A Spartan Game

Copyright © 2011, 2012 by Terry Tibbetts

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse Star

an iUniverse, Inc. imprint

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-938908-14-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-938908-15-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012916684

iUniverse rev. date: 10/17/2012

Contents

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

FOREWORD      BY RICH ELLERSON, HEAD FOOTBALL COACH AT US MILITARY ACADEMY, WEST POINT

PREFACE

PROLOGUE      A DEFINING MOMENT

CHAPTER 1      BUFFALO, NEW YORK

CHAPTER 2      ROCHESTER, NEW YORK

CHAPTER 3      WEST POINT, NEW YORK, PLEBE YEAR, 1952-53

CHAPTER 4      WEST POINT, NEW YORK, YEARLING YEAR, 1953-54

CHAPTER 5      WEST POINT, NEW YORK, COW YEAR, 1954-55

CHAPTER 6      WEST POINT, NEW YORK, FIRST-CLASS YEAR

CHAPTER 7      MILITARY CAREER, AUGUST 1956-JULY 1967

CHAPTER 8      VIETNAM, SETTING THE STAGE

CHAPTER 9      Vietnam, Nineteen-Hour Days

CHAPTER 10      VIETNAM, THE BATTLE OF ONG THANH

CHAPTER 11      VIETNAM, THE AFTERMATH OF THE BATTLE OF ONG THANH

CHAPTER 12      ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY

AUTHOR’S DISCOURSE      CONTROVERSIES ABOUT DON THAT REMAIN

AFTERWORD      THE HOLLEDER CENTER

EPILOGUES

POSTSCRIPT

BIBLIOGRAPHY

NOTES

ENDNOTES

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the memory of my father-in-law, Carl Treworgy, and my friend Peter Vann. Carl exchanged letters with Red Blaik and in my opinion was the most loyal Army football fan who ever lived. Peter was Don’s good friend at West Point. In the one year that I knew Peter he became a good friend of mine as well.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My grateful thanks go to the following people who have been immensely helpful and kind to me in researching this book:

Don’s daughters, Stacy Jones, Katie Fellows, Susie Connors, and Caroline Brown, who gave me tons of priceless information, assistance, and attention;

Dolores Grad-Totaro, Barbara Hall, Bob Hartmann, Shirley Joya, Grace Neureuther, Jean Quigley, Mary Ruppert, and Jack Schultz, Don’s relatives and friends, who did the same for me in Buffalo;

George Bryant, Peter Klee, Ron Mack, Bob Matthews, Howard Nielsen, and Bob Schwab in Rochester;

Don Warner, fourth-generation Eagle Scout, who shared his great knowledge of the Boy Scouts with me;

Jerry Amlong, John Doc Bahnsen, Ralph Chesnauskas, Bill Cody, Mike Conrad, Bill Graf, Butch Harbold, Ed Hickey, George Kilishek, John McGinn, Russ Mericle, Mario Nick Nicolais, Bob Novogratz, Dave Palmer, Farrell Patrick, Bob Quackenbush, Bill Rowe, Ivan Rundgren, Mit Shattuck, Perry Smith, Bob Sorley, Leroy Suddath, Peter Vann, Harry Walters, and Bill Zadel, who knew Don at West Point;

Hank Emerson, who appointed Don M2 Company commander at West Point;

Morris Herbert, who assisted me at West Point;

Joel Thomas, Don’s assistant at Fort Monroe;

Dave Berry, Ed Burke, Bill Caldwell, Bill Erwin, Bob Gillard, Mike Gormley, Tom Grady, Gerry Grosso, Tom Doc Hinger, Jim Kasik, Mike Mahler, Paul Malone, George Newman, Jim Shelton, and Clark Welch, who served with, knew, or knew of Don in Vietnam;

Doc Bahnsen, Larry Donnithorne, Bill McWilliams, and Harvey Shapiro, who gave me permission to quote extensively from their books; and

Helge Bernhardt, Dick Frye, Bill Greer, Barbara Lassonde, Sigrid Maldonado, Jay Olejniczak, Claudia Rein, and Chris Weeden, who offered review and suggestions, as did many of the people listed above.

