By Carol Lucas
Today, I learned that a wonderful man, a friend for whom my admiration has no bounds, died. He would have been 94 years old next month and was dealing with many health problems. I knew that he was in a palliative care facility, and so his passing came as no shock. And yet it did, because I always thought of him as infallible.
Col. Walter Ledbetter, USMC, was a Vietnam War veteran, and those who knew him held him in the highest esteem. And yet this was a man who didn’t seek adulation. Rather he tended to brush it aside. Of course he engaged in many stories, as most military folk do. After all, these experiences were, for many, life changing, and not always for the good. In the case of Walt Ledbetter’s career in the Marines, however, his story is legend in many circles, assuredly those men he fought along side.
I had to research online some of Walt’s career accomplishments because I do not recall a time when any of these were the topic of social conversation. To begin what was certainly an illustrious career, he was the commanding officer of Marine Medium Helicopter Squadron-263. During this time he received an urgent request to assist 19 of his men who had entered a minefield during an attack on enemy positions.
The complete story is a painful one, but the crux of it is this: he landed three different times amid sniper fire; 11 of the 19 men were wounded, most with severe leg injuries. Out of the 19, all were extricated and taken back to the hospital. Ledbetter then returned and finished the assault. For this he received the nation’s second highest combat decoration, the Navy Cross. In 1978, he received the Cunningham Award as Marine Corps Aviator of the Year.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t include the following. Before the advent of night-vision goggles, Ledbetter crafted a device whereby he mounted a spotlight on a pallet and put a starlight scope on top of the spotlight. He then mounted this device in the back of a Huey, along with an operator. He flew his Huey, with Cobras following, and when the operator spotted enemy movement through the scope, he turned on the spotlight, and the Cobras fired rockets accordingly. Necessity was indeed the mother of invention, and Ledbetter rose to the occasion.
I could continue with war stories, and while they are legion, they are new to me. Instead, I want to talk about Walt Ledbetter, the man. You see, he was a hero to me and to my younger daughter when we needed a male figure to lean on.
To adequately portray this, I must start at the beginning, the first time I met him. Actually it was my late husband and I who engaged him when we learned about Second Helpings, a group of volunteers who still go store to store to retrieve food that is then distributed to those in need.
Walt told us about this organization, and I became very excited when he asked if we would volunteer. I quickly responded yes, and when he asked which day was best, I said, “Every day. We will go out every day.” Walt started to laugh, joined immediately by my husband’s incredulous gulp. Walt reassured me that I would soon burn out and that one day a week was sufficient. Thus began our friendship with this man and his wife, Nancy.
When my husband passed away in 2001, the Ledbetters were in Florida visiting friends. They learned of Noel’s passing from a mutual friend, and upon their return came to my home immediately. This was the beginning of their efforts to take me under their wing and be there for me when grief had me in a stranglehold. My younger daughter was staying with me at the time, and it is no exaggeration to say they “adopted” her. Walt referred to Stephanie as his third daughter, and she has said many times that he became the father she lost. The love between them was clear, and my gratitude equally so.
I remember when September 11, 2001 occurred, just five months after my husband passed. I received a call from Nancy, saying she and Walt wanted Stephanie and me to come to their house for the day. Of course, everyone was glued to the television screen, but they didn’t want us to be alone as the horror of that day unfolded.
After six months, my daughter moved on with her life, rightfully so. However, the Ledbetters’ concern and care for my well-being didn’t cease. For as long as they lived in Pleasant Point, Wednesday late afternoons were spent together over wine and conversation, either at my home or theirs. When they moved, I knew I was losing a vital component of my lifestyle. I will always be grateful for those Wednesdays when three people never had to grasp for things to talk about.
Wednesday afternoons weren’t the only times they included me. I was a “tag-along” on many cruises, including a 28-day cruise through the South Pacific as well as a “family” Alaskan cruise. I was dubbed “Auntie Mame” at that time, and I relished it. Then there was the time they asked whether or not I would like to go to Jekyll Island for an overnight trip. Of course I jumped at the chance, never having been there. It was only when we were well on the way that I learned this trip was a celebration of their anniversary. Whaatt? As I noted in my recently published memoir, this couple never had an issue with the seventh person at the dinner table.
Much that I have addressed here includes Nancy Ledbetter and appropriately so because they were a team. Even in his military life, she was his helpmate and his support system. If he were alive today, he would tell you the same. I cannot speak from experience, but I do know that military wives often live on the edge, especially when their husbands are engaged in war. To have excluded her in this piece would have been a huge slight.
So Walter, my friend, my big brother, my daughter’s adoptive father, rest in peace. You affected so many lives positively and were a role model above and beyond the norm. You now leisurely cruise those skies you once dominated.
Carol Lucas is a retired high school teacher and a Lady’s Island resident. She is the author of the recently published “A Breath Away: One Woman’s Journey Through Widowhood.”
