A lot has lately been said about heroes. Let me tell you about one of mine:
1st Lieutenant Joseph Byron Poe, Co. B 2/5 Cavalry, 1st Air Cavalry Division, United States Army, born 7 February 1947 in Prattsville, Arkansas– killed in action, Long Khanh Province, Republic of South Vietnam 20 September 1971. He also served with the 5/31st Infantry, 197th Infantry Brigade at Fort Benning, Georgia.
I and so many others in the Prattsville, Arkansas area grew up knowing him as Byron, the son of Paula Rae (Crutchfield) and Joseph Martin Poe. His aunt and uncle, Jamie (Crutchfield) and Jack York, had a dairy farm off highway 291 and while I was in no way related to the family I, like so many other young people, knew this family as “Aunt Paula Rae and Uncle Joe” and “Aunt Jamie and Uncle Jack.” Some of my fondest memories of Byron are of working up a good sweat while hauling hay or doing other chores on Uncle Jack’s dairy farm or bouncing across a field on an old Farmall tractor, sneaking through Aunt Jamie’s tomato patch on a hot afternoon with a salt shaker and a jug of iced tea, or snatching the (occasional) watermelon that was charitably overlooked by Byron’s mother, Aunt Paula Rae.
Byron loved life. He enjoyed shooting pool, a swift poke in the ribs, playing practical jokes and being the object of them. He had a quick and genuine smile and a good word for everyone. He was an Arkansas Razorback through-and-through, a child of God and an unwavering patriot. He was an optimist who anticipated his future and looked forward to spending it with his family and friends.
As a platoon leader Byron became known as “Lieutenant Joe.” He was loved and respected by his men and his fellow officers. This great young man, so influential in my early life, died the way he lived – doing something good for someone else and thinking of the well-being of others before his own needs. It happened on the day he was scheduled to stand down to the rear and prepare for PCS (Permanent Change of Station) while his replacement officer, having flown into “the bush,” was to lead the day’s mission. But Byron told his replacement to return “to the rear” for one more day, indicating his strong desire to stay with “his” men for one more mission. Two hours later he was struck down by sniper fire, the only American casualty killed in a firefight when elements of the North Vietnamese Army’s 33rd Regiment ambushed his platoon during a helicopter re-supply event.
Years later, just prior to my daughter’s induction into the United States Air Force, she and I spent a day together in DC where I visited Byron’s memory at the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial. I am neither ashamed to admit I cried – a lot – to see his name there, nor to admit that the flood of reminiscences and mixed sentiments about Byron and so many other men and women of that era were more overwhelming than I can express here.
His body is interred in Philadelphia Cemetery in Prattsville, Arkansas, but Byron Poe’s spirit rests in the arms of God. His memory lives forever in the hearts of those of us who knew and loved him. He is memorialized in Washington DC on panel 02W, line 22. Here I want to remind Byron’s family that their fond memories are shared by his many friends, by those who served with him, and so many others who were touched by his all-too-short life. We think of him often and he will never be forgotten. I don’t mind saying I loved him…and I know we will be together again someday.