And special thanks for the straight-from-the-hip critiques, much time, effort, and love, to my wife, Mary Lee.

FOREWORD

BY RICH ELLERSON, HEAD FOOTBALL COACH AT US MILITARY ACADEMY, WEST POINT

I never met Don Holleder, but I believe I’ve come to know him very well. I’ve read several accounts of his life, including this one. I’ve met many of his classmates and teammates. I’ve met and entertained his daughters and a granddaughter. I’ve heard their anecdotes. But while all this has helped to humanize and bring him into focus, it is only part of what I mean by knowing.

To give you the entire picture, let me explain it this way. Army football doesn’t have a bunch of awards at the end of the season. Weekly we recognize players whose performances warrant inclusion in the Ranger Club. At the end of the season the player who earned that distinction most frequently is our Black Lion Award recipient. That player’s name is added to a large, prominently displayed bronze plaque. That plaque is dedicated to Don and is dominated by his engraved likeness. The criteria for the award articulate what Don exemplified as a Cadet athlete and as an officer who gave his life going to the aid of Black Lions soldiers in Vietnam.

It is extremely difficult to get into the Ranger Club. It is common for no one to meet the standard in any given week. That standard demands that you keep the team first and the mission in focus throughout the contest. Then it demands perfect (snap to whistle) effort on every play. These are choices. You will not make every block or tackle. Sometimes what is asked is unachievable. But you can choose to give focused, disciplined effort. You can choose it when you are hurt and exhausted. You can choose it when hope of success is no longer reasonable. You will demand this choice of yourself and expect it from the man next to you. This is how a

great competitor manifests mental toughness and physical courage in this ultimate of team sports. This is why Don Holleder’s visage will always be coupled to the award.

In 2009 I spoke at the dedication of the new Don Holleder exhibit in the Holleder Center at West Point. A new portrait of Don in a major’s dress uniform had just been unveiled. I pointed to it and told the audience that the picture represented the transformation from athlete to soldier. Don embodied everything we ask our athletes to do.

I know Don because young men I have the privilege to coach here at West Point make that choice and meet that standard. I am surrounded by aspiring Don Holleders. Don was blessed with the ability and opportunity to step onto a stage while here. The qualities he personified on that stage and what he, others like him, and the United States Military Academy have given America have resonated for over 200 years.

In the course of Don’s service, fate dictated that keeping conviction with that persona would demand the ultimate sacrifice. He did not hesitate. His traits are rare in the general population but not at West Point. There is still an everyman message and expectation in his story for Cadets and graduates.

The third verse of the West Point Alma Mater contains the following words:

When our work is done,

Our course on earth is run,

May it be said, Well done; be thou at peace.

Don Holleder has taken his place with brother and sister West Point graduates in that hallowed Long Gray Line, with well done echoing through the ages.

Rich Ellerson

Head Football Coach, USMA

June 2010

PREFACE

Football is a Spartan game. I am speaking of the Spartan qualities of sacrifice and self-denial. It is a game very much like life in that it demands a man’s personal commitment to excellence and victory. It must be pursued; it must be wooed with all one’s might.

—Vince Lombardi, US Military Academy offensive football coach (1949-1953), New York Giants offensive coach (1954-1958), head football coach of the Green Bay Packers (1959-1967) and Washington Redskins (1969)

If football is the game most like war, it is also the game most like life, for it teaches young men that work, sacrifice, selflessness, competitive drive, perseverance, and respect for authority are the price one pays to achieve worthwhile goals.

—Earl RedBlaik, USMA assistant football coach (1927-1933), USMA head football coach (1941-1958)

It is no mistake that the Bible compares our spiritual life to an athletic contest: Let us run with perseverance the race God has set before us. (Hebrews 12:1)

—Theresa Rowe, fitness expert and author

PROLOGUE

A DEFINING MOMENT

Colonel, you’re not going to take that walk tomorrow.

