A soldier’s soldier, recently gone but never forgotten

General William J. Livsey died two weeks ago. I had just a few days before been regaling a friend with Livsey stories. It was easy to remember stories about him, because he was a complex, often entertaining person. A product of North Georgia, both the region and the college, he was commissioned in the Infantry in 1953 and served as a platoon leader during the latter days of the Korean War. Following the pinning on of the gold bar of a second lieutenant, he made steady progress up the ladder and eventually retired with thirty-five years of service and four stars. One of the many key assignments he held was Commanding General and Commandant of The Infantry School at Fort Benning.

I’d never heard of the man when I arrived at the 4th Infantry Division’s base camp at Dragon Mountain, near Pleiku, South Vietnam. I was told to report to Lieutenant Colonel Livsey, division G3, to be interviewed for possible assignment as his operations officer. The interview was brief. My background and experience were what was needed in the job. They would also work at brigade and battalion level, but such assignments, which I had held before, would not help my professional growth. “You’ve been an operations officer at those levels and have been shot at before and have the Combat Infantryman’s Badge,” he said. “You don’t need to go back out in the boondocks all over again. You can do more good here.”

My first day on the job, Colonel Livsey chewed me out loudly over some small matter I no longer recall. I do recall that the reprimand was unfair and that I seethed as I stood there and took it. I feared that my anger would show on my face, for I am not good at hiding such feelings. The next day he jumped on me again, but that time instead of anger I suddenly found the whole thing funny. And that time, I really couldn’t hide my feelings. As he chewed, I began to grin, sliding gradually into chuckling. He did too, still talking but also laughing. From that day to this, he never again spoke a harsh word to me. Once when I reported to him a serious error I’d made, one that really warranted a reprimand, he simply said, “You ain’t s’posed to do that,” and it was as effective as a chewing-out from anyone else.

He’d had an interesting career to that point, and sometimes he would chat with me about some of his assignments. With a master’s degree in psychology from Vanderbilt, he had taught leadership at the U.S. Military Academy. Prior to that, as a captain in Europe, he’d served as aide-de-camp to General Creighton Abrams, the officer General George S. Patton had declared the best tank commander in World War II. I especially enjoyed his reminiscences from that assignment, both because of the connection, once removed, with World War II, and also because General Abrams was a fascinating character himself, generating memorable stories among subordinates. When General Abrams later became Chief of Staff of the Army, Colonel Livsey worked for him once again, as his executive.

Lieutenant Colonel Livsey left our division headquarters in Vietnam to take command of a battalion, and I, contrary to his advice that I didn’t need to go back and get shot at again while doing the same job I’d done several times before, ended up doing just that. I joined a different battalion back out in the bush. The two battalions met when his set up temporarily in a valley to which the one I belonged to was airlifted the same day, battered from a strenuous and lengthy contest with a North Vietnamese Army unit. Colonel Livsey shared his tent with my battalion commander and me for the night. The two battalions went their separate ways in the morning. The next time I saw him, he had two stars. The next time after that, he had four.

Last year, retired General Livsey, old and in poor health, was arrested for having not paid a food delivery man and then scuffled with him and with the police. I suspect alcohol was involved, mixed with embarrassment at having a debit card denied in front of his guests, the mixture then ignited by his temper. The whole overblown incident, an entertaining story to those who never really knew him, was a sad stain on the reputation of a man who had served his country long and well. I, for one, will always look past the tempest in a teapot and remember the soldier I knew long ago.

This story was originally published July 2, 2016 at 6:30 PM with the headline "A soldier’s soldier, recently gone but never forgotten."