant colonel.
In 2004, I went to visit Buddy and his wonderful wife Linda in Hawaii. They lived on nine acres in a custom-built Philippine mahogany home south of Hilo with a big assortment of dogs, chickens, goats, etc., and where orchids grew like weeds. They even had an outdoor bamboo shower. Buddy had built an entire plumbing system that captured rainwater from this huge cistern. And Linda made the house and outbuildings so beautiful with all these artistic things. Quite a lady! I remember Buddy proudly showing me his ham radio setup, which was still using all the equipment he'd built decades ago from Army surplus radio parts. At night, we sat in the midst of the warm Chinese lanterns talking softly.
It was the last time I ever saw him.
Buddy was my only brother, and I miss him greatly. And I am still so proud of him.
— Ben Beckley
Source: West Point Association of Graduates 2022 TAPS
I remember when we were kids, my brother, Stewart David "Stew" Beckley Jr. (we called him Buddy), was already fascinated with the Army and engineering. We played Army games with our neighborhood friends. With our Army surplus trench shovels, we built forts, trenches, even a 30-foot tunnel, all of which Buddy designed. He signed his sixth grade autograph book "Buddy Beckley West Point '66" as he'd already decided he was going to go to West Point at the early age of 11.
Besides engineering, Buddy was also fascinated with chemistry. He got bigger and bigger chemistry kits, and, in those days, you could get almost anything at the drug store, including sulfuric acid. We started making gun powder, and then our own homemade cherry bombs, seeing what we could blow up with them. I remember a friend of my father's, who was a chemist, being pleased when I told him about my and Buddy's exploits with chemistry, until his face turned a bit white when I told him that we made a more powerful form of gun powder by using potassium chlorate instead of the usual potassium nitrate. He said potassium chlorate is dangerously volatile. (I shrugged and said, "Oh, we know that we can even explode it by just hitting it with a hammer," which made him turn even a little paler.) Buddy left his chemical imprints by permanently staining the kitchen sink a bright purple and by spilling some sulfuric acid, which burned a hole in the carpet.
Mom managed to get an appointment for Buddy to West Point from a senator from Oklahoma.
All was well, until a few weeks before his time to report, disaster struck. Buddy got into a car accident and broke his hip. When it came time to report, mom and my sisters went with Buddy up to West Point. They waited in trepidation as to whether he'd be allowed to join the Long Gray Line. It was with relief and joy that they saw the line of accepted applicants come out in a line, with buddy hobbling along on his crutches.
At West Point, he was in the Protestant Chapel Choir all four years and in the Glee Club his last three years. He had permission to practice the organ in the chapel, and sometimes in the early evening he'd go up to the bell tower to play his bagpipes. Word was that it could be heard a ways up the river.
I, my mom, and my sisters went up to visit him for a football game. Someone took a picture of him and me walking together up the path to Michie Stadium. There he was all crisp in his uniform, and I was a long-haired hippie musician in a London bobby cape. I remember walking next to him, feeling so proud of him! I have fond memories of going to visit in the fall, during which you could stand at the Point and look up the Hudson amidst all the gorgeous foliage and heritage. Sometimes I'd think it's one of most beautiful places on earth.
His unit in Vietnam was the 2nd Battalion, 506th Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division. He had a particularly dangerous assignment. He was captain of a recon unit. If I remember correctly, a recon unit's job is to go out and find if the VC was in a particular area, and you'd find that out when they started shooting at you. He would record things to send home to us on this little hand-held tape recorder. I remember one he sent from a foxhole, where they had to wait and were pinned down by the enemy. From the tape, you could tell he was grim, saying this one's bad, and if you get this tape, you'll know we made it out. I remember watching my mom while we listened to it. I could see her thinking over and over, he's going to make it home.
But I think the thing that I was proud of him most occurred while he was in Vietnam. He was given an order that he knew would be suicide, and he refused the order. He knew that to do so would be the end of his career in the Army, but he refused the order in order to protect his men.
After Vietnam, he was posted Stateside to his dream assignment, with the Old Guard in Washington, DC, where he was in charge of a unit that had the Color Guard and the Fife and Drum Corps. He and I had been in the Wanderers Drum and Bugle Corps together when we were younger, and we both loved fife and drum corps. He left active duty in 1973 but remained in the U.S. Army Reserve until 1992, retiring as a lieutenant colonel.