Most people think about age and experience in terms of years, but it’s really only moments that define us. We stay mostly the same and then grow up suddenly.

—Glenn Beck, The Overton Window

On the evening of Friday, November 25, 1955, Colonel Earl Red Blaik, the head football coach at the US Military Academy at West Point, New York, was taking his team on a stroll through the golf course of the Philadelphia country club where he had housed his players. They would face Navy the next day in what was in those days the greatest rivalry in all of college football. It was Blaik’s custom, just before bedtime on the eve of most games, to walk leisurely with his players in a tranquil setting, to relax and chat with them.

It was an uncomfortable walk this time because his team had endured a mediocre season by Army standards, losing three games, two by substantial margins. Navy, on the other hand, had a powerful team and was a solid favorite. How could Blaik boost the morale of his players? What could he possibly say that would rouse their utmost potential? How could they muster the capability to compete, let alone win?

Blaik halted, and so did his team.

He had grown weary, he said, of trudging across the field after those three losses to congratulate the winning coach. He added that he did not relish the prospect of making the trip the following day, in front of 100,000 people, to congratulate the Navy coach. Such a walk would be the longest of his life.

Blaik paused, and then came a voice from one of the players gathered in the dark.

Colonel, you’re not going to take that walk tomorrow.

That voice belonged to Don Holleder, who the previous year had been an All-American end, but this year, at best, was an average quarterback. Because Blaik believed the team desperately needed a leader at quarterback, he had placed Don into that frighteningly unfamiliar position. The responsibilities required play calling, ball handling, and, most difficult of all, passing. Nonetheless, he would be in charge of the team on the field against Navy, in the nation’s spotlight. And he had assured his coach clearly and confidently that the team would not let him down.

It was Don Holleder’s defining moment.

Indeed, Blaik did not make the loser’s congratulatory walk the next day. After a slow start, Army took full charge and pounded out a 14—6 victory. When the sportswriters typed their stories after the game, they did not dwell on Don’s nonexistent passing game (two passes attempted: one intercepted and one incomplete). Instead, they heralded his play selections, ball carrying, pass defending, tackling (in 1955 the rules required both offensive and defensive play)—and most of all, his leadership. Because of his leadership, the writers said, this game would go down in the books as the greatest team victory in Army football history.

How did he arrive there? How did his life proceed from that point? And how many other lives have benefited as a result?

In 2009 Don’s oldest daughter, Stacy Jones, told a gathering of his former classmates at West Point, It’s amazing the number of people who still contact me and tell me about the positive influence my father had on them. They know what his life was all about. I wish that there was some way to let today’s generation know that his life was about courage and perseverance to overcome great obstacles.

That is the essence of this book.

CHAPTER 1

BUFFALO, NEW YORK

The youngest Eagle Scout in Buffalo history.

Beginning in the early nineteenth century and continuing for nearly 150 years, Buffalo, New York, achieved dramatic success in commerce, transportation, industry, and technology.

The grain industry was the most notable. Located at the eastern end of Lake Erie and the western end of the Erie Canal, Buffalo was a natural location for unloading grain from the Midwest via freighter ship. From there it was shipped to the eastern United States and beyond to Europe.

As the century progressed, two additional major technologies, railroads and electricity, emerged. The railroad became the loading point for grain shipments east, and electricity, produced by generators on the nearby Niagara River, created an economical method of powering the grain elevators. In 1881 Buffalo had the first electric street lights in the United States, prompting the nickname City of Light.

During the same time, beer brewing materialized as another noteworthy Buffalo industry. Since grain was the biggest industry in town, an abundant supply was available for the process. Soon twenty-five local breweries were making 31 million gallons annually. To put this into perspective, one can stand on the observation platform at Niagara Falls and gaze at the water thundering over the falls at the rate of about 750,000 gallons a second. Imagining the flow to be beer instead of water, the observer would have to count slowly to eighty before all the beer brewed annually in Buffalo had gone over the falls.

