Memory Day: A Gold Star teen meets her long-fallen father

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By Chris Field '91
 

On November 20, 2003, CPT George A. Wood, then the company commander of the 1-67 "Death Dealers" of the Army's 4th Infantry Division, was killed by an IED in Baqubah, Iraq. CPT Wood left behind a wife, Lisa, and a 3-year-old daughter, Maria.

I never met CPT Wood; I only knew him as "George" or "Woody." 13 years earlier, CPT Wood and I played college football together at Cornell University, toiling on the offensive line. About a month before George was killed, our college coach, Pete Noyes, invited me to write an article for our college football newsletter about George's transition from a college football behemoth into a position of military leadership in Iraq.

Sadly, he died only a few weeks after it was published and probably never read our distant salutation. It grieved me that soon after recalling our wonderful time in college, he was gone. The next thing I was asked to write was his obituary.

A year later, our team held George Wood Day to commemorate our fallen friend. Old teammates, coaches, military colleagues and George's family all gathered in Ithaca, NY to memorialize a great man and a stellar example of non-negotiable values and austere dedications. We all agreed: Woody was our brother, a driven warrior at Cornell and beyond. He died as he lived, devoted to the mission in front of him.

I'll never forget the words of George's then 4-year-old daughter when she saw the photos of George that the team displayed. "That's not Daddy!" she squealed.

It was an easy mistake for a youngster to make: George played college football at upwards of 320 pounds but had leaned out to about 200 pounds for his military—and parenting—career. Those words, initially cute and funny, became vaguely upsetting. Though we were trying to do something uplifting for her, she didn't recognize the man we were talking about.

And despite our best intentions, when we all returned to our lives, things went quiet, as they often do. I didn't speak with Lisa for several years, though through the grapevine, I heard that she had remarried, and that she and her new husband had started a family of their own. It was gratifying to learn that she had found love again and had slowly rebuilt her life.

But with the advent of social media, we reconnected a few years ago. It was apparent that she had married a man who didn't want to replace George but who warmly welcomed George's memory into their lives. George was a giant of a man, and an even greater soul, and I maintain a deep admiration for Lisa's husband, John, who knew he was tasked with safeguarding the widow and daughter of a man who cast a long shadow.

About six months ago, Lisa began contacting some of George's old friends and colleagues, asking for a favor. She was planning on putting together something like a "memory box" for her daughter and asked people to relay stories, anecdotes, photos, videos or anything that would give their daughter a more complete impression of her father.

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