Remembering Billy Stelpflug
Another Oct.23 has passed, and as usual, I took note, recalling the horrific explosion on that day in 1983 which brought down a building at Beirut International Airport housing a large number of U.S. Marines and sailors. The suicide bombing was a particularly successful operation in the small minds of the hate-filled militant terrorists who carried it off, resulting in 241 dead American servicemen.
At the time, I was in the Navy, aboard the USS John F. Kennedy, the carrier on station there. I was just starting my day when news of the bombing reached the ship. The carrier immediately turned out to sea, fearful of other suicide attacks. With the skyline of Beirut visible from our position, we watched the pall of red dust from the explosion grow until it practically covered the entire western horizon. I was shocked, angry, and saddened by the event that day, but was relieved to know that Billy Stelpflug, a childhood pal and a brand new Marine from Auburn, was safely stationed in Spain. This proved to be an erroneous belief.
There was little information about the dead Marines and sailors in the days immediately following the explosion, and it was a full three weeks after the bombing that our battle group received a list of the dead. To my horror, Billy's name was among them. My little pal had earned a Purple Heart the hard way.
In the days following, I volunteered to man one of the many 50-caliber machine guns positioned around the carrier in response to intelligence reports that guerillas using speedboats and ultra-light aircraft might attack the ship. My gun was mounted on the stern of the ship, and night after night I peered into the darkness through night vision goggles, hoping against hope that I might be lucky enough to blow a terrorist out of the water or the air to avenge Billy. These watches were six hours long, exhausting addtions to the 12-hour days one works at sea. By the time the Safety Officer noted my haggardness and ordered me off my gun station six weeks later, I was little more than caffeine and fury.
Billy Stelpflug was a great friend and a great guy. He was, in equal parts, compassion, fast twitch muscle and mischief. He had a lively imagination and was so full of restless energy that it took all my strength to keep up with him on our jaunts out into the woods in his neighborhood. In the most memorable years of our friendship, Mark MacEwen (now a former Marine himself), Peter Patton, Jim Nunn and I
would strike out into the woods behind Willow Creek subdivision, where we drank Budweisers and usually ended up dueling with long tree branches. It was to your advantage to keep Billy, a rangy 150-poundeer, at bay with a stick, because direct hand-to-hand combat with him was an invitation to disaster, he was so sinewy and strong.
In the Marine Corps, Billy was trained to operate the "Dragon," an extremely complex high-tech weapon requiring patience and extremely disciplined, clear, resourceful minds in the Marines who operate it. I was surprised to learn this, because I'd never really thought of Billy as overly "cerebral," but that was not the only surprise I would discover about young Billy.
In the rubble of the bombed out building in Beirut where he died, a dark poem entitled "The War King" he had penned was discovered and sent to his parents. They showed it to me, and this poem afforded me a rare glimpse into an introspective and complex mind of which I had been ignorant.
Here is another, earlier poem by Billy:
Alabama Night
The air is still,
Thick and hot,
Drenched with the fragrance
Of honeysuckle and freshly cut grass.
The dull yellow lights
Of the fireflies
Dance to the constant tune
Of the crickets.
A dog barks, somewhere.
Small, invisible animals noisily
Make their way through the scrub and pine.
Lazily,
We sit back,
And listen to the music
Of an Alabama night.
Billy was the much-loved youngest child of Peggy and William Stelpflug, and in addition to his brother Joe, had three sisters, Laura, Kathy, and Christy. His death caused the family immeasurable sadness.
I would be remiss here if I neglected to address the omission of Billy Stelpflug's name on any war memorial in this area. The only memorial I can think of, actually, is in front of the Lee County Justice Center. And although it was installed years after the Beirut bombing, it lists only the local casualties up to the Vietnam War. I appeal to the powers that be to correct this oversight.
-Rob Mount, guest columnist
(Note: At Robert's memorial service only a few days later, his friend Scott read Alabama Night. And soon afterward, the town of Auburn built its Veterans Memorial, which honors all servicemen and women, including Billy and Robert.)
Another Oct.23 has passed, and as usual, I took note, recalling the horrific explosion on that day in 1983 which brought down a building at Beirut International Airport housing a large number of U.S. Marines and sailors. The suicide bombing was a particularly successful operation in the small minds of the hate-filled militant terrorists who carried it off, resulting in 241 dead American servicemen.
At the time, I was in the Navy, aboard the USS John F. Kennedy, the carrier on station there. I was just starting my day when news of the bombing reached the ship. The carrier immediately turned out to sea, fearful of other suicide attacks. With the skyline of Beirut visible from our position, we watched the pall of red dust from the explosion grow until it practically covered the entire western horizon. I was shocked, angry, and saddened by the event that day, but was relieved to know that Billy Stelpflug, a childhood pal and a brand new Marine from Auburn, was safely stationed in Spain. This proved to be an erroneous belief.