European immigrants were the driving force in this labor-intensive city, and those from Germany were the biggest contributors, both in production and consumption. For German immigrants a glass of beer with their meal gave them a sense of the old country. And in the process German beer brewers introduced their techniques to a grateful new clientele of American beer drinkers.

In 1881 twenty-four-year-old German beer brewer Christopher Rasp joined the throng of European immigrants settling in Buffalo. In Germany he had fallen in love with and proposed to Antonia Behringer, but he was Lutheran, and she was Catholic. In those days the German Catholic Church prohibited interfaith marriages. In the United States however, such marriages were allowed, as long as the non-Catholic agreed to a Catholic ceremony and promised to raise all children in the Catholic faith. That was good enough for Rasp. He was aware of the prominence of Buffalo’s beer industry, and this was an opportunity to get in on the action. He sailed the Atlantic, set up shop in Buffalo, and sent for Antonia. In June of 1882 they were married in Buffalo’s St. Ann’s Catholic Church.

Christopher and Antonia both came from large families, and five of their siblings immigrated to the Buffalo neighborhood adjacent to St. Ann’s Church at about the same time. The area was a perfect spot for the Rasps to build a new life in a new country, to share old-world customs and create new American ones.

The couple had nine children. One was a son John, born in 1889. At age eighteen in 1907, John married Rose Shied. Within weeks, the couple learned their family would soon expand, so John began a search for a profession that would provide a steady means of support. He decided on the coal-and-ice business. Customers soon learned that service was John Rasp’s middle name. He saw to it that the commodities were delivered on schedule and put into the proper places. In later years, his grandsons Don Holleder and Jack Schultz learned all about providing first-rate service by lugging blocks of ice to upper-floor apartments and shoveling coal into cellar bins.

John became a first-rate entrepreneur, purchasing six homes and renting them. On top of that, drawing upon his father’s brewing skills he set up a basement facility and provided premium beer to happy consumers.

As time passed, he became successful enough to buy a cottage on Lake Erie. The cottage was the scene of festive summer gatherings of family and friends every Sunday and holiday. Those were the days, grandson Jack recalled wistfully.

On Saturdays, while the men of the family were putting in at least a half-day’s work, the ladies and children went to the lake. The ladies hauled out the big pans and prepared the food, while the kids lugged items and arranged chairs and the like. When their work was done, the youngsters gathered in the yard for a game of kick-the-can. As the sun set over the lake, it was time for the kids to clean up for church the next day. Everyone would jump into the water, sharing a bar of Ivory soap. After dark they’d sit on the beach and exchange ghost stories.

After church on Sundays, John would climb into the company truck and head out to fetch family and friends. A number of these people did not own cars, and John, the accomplished host, wanted to be sure they’d be there. Rose would direct the final preparation of the steaks, salads, potatoes, desserts, and, yes, beer.

In the early 1960s Americans enjoyed reading and hearing about the Kennedy compound in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts: the enormous gathering of family, friends, fun, football games, and food. The Rasp cottage on a summer Sunday in the 1930s and ‘40s was nothing less. The men and boys would play football, basketball, baseball, or whatever sport was the order of the day. Later, everyone would gather around the player piano, where Papa, as John was familiarly known, would lead the singing. He had a marvelous voice and an ear for music, in spite of having had no musical training.

Prohibition became law in the early 1920s, requiring Papa to cease his beer business. But when the Great Depression struck in 1929, he restarted it and used the proceeds to keep many families and the church afloat. The police were aware of his activities but essentially looked the other way. He became known as Robin Hood and was respectfully called the best bootlegger in Buffalo. He donated coal and ice to his down-on-their-luck neighbors. He never evicted or even dunned tenants who had trouble paying their rent and sometimes made payments for them. His granddaughter Grace Neureuther said, If he had collected everything he was owed, he’d have been a millionaire.

