Virginia Loses Two of Its Finest Soldiers
A reflection by Neal Turnage
January 26, 2007

Over the weekend a Black Hawk helicopter went down in Iraq, killing all 13 aboard.  Colonel Paul Kelly and Staff Sergeant Daryl “Big Daddy” Booker were among those who lost their lives in that crash.  The news reports out there have given a few details about these men’s lives, but do little to describe who they really were.

The official military press release reads, “All Virginia Guardsmen are saddened by the terrible loss of these brave soldiers.  Col. Kelly and Staff Sgt. Booker understood the dangers facing our nation and were fully prepared to do whatever was necessary to protect this country and Commonwealth.  I know that I speak for all of the citizens of Virginia when I say that we owe these Guardsmen and their families immeasurable gratitude.”

From an official standpoint, you can’t ask for much more. But the ones who knew them best are still in Iraq and have been for nearly a year and a half.  Those soldiers have no immediate way of communicating the impact Kelly and Booker had on their lives, so in their absence, I offer my own reflection. Over the course of my eight years of Virginia Army National Guard Service, I had the honor of serving alongside both of these men.

Colonel Paul M. Kelly

Col Kelly taught me so much about what it takes to be a good leader and did so in a manner that I’ve tried to emulate my entire career.  He was fair, consistent, knowledgeable and genuine.  There was a charisma behind his eyes that made you want to follow him.

I remember the first instance when I sat down with Col. Kelly face to face.  I had only been a part of the Guard for a little over a year, but I had worked very hard and was selected to represent my unit in the Soldier of the Year competition.  I didn’t think I deserved the honor and was extremely nervous about how I would do.  One of my superiors told him of my hesitation, so he decided to give me a pep talk.  He sat me down in his office and we had a conversation.  The details of that conversation are hazy, but what I took from it has stayed with me to this day.

Here was a high-ranking officer talking to a lowly 20-year-old private-first-class and not once did he make me feel inferior or subordinate. It was a meeting of two men on an even playing field.  He shared his experience as a young soldier.  He told me how his wife, Maria, was Filipina and how his kids would be mestizo like me.  He said he would be proud if his children ever ended up in my position.  I left that meeting feeling proud, empowered and fearless.  It was because of that conversation that I won the competition, not just that year, but the next year as well.

A few years later I was fortunate enough to have been deployed to Bosnia with Col. Kelly as our battalion commander. We respected him because he didn’t just say he cared, he showed it.  He spent a lot of time out of his office, checking on his troops without ever being in the way.  Having him pin on my stripes and shake my hand when I got promoted to sergeant was one of the proudest moments in my military career.

Of course, leadership was not Col. Kelly’s only virtue.  He also took great pride in serving, not just his country, but also his fellow man.  While deployed, Col. Kelly made several trips to area schools and even participated in the dedication of the Bocavici School Library.  As busy as a man of his rank was, I know that he treasured those visits.  Seeing the gratitude on those children’s faces must have given him great satisfaction and helped ease the strain of being away from his family.

At the end of the deployment, Col. Kelly awarded each member of the unit a “Task Force Pegasus” coin.  Imprinted on that coin are the words “ONE TEAM”.  He made us believe in that mantra and my time overseas with the 224th Aviation Battalion was spent among brothers and sisters from all walks of life.  He is the measuring stick to which I compare all my superiors; few come close.

Staff Sergeant Daryl “Big Daddy” Booker

When I heard about the crash, I didn’t immediately connect a face to the name in the news report.  To just about all who worked with him he was “Big Daddy” or just plain “Book”.  But when I saw the news report on TV with Booker’s father holding his picture, my jaw hit the floor.  I didn’t think it were possible to extinguish his light.

One of the greatest benefits of Guard service is the camaraderie that develops among soldiers.  Once a month we’d come together from all parts of the state and beyond to train.  He worked full time at our facility in Sandston and was a tremendous asset for us out-of-towners in finding places to eat and things to do and just feeling welcome.

Sometimes the full-timers were an exclusive bunch, but Booker didn’t fall into that category. He didn’t shut himself away in his own clique.  He’d spend time with everyone he worked with; if he interacted with you in any way, he was going to get to know you.  There aren’t too many people out there who can seamlessly fit in any group and start up a meaningful conversation with a total stranger.  He did.

You don’t get a nickname like Big Daddy by being a wallflower.  He was an incredibly likeable guy who filled the room with his presence.  Of course, at 6’5” he literally filled the room anyway.  He could have used that size to intimidate, but instead he chose to use his personality to set others at ease.

He could diffuse a tense situation without saying a word.  It’s amazing the calming effect a kind gesture and a hand on your shoulder can have.  Sergeant Ron Elwell, another former member of our unit, put it best in his blog: “Always cool, calm, collected, always a friend, always selfless.”

For me, the hardest part of their passing was knowing that their children lost tremendous fathers entirely too soon.  I had 26 years with mine and it wasn’t nearly enough. As men of faith, I know their places in Heaven are secure.  I just hope that I can live the kind of life that will earn me the opportunity to see them again. 

There are times when, as a reporter, you need to distance yourself from a story. There are times when the story is just too close to home.  Those are the times when your instincts tell you to let someone else cover the story because you know what kind of emotional mine field it will take you through.  This is one of those times and this is one of those stories.  But in this case, it's all the more reason I wouldn’t dare trust the story to anyone else.