In March of 1993 I wrote and read a eulogy to a unique solider who survived extraordinary hardship
and sacrifice and died not on the battlefield in combat (although he came close to that and the price of
his survival was an arm and a leg). His name was B.T. Collins. I have updated it only slightly.
B.T. Collins was a genuine rarity. He was a man of myriad subtleties. He was a true Renaissance
man in every sense; he was a warrior, a leader, and a compassionate and loyal friend. He had a crusty
curmudgeon exterior, which was a thin veil for a sensitive, caring humanist.
As a Special Forces Officer he wore a unit crest on his uniform, which contains the Latin motto:
He lived that motto in the humid jungles of Vietnam and in the hot Sacramento summers in the constant skirmishes he fought in the halls of the State capitol.
I have often quoted "The Warrior Creed" of the late Dr. Robert Humphrey as crystallized by Jack
Hoban:
"Wherever I go, everyone is a little bit safer because I'm there.
B.T. never knew Dr. Humphrey or Jack Hoban, but in ways subtle and stark he lived that creed.
I really liked the guy. Despite his considerable accomplishments, he was unique in many ways: He was
a politician who clung to the truth despite whatever negative impact it might bring to him personally.
He was painfully, and consistently HONEST.
And he never attempted to protect himself by shrouding
the truth or positioning himself in a more attractive light. He was a conservative republican but before
being elected to the California Assembly he worked for California Governor Jerry Brown as his Chief
of Staff.
Dr. Robert Jarvick once wrote: "Leaders are visionaries with a poorly developed sense of fear and no
concept of the odds against them. They make things happen." THAT was B.T. Collins.
Once upon a time, before health reasons compelled him to stop, he used to drink a bit ... OK, perhaps
more than a bit. He could and did put the booze away. His language, in private, and sometimes in
public, was occasionally excessively colorful ... okay, so he could and would be obscene ... often funny,
and not infrequently brilliantly candid.
I cried the Friday night his death was announced.
B.T. was an original: honest, funny, compassionate, loyal, and both simple and complex. I know
B.T.'s one regret might have been that HE didn't get to deliver his own eulogy.
He and I were supposed to get together in April of '93 for dinner. We had been looking forward to
trading Special Forces stories and swapping lies about guys we knew who wore the funny hat. That
never happened ... but the date remained on my calendar.
One clear summer day I drove up into the Sierra and pitched a camp on a hill overlooking a secluded
lake. B.T. wasn't with me, but his memory certainly was. In his memory I took the cap off a bottle of
what he called 'brown tea' and threw it into the fire.
Alone in the wilderness I shared the bottle with B.T.'s memory and toasted the things that remain
important: Duty, Honor, Country ... friends, family, and fallen comrades ...
I drank to Chris Christianson, Rich Kelly, Bull Simons, Rocky Versace, the names on the black wall,
and of course, the guy who lived the motto
Many years later I had occasion to speak to a class of newly commissioned Army ROTC graduates. I
suggested to them, and now I suggest it to you, that you read what B.T. wrote for Reader's Digest
about "The Courage of Sam Bird." Especially today, it is worth reading.
B.T. said, "I didn't
learn about leadership and the strength of character it requires from an Ivy League graduate course. I
learned by watching one tall captain with proud bearing and penetrating eyes."
Charles M. Province wrote a poem called "The Soldier."
It is the soldier, not the poet,
It is the soldier, not the campus organizer,
It is the soldier, not the lawyer,
It is the soldier,
Copyright Geoff Metcalf