There was another reason he didn’t become a millionaire. Papa was an excellent businessman except for one flaw: he trusted everyone. This resulted in his getting swindled once or twice.

Papa’s grandchildren say a legend exists today—they like to believe it’s true, but they’re not at all sure—that one day years later he felt a little guilty about his Prohibition earnings and decided to go to the IRS and confess. The agent listened intently and then walked to the door and opened it. Go home, Mr. Rasp, the agent said softly. Don’t worry about it.

John and Rose had three daughters: Rosetta, Bernice, and Arlene. They also raised their niece Dolores Shied from the age of eighteen months. Dolores was the daughter of Rose’s brother George Shied and his wife Margaret. Nine months after Dolores’s birth, Margaret became pregnant with a second child. Tragically, both mother and child died in childbirth. George was so overwhelmed with grief that the responsibility of caring for Dolores was a task he could not handle.

Fortunately, John and Rose volunteered to take Dolores in, at least temporarily. Ten-year-old Arlene was thrilled with the arrangement. Dolores says today that Arlene considered her a little doll and cared for her like a mother bear would nurture her cub.

Weeks turned into months, months turned into years; Dolores remained in the Rasp home, where she would, as it turned out, reside permanently. Her father George took less interest in Dolores and over time shunned her totally. Her sole remaining tie to the Shied family was her grandmother, George’s mother Barbara, who lived just down the street from the Rasps. But Grannie, as Barbara was called by her grandchildren, was not physically able to provide Dolores a home. So in due course, Dolores became a Rasp in spirit, if not in name.

John and Rose attempted on many occasions to formally adopt Dolores, but George never consented. Dolores says her father didn’t care about her one way or the other. However, Grannie had a significant influence on her son and felt strongly that Dolores should maintain her family name, so her will prevailed.

As Arlene and Dolores grew older, their relationship became that of the closest of sisters, and it would remain that way until Arlene’s dying day.

Arlene became the mother of Don Holleder, and Dolores became his closest aunt.

Arlene was a stunning girl. She combined her beauty with the natural talent to accent it with the perfect combination of cosmetics and clothing. Because of this ability she was allowed to wear lipstick as a teenager, while her sisters were not. The result was that she was wooed by would-be beaus from all over the city. Depending on one’s point of view, she was regarded by males as everything from the hottest thing in Buffalo to the girl you want to take home to meet your parents. Nephew Jack Schultz categorized Arlene as tall, slim, and elegant.

She was also ambitious. After graduating from high school, she set out to make sure she could support herself. She earned a degree at a business school and took an office position at an insurance company. She was quickly on her way and would go far.

Walter Holleder, called Wally, was an unlikely winner in the sweepstakes for Arlene’s hand, the race horse that emerged from the back of the pack to win by three lengths. When they married, Wally was twenty-four and Arlene was nineteen.

Early on, Wally was a plumber, sufficiently schooled in writing to publish a book on the subject. But he had always harbored a desire to become a firefighter, so he studied the required academic material, fine-tuned his physical condition, took the tests, passed, and became a member of the force.

He was a quiet man, but one who demanded and received respect. His nieces and nephews recall visiting the Holleder home and learning that Uncle Wally ruled the radio in the evening. When the news or The Shadow or The Inner Sanctum was on, everyone was quiet and listened or left the room.

Donald Walter Holleder was born on August 3, 1934. His family and friends say that he had his mother’s chin, but all other physical resemblances were to his father.

Family members also say that as Don grew he idolized his father and loved his mother. With his parents providing the basic anchor of support, the extended family, church, and neighborhood provided the means for establishing positive relationships and activities.

Everything a boy could want or need was within easy reach. The homes of his relatives and friends were almost literally a stone’s throw away. Don was a regular visitor at Papa’s, and he and his cousins were forever in and out of one another’s homes and playing together in the adjacent fields. This and the summer parties at the lakefront cottage were, in the recollections of his cousins, a child’s dream of swimming, playing, and eating with dear relatives and friends.

