The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 95: Something Is Missing

Episode Date: March 20, 2018

He did everything a hero and patriot ought to do... almost.

The ocean delights us as playful otters restore coastal kelp forests. The ocean teaches us how our choices impact even the deepest places. The ocean connects us. Visit monterey Bay Aquarium.org slash connects. This is the way I heard it. A young officer in a pivotal battle, exasperated by the indecision of his own general, takes matters into his own hands. Leaping astride, his trusty steed, he gallops to the front of the line to rally the troops.

From the back of his horse, he laughs at the enemy, ignores the bullets that fly past his head, and addresses the men like Henry V at Agencourt. According to many firsthand accounts, it was the kind of moment that inspires a statue. He was suddenly in front of the line, said one soldier, his eyes flashing, pointing with his saber to the advancing foe, with a voice that rang clear as a trumpet. He came from nowhere, said another, and electrified the men. He simply willed us to follow him, and so we did. In a totally audacious maneuver, the young officer led 3,000 men straight into the flank

of a superior foe, scattering the enemy and allowing his general to simply march his remaining force straight across the battlefield and win the day. But alas, something was missing, namely the general and his remaining force. Incredibly, the general was so worried about who would get the credit for such a decisive victory, he chose not to advance at all and settled for a draw. In the official battle report, the general acknowledged the gallantry of those 3,000 soldiers, but again, something was missing, the name of the brave young officer who led the charge. Three weeks later, when both sides clashed again,

on the same bloody fields, it was deja vu all over again. At the pivotal moment, the general hesitates, and once again, the ambitious young officer leaps upon his trusty steed and rides to the front lines, this time in direct defiance of his furious commander. When he reaches the front line, he rears his horse back and shouts to the troops once again. Hello, old friends, so good to see you. What say you? Shall we win the day once and for all? Shall we send these bastards back across the sea?

In the movie version, this is where the slow motion would begin. The cacophony of battle drops away replaced by soaring strings, musket balls and grape shot were past our hero's head as a junior officer falls in a bloody heap beside him. The strings fade as we hear his pumping heart and labored breath. Close up on the left leg. The same leg that was twice wounded in earlier battles. A musket ball lodges deep in his thigh,

his temples pound as the white-hot pain cascades through his body, but still our hero rides on. Another musket crack, and all is silent, as a gaping wound on his horse's neck spews a crimson river. The great beast howls, rears back, and collapses on top of our hero, shattering his already wounded leg, and crushing the life from his heroic soul.

These are the moments that turn the tide of every battle, and battles that turn the tide of every war, and wars that turn the tide of human history. This was one of those moments in one of those battles in one of those wars, like the Battle of Hastings in 1066, when William conquered England, like the Battle of Orleans in 1429, when Joan of Arc, saved France. Like D-Day in 1944, when Eisenhower directed the Allied advance into Normandy, the heroes of those battles were recognized for their valor. One became a king, one a saint,

one a president, and all received statues that endure to this day. So too did the young officer with the shattered leg, who lay beneath his horse 240 years ago. Indeed, On that very spot, on this very day, you can still see the monument to our hero, erected a hundred years after his glorious charge, carved in granite to last through the ages. The inscription on the back spells out the magnitude of his contribution. In memory of the most brilliant soldier in the Continental Army who was desperately wounded on this spot, winning for his countrymen the decisive battle of the American Revolution. High praise, and yet it's curious, if you visit this monument for yourself, you might notice that

something is missing. Consider, after Joan of Arc died, she got a golden statue in the center of Paris. Her left hand holds the reins of a dashing steed. Her right hand lifts a flag in triumph. her steadfast gaze forever looks out over the palace royal. William the Conqueror lives on in carved stone, astride his rearing horse, his right arm raises his standard in triumph, his steadfast gaze forever locked on the kingdom he once ruled.

And today, Dwight D. Eisenhower, thanks to a remarkable likeness in bronze, is also alive and well in Normandy. His familiar hat sits atop his rome. rugged face, his steadfast gaze, still trained across the fields of France. And then you realize that's what's missing from this particular monument. The hero's gaze. His eyes are not overlooking the Hudson Valley in triumph, as you might expect them to, because his statue has no head. His left hand is not holding the reins of his trusty steed, and his right hand is not pointing his gleaming saber toward the enemy because his statue has no arms. A closer inspection

reveals that something else is missing too. Shoulders, hips, torso, along with a conspicuous lack of legs. Even his trusty steed to which you might expect to find the aforementioned reins attached is nowhere to be seen. Indeed, there is nothing to this monument but a single left boot draped unceremoniously over the muzzle of a cannon pointed toward the heavens. And then you understand why. The young officer memorialized in such a strange fashion did in fact fall on that very spot on that fateful day, but he neglected to do the one thing that would have made him beloved for all time. He forgot to die. eye. It's a pity, really. Had he simply bled to death in the mud underneath his horse and the

horrible stink of that pivotal battle, he'd have cities and schools named in his honor today, along with a proper statue that included his horse, his saber, and all the usual body parts. But alas, our hero not only survived the battle, he refused to let the surgeons amputate his ruined limb. His ego would not permit it. Thus, he spent the rest of his life in constant pain, hobbling around on a left leg three inches shorter than his right, while completely neglecting the less obvious injury, the injury that festered in ways no doctor could treat, the injury to his pride. You might not remember Horatio Gates, the indecisive American General who squandered multiple opportunities to defeat the British at Saratoga.

But I bet you remember the name of his young officer, the soldier whose bold action won that decisive battle and convinced the French to enter the war on the side of the Americans, a decision that would change the course of history and turn 13 unruly colonies into 13 United States. Who knows? Maybe had General Gates simply acknowledged. the uncommon valor of his subordinate rather than hoard all the credit for himself our hero might have remained true to the country he served and be remembered today for the hero he clearly was on that particular day instead he got the boot the only monument where everything is missing including the name of the honoree in this

case, the name of a gallant young officer whose courage helped free a nation, but whose wounded pride would ultimately turn him and his once good name into the very definition of betrayal. Benedict Arnold. Anyway, that's the way I heard it. When you manage procurement for multiple facilities, every order matters. But when it's for a hospital system, they matter even more. Granger gets it and knows there's no. no time for managing multiple suppliers and no room for shipping delays.

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