There was little information about the dead Marines and sailors in the days immediately following the explosion, and it was a full three weeks after the bombing that our battle group received a list of the dead. To my horror, Billy's name was among them. My little pal had earned a Purple Heart the hard way.
In the days following, I volunteered to man one of the many 50-caliber machine guns positioned around the carrier in response to intelligence reports that guerillas using speedboats and ultra-light aircraft might attack the ship. My gun was mounted on the stern of the ship, and night after night I peered into the darkness through night vision goggles, hoping against hope that I might be lucky enough to blow a terrorist out of the water or the air to avenge Billy. These watches were six hours long, exhausting addtions to the 12-hour days one works at sea. By the time the Safety Officer noted my haggardness and ordered me off my gun station six weeks later, I was little more than caffeine and fury.
Billy Stelpflug was a great friend and a great guy. He was, in equal parts, compassion, fast twitch muscle and mischief. He had a lively imagination and was so full of restless energy that it took all my strength to keep up with him on our jaunts out into the woods in his neighborhood. In the most memorable years of our friendship, Mark MacEwen (now a former Marine himself), Peter Patton, Jim Nunn and I
would strike out into the woods behind Willow Creek subdivision, where we drank Budweisers and usually ended up dueling with long tree branches. It was to your advantage to keep Billy, a rangy 150-poundeer, at bay with a stick, because direct hand-to-hand combat with him was an invitation to disaster, he was so sinewy and strong.
In the Marine Corps, Billy was trained to operate the "Dragon," an extremely complex high-tech weapon requiring patience and extremely disciplined, clear, resourceful minds in the Marines who operate it. I was surprised to learn this, because I'd never really thought of Billy as overly "cerebral," but that was not the only surprise I would discover about young Billy.
In the rubble of the bombed out building in Beirut where he died, a dark poem entitled "The War King" he had penned was discovered and sent to his parents. They showed it to me, and this poem afforded me a rare glimpse into an introspective and complex mind of which I had been ignorant.
Here is another, earlier poem by Billy:
Alabama Night
The air is still,
Thick and hot,
Drenched with the fragrance
Of honeysuckle and freshly cut grass.
The dull yellow lights
Of the fireflies
Dance to the constant tune
Of the crickets.
A dog barks, somewhere.
Small, invisible animals noisily
Make their way through the scrub and pine.
Lazily,
We sit back,
And listen to the music
Of an Alabama night.
Billy was the much-loved youngest child of Peggy and William Stelpflug, and in addition to his brother Joe, had three sisters, Laura, Kathy, and Christy. His death caused the family immeasurable sadness.
I would be remiss here if I neglected to address the omission of Billy Stelpflug's name on any war memorial in this area. The only memorial I can think of, actually, is in front of the Lee County Justice Center. And although it was installed years after the Beirut bombing, it lists only the local casualties up to the Vietnam War. I appeal to the powers that be to correct this oversight.
-Rob Mount, guest columnist
(Note: At Robert's memorial service only a few days later, his friend Scott read Alabama Night. And soon afterward, the town of Auburn built its Veterans Memorial, which honors all servicemen and women, including Billy and Robert.)
posted by Rena at
9:03 AM
6 Comments:
I talked with Peggy Stelpflug by phone last night. She and Billy's father have just returned from the 23rd annual memorial service for the Marines killed in the Beirut attack. She said it was fine for me to post her response to the web site:
"It's beautiful."
I appreciate your comment, Philip. Somehow, someone I've never met linked over to my silly blog and left a comment there, too. When people are uncomfortable about a person's death, and don't know what to say, my feeling is just say. Talk, say, tell the stories. So thanks.
Rena, Mary sent this to me. I realized upon reading the article about Billy Stelpflug that Joe Stelpflug Jr. is in my Emma's 5th grade class here in Raleigh. I knew that Katherine and Joe had both grown up in Auburn but had no idea of a connection with you all and Robert.
Rand and I are moved by the articles and photographs posted on this site. Thank you for sharing. Much love, Sarah Durant Esser
My name is Alan Aden and I also knew Rob. When he and Robin opened the pet store, I was frequently hanging around and sharing interests and experiences with him. After getting to know him, he offered me a position in the store. I still remember getting the fire bitten out of me after picking up a male sugar glider from behind a hung picture in the office. Rob assured me that the female was docile, although the male was not. He asked me to take the picture off the wall and show him the back so that he could identify the sex of the glider behind it. After identifying it as the female, I went to pick it up to replace it in it's rightful place. A sharp bite to the hand taught me that sometimes gender is hard to determine by a quick glance. Rob left a lasting impact on my life, and I will never forget him. Me finding this 11 years later is a testamnet to the impact he has made in my life. Until we meet again Rob...
Alan, thanks very much for this.
My name is Jed Martin. I knew Rob well. He was one of my best friends. We had some memorable trips together traveling to Florida and down to Costa Rica for a week. He was a truly unique guy. Funny and smart with a zest for life. I really miss my friend. I'm writing this in 2015. I think about him often.
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