Don and Cousin Jack Schultz, who was a year older, were as close as any boys could be. We not only played together, we competed, said Jack. Being older, I was bigger and stronger. I was sort of a bully, because I needed to protect my brothers and sisters. Don was an only child, so he didn’t have that responsibility. I guess I also bullied him a bit. He was always trying to catch up, and over time he did develop quite a muscular body.

Jack says their competitiveness really came to a head at about age ten. Don had gotten a new Roadmaster bicycle, which was the envy of Jack and the other boys in the neighborhood. Don loved that bike and refused to let anyone else, including Jack, ride it.

One day, Jack and Don were outside playing, and the pair got into a scuffle. Jack got the better of the scrap, and Don took off into his house with Jack in pursuit. Don dashed into the bathroom and locked the door. Both of Don’s parents happened to be away. Jack stood in the hallway for a few moments, and then it dawned on him. Ha ha, I’ve got him now, he said to himself. Now I can get a ride on that bike. He casually strolled downstairs, outside, and into the garage, where the bike was locked with a chain. But, no problem. The key was hanging right there on the wall. He unlocked the bike, climbed onto it, and toured around the neighborhood. After soaking in the admiration of his friends, he returned the bike to its proper spot in the garage and relocked it. Don was still nowhere to be seen, so Jack went back to the bathroom door. Don was still locked inside. Don, I’ve brought the bike back, Jack said. I took good care of it. It runs great. Thanks.

Jack knew that eventually Don would try to get even but didn’t realize how intense the retaliation would be. Months later, they were arguing about some trivial matter, and without warning Don gave him a wicked kick in the shin.

He really let me have it, said Jack. "There’s still a bit of a mark there, and it still hurts every once in a while. Even now, whenever I feel that pain, I think to myself, ‘Damn you, Don."’

Another childhood story with Don and Jack involved their cousin Paul. He was a couple of years older than Jack and had the onerous habit of inflicting physical punishment on Don or Jack, whenever he could find one of them alone. One day, Don decided he’d had enough.

I’m going to take care of him, Don said to Jack, and you’re going to help me.

Don explained the plan. It involved utilizing one of Papa Rasp’s wooden baskets used for small-quantity coal sales to walk-in customers. They would both hide behind a corner and wait for Paul, and then Jack would spring from behind, slap the basket over his head and grab his arms. Don would administer a body pummeling.

We can’t kill the guy, said Jack skeptically.

His head’s going to be protected by the basket, Don replied. We just want to make sure we teach him a lesson he’ll feel for a while.

A few days later they administered the instruction. Paul got the message that he could no longer attack Don or Jack individually. He had to deal with them both. He never bothered them again.

Jack summarized his youth with Don:

Don was always so aggressive. Not an ego trip, just determined to be the best. Whether it was a basketball or baseball game in the backyard, he always played to win (but didn’t we all?). Sometimes he was downright mean, but we all had our moments.

We fought, we cried, we laughed, we loved, we matured. I really miss those times.

Don and his cousins attended St. Joseph’s Elementary School adjacent to St. Ann’s Church. During his years there, Don formed a strong bond with two priests. One was Father Joseph Wolf, a teacher, coach, and administrator at the school. Father Wolf recognized early on that Don had exceptional athletic skills and a strong work ethic. On the other hand, he recognized that Don needed some tutorial assistance with his studies and ensured that it was provided. The other priest, Father Joseph Schieder, was a family friend who also took a keen interest in Don’s activities, encouraged him whenever possible, and, in fact, became a lifelong spiritual adviser.

Don’s mother Arlene became the office manager at National Wine and Spirits, a Buffalo liquor store owned by attorney-business magnate Phil Weintraub. In addition to overseeing the office operation she handled the inventory, payroll, and accounting. It didn’t take Weintraub long to see that Arlene was a pro. She would be a success in business, he told her.