In 2004, I went to visit Buddy and his wonderful wife Linda in Hawaii. They lived on nine acres in a custom-built Philippine mahogany home south of Hilo with a big assortment of dogs, chickens, goats, etc., and where orchids grew like weeds. They even had an outdoor bamboo shower. Buddy had built an entire plumbing system that captured rainwater from this huge cistern. And Linda made the house and outbuildings so beautiful with all these artistic things. Quite a lady! I remember Buddy proudly showing me his ham radio setup, which was still using all the equipment he'd built decades ago from Army surplus radio parts. At night, we sat in the midst of the warm Chinese lanterns talking softly.
It was the last time I ever saw him.
Buddy was my only brother, and I miss him greatly. And I am still so proud of him.
— Ben Beckley
Source: West Point Association of Graduates 2022 TAPS
Besides engineering, Buddy was also fascinated with chemistry. He got bigger and bigger chemistry kits, and, in those days, you could get almost anything at the drug store, including sulfuric acid. We started making gun powder, and then our own homemade cherry bombs, seeing what we could blow up with them. I remember a friend of my father's, who was a chemist, being pleased when I told him about my and Buddy's exploits with chemistry, until his face turned a bit white when I told him that we made a more powerful form of gun powder by using potassium chlorate instead of the usual potassium nitrate. He said potassium chlorate is dangerously volatile. (I shrugged and said, "Oh, we know that we can even explode it by just hitting it with a hammer," which made him turn even a little paler.) Buddy left his chemical imprints by permanently staining the kitchen sink a bright purple and by spilling some sulfuric acid, which burned a hole in the carpet.
Mom managed to get an appointment for Buddy to West Point from a senator from Oklahoma.
All was well, until a few weeks before his time to report, disaster struck. Buddy got into a car accident and broke his hip. When it came time to report, mom and my sisters went with Buddy up to West Point. They waited in trepidation as to whether he'd be allowed to join the Long Gray Line. It was with relief and joy that they saw the line of accepted applicants come out in a line, with buddy hobbling along on his crutches.
At West Point, he was in the Protestant Chapel Choir all four years and in the Glee Club his last three years. He had permission to practice the organ in the chapel, and sometimes in the early evening he'd go up to the bell tower to play his bagpipes. Word was that it could be heard a ways up the river.
I, my mom, and my sisters went up to visit him for a football game. Someone took a picture of him and me walking together up the path to Michie Stadium. There he was all crisp in his uniform, and I was a long-haired hippie musician in a London bobby cape. I remember walking next to him, feeling so proud of him! I have fond memories of going to visit in the fall, during which you could stand at the Point and look up the Hudson amidst all the gorgeous foliage and heritage. Sometimes I'd think it's one of most beautiful places on earth.
His unit in Vietnam was the 2nd Battalion, 506th Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division. He had a particularly dangerous assignment. He was captain of a recon unit. If I remember correctly, a recon unit's job is to go out and find if the VC was in a particular area, and you'd find that out when they started shooting at you. He would record things to send home to us on this little hand-held tape recorder. I remember one he sent from a foxhole, where they had to wait and were pinned down by the enemy. From the tape, you could tell he was grim, saying this one's bad, and if you get this tape, you'll know we made it out. I remember watching my mom while we listened to it. I could see her thinking over and over, he's going to make it home.
But I think the thing that I was proud of him most occurred while he was in Vietnam. He was given an order that he knew would be suicide, and he refused the order. He knew that to do so would be the end of his career in the Army, but he refused the order in order to protect his men.
After Vietnam, he was posted Stateside to his dream assignment, with the Old Guard in Washington, DC, where he was in charge of a unit that had the Color Guard and the Fife and Drum Corps. He and I had been in the Wanderers Drum and Bugle Corps together when we were younger, and we both loved fife and drum corps. He left active duty in 1973 but remained in the U.S. Army Reserve until 1992, retiring as a lieutenant colonel.
In 2004, I went to visit Buddy and his wonderful wife Linda in Hawaii. They lived on nine acres in a custom-built Philippine mahogany home south of Hilo with a big assortment of dogs, chickens, goats, etc., and where orchids grew like weeds. They even had an outdoor bamboo shower. Buddy had built an entire plumbing system that captured rainwater from this huge cistern. And Linda made the house and outbuildings so beautiful with all these artistic things. Quite a lady! I remember Buddy proudly showing me his ham radio setup, which was still using all the equipment he'd built decades ago from Army surplus radio parts. At night, we sat in the midst of the warm Chinese lanterns talking softly.
It was the last time I ever saw him.
Buddy was my only brother, and I miss him greatly. And I am still so proud of him.
— Ben Beckley
Source: West Point Association of Graduates 2022 TAPS
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