The best definition of ‘valor’ I have come across is ‘strength of mind in regard to danger, that quality which enables a man to encounter danger with firmness and courage.’ Reading of vice-presidential nominee Tim Walz and his stolen valor made me think of my father’s service during  WWII and, to a lesser extent, my own some thirty years later.

My dad, like a great number of young men, was drafted into the military in early 1942. Was spending the next three and a half years in the jungles of the Pacific fighting the Japanese the way he would have preferred to spend that time? I believe the answer is a firm no. He had just become engaged to my mother, and I’m sure marriage and settling down to raise a family were his top priorities. But life and duty to the nation got in the way. Shirking that duty was not something Dad would have ever considered. So he went to far-off places like Kiska, Attu, and Kwajalein as a member of the Seventh Infantry Division and fought for the duration of the war.

Dad spent much of his service time as a medic, manning a two-man stretcher to carry the wounded from battle. One day, three men on the other end of the stretcher were wounded, one severely. Dad received minor shrapnel wounds at least twice during battle, but unlike individuals such as John Kerry in the Vietnam War, he declined the Purple Hearts he had earned. He claimed he didn’t believe he deserved that form of recognition after seeing so many men killed and severely wounded. He wanted no part of what he saw as mere bragging. He graciously accepted a Bronze Star award for his service. He did tell me that when he discovered that the rotation from the battle zone to return home at the end of the war was based on a points system and that Purple Hearts carried a lot of points, he wished he had taken those medals. That comment was based on love for my mother, not on wanting to steal any valor for himself. That love ultimately produced eight children, of whom I am the oldest.

As I grew to adulthood, I often wondered how I might have acted in the situations my father had endured. Would I have been John Wayne, bravely battling onscreen enemies as only the Duke could do, or would I be Wally Cox -- Mr. Peepers -- a milquetoast television character of questionable courage. I got a chance to find out.

Serving as an Army dentist in the early seventies. I was the one out of over one hundred fifty dentists at Ft. Benning, GA, who received foreign orders. I was to be sent to Korea, a thirteen-month tour that would have eliminated the possibility of my taking the Georgia dental board exam necessary to practice dentistry in that state, which was my intent.

My commanding officer told me that I could not delay my deployment in order to take the exam. When I asked if there were any other alternatives, he laughed and said I could always volunteer to go to Vietnam. He explained that a Vietnam tour of duty was only twelve months, so I would leave a month later and be able to take the board exam before leaving for Southeast Asia. When I said I might be interested in that option, he looked at me like I was crazy and asked me to consider it for a few days.

I discussed the decision with my father, who gave me his blessing, though he insisted I be the one to tell my mother rather than him. She was tougher to convince, but eventually, she also gave me her approval. I would be heading to Vietnam.

During my time there, I was given a chance to observe my own behavior under the stress of battle. One morning in December of 1972, American bombers got their grid coordinates reversed on a cloudy day and dropped their bombs on the Da Nang Airbase, where our dental clinic was located. The only ordnance with which I was familiar were Viet Cong rockets, which were fired at us daily. The American bombs were substantially larger and louder, leading me to believe we were all about to be killed.

Somehow, I managed to get myself, my patient in the chair, and some newly arrived technicians moved to the safest area of our clinic. When the bombing stopped after a few minutes, I found I was, surprisingly, still alive. I realized that during the ordeal, I had not been frightened. Rather, I did what I could to save myself and others and waited for what seemed a certain death. I seemed to be watching from out of body, a surreal experience. Of course, when the adrenalin wore off, I was shaking like everyone else.

When I returned to Ft. Benning at the end of my tour, I discovered I was to be presented with a Bronze Star award, an award given to all dental officers who served in Vietnam. It was to be awarded at a formal ceremony for all medical and dental officers at the base. I told my commanding officer that I was proud to accept the medal, but I asked that he present it to me in the dental clinic rather than in front of a crowd. I felt undeserving of the award, the same one my father received for true bravery. My CO complied, gave it to me in the clinic, and I still have it in my home office today.

Ultimately, I was satisfied that I had more of the Duke’s movie persona in me than Cox’s Mr. Peepers. I have since discovered that Wayne, unlike his screen characters, asked for, and received, a deferment from WWII as the sole support of his family, although many actors and others in the same situation did serve. To his credit, he never claimed to be the men he portrayed onscreen. Wally Cox did not serve in the military and, sadly, died, ironically, during the time I was in Vietnam. My initial impressions of Wayne and Cox were, at best, ill-informed.

In the years since, I have told people about my voluntary service in Vietnam, but I always explain the reason that I made the choice. It was a good decision for me, since I passed the Georgia dental licensing exam and practiced my profession for over forty years in the Atlanta area.

I would never presume to call myself brave or valorous, but I am satisfied with my behavior while in the military. Tim Walz was a Master Sergeant (E-8) who claimed to be a Command Sergeant Major (E-9), the highest enlisted rank and a rank he had been conditionally awarded but not yet earned. He then abandoned his colleagues rather than be deployed to a war zone. I believe he comes up short in firmness and courage. I see no strength of mind in a time of danger.

I like the guy I see when I look in the mirror. I wonder if Tim Walz can say the same.

Bill Hansmann is a dentist and dental educator with over fifty years in the profession. He continues to teach and write political blogs and semi-mediocre novels while living with his wife and cats in Georgia.

Image: USMC - Marine Corps Archives