St. Ann’s Church sponsored Boy Scout Troop 118, which Don joined at age twelve. He quickly earned the second-and first-class awards, which taught him the basic skills of outdoor living, service to others, and safety. They were followed by the star and life badges, which in turn led to merit badges and life skills.

The purposes of a merit badge were fourfold:

•   learning skills in general;

•   learning about adult-to-adult common ground;

•   preparing for specific life skills, vocations, avocations, setting goals;

•   leadership training.

The next achievement was becoming an Eagle Scout. To attain that, Don had to have earned at least twenty-one merit badges, demonstrating knowledge of subjects such as life saving, camping, personal health, citizenship, first aid, swimming, public safety, carpentry, and plumbing, and attend leadership camp each summer.

Most adults would find it difficult to complete the tasks required to earn even one badge. The swimming badge requirements, for example, include swimming 150 yards using several different strokes and then demonstrate a rescue. One available method would be entering the water carrying a shirt in hand or teeth, swim thirty feet, swing the shirt to the victim, and tow him ashore. Is it any wonder that only 2 percent of all Boy Scouts become an Eagle Scout each year?

Cousin Jack put it succinctly: Don was a winner. Second place wasn’t acceptable. We were both Boy Scouts, but I never made Eagle Scout. He just wanted it more, and he was willing to bust his butt to accomplish that goal.

On the average, those who achieve this rank take six years to do it. Don did it in two years, officially becoming an Eagle Scout on October 28, 1948. At the age of fourteen years and two months, he was the youngest Eagle Scout in Buffalo history. He was required to earn twenty-one merit badges; Jack says he earned many more.

The Eagle Scout badge is a symbol of character, of what a boy has accomplished, but more importantly it represents what the boy will become as he grows to manhood. The mission statement of the Boy Scouts is this: Scouting teaches boys to make ethical decisions, builds character, promotes citizenship, and provides a venue for personal growth. Learn and become a leader through scouting.

In addition to scouting, sports, and boyhood games, Don found time to collect coins and stamps. Friends and relatives comment today that it was impossible to get into trouble when they were supervised and involved in positive projects.

One honor Don regretted never achieving was the big one, as he put it. The Ad Altere Dei (Altar of God) Award is for Catholic Boy Scouts to enable the scout to grow in his spiritual experience of his relationship to God and the church. In those days, only altar boys were eligible for this award. Don was training to be an altar boy when the family decided to move to Rochester. The disruption interrupted the training, and Don never completed it.

National Wine and Spirits’ owner Phil Weintraub’s business acumen and market research turned up some interesting information. The city of Rochester, some seventy-five miles east, was ripe for a new liquor distributorship. Ever the entrepreneur, Weintraub huddled with two close business associates to discuss forming an operation there. They needed someone who could handle all the administrative details, payroll, purchases, inventory, shipping and receiving, and accounting: in short, an office genius. And he knew that Arlene Holleder was just the ticket for this slot—and a piece of the ownership. Weintraub asked her whether she was interested, and she immediately jumped at the opportunity.

The new business enterprise needed investment capital, and they all went to work seeking it. Never one to shrink from a challenge, Arlene decided to start right at home. She went to her mother and asked for a loan. Papa was the businessman in the family and had a safe in the house where he kept his business money, but Arlene didn’t want to approach him. She knew that her mother kept a potschke, which is the Yiddish name for a purse of cash that a woman kept apart from her husband. Her mother kept hers in a securely locked cedar chest. Arlene laid out her proposal, with her father looking on and listening intently.

Arlene’s sister Dolores was there and recalls the conversation well. Her mother asked how much money she needed. It was in the thousands, said Dolores, although she didn’t remember how much. Her mother was reticent to go along. She was still quite cognizant of her husband being swindled a couple of times for being too naive with unscrupulous people. She certainly was not going to be scammed in the same manner.

The conversation went on for a while, Dolores said, "with Mama hemming and hawing, saying she wasn’t sure that this was a good deal.

Papa listened. Finally he’d had enough. He knew Arlene had the ability to take care of herself and make the venture a success. He glowered at Mama and