Tough Love SSgt. Stinson Style

After Toby passed away I heard stories about his time in the service. Fellow soldiers shedding the pain they felt by telling funny stories about the time they spent with my brother. Some of them talking about how they may not have survived deployments without his leadership. That his dedication to his soldiers was bar none. That they never worried while under his command.

I immediately thought back to earlier times in Toby’s service. Phone calls that would take place while he was on duty. We would be chatting about this, that or the other and suddenly profanity would come exploding from the other end of the line.

“What the fuck is wrong with you private? Are you fucking stupid? Are you blind? Please tell me that you didn’t just track mud all over my white fucking floors. My clean, white, shiny fucking floors. They ain’t clean anymore are they private? ARE THEY?”

I would hear some murmurs that were more than likely sad excuses for an explanation because they seemed to just enhance Toby’s dissatisfaction. “What? WHAT? No you cannot take a shower then come back and clean my fucking hallway! Are you out of your ever fucking mind? You will clean my hallway now.”

Then he would lift the receiver back up to his ear and calmly ask me where we were. I would laugh and tell him to play nice with the other soldiers. He would laugh and say that WAS him playing nice. I loved his laugh. A deep, hearty laugh. I always envisioned, even when I thought we had the rest of our lives together to laugh, his head slightly tilting back and his mouth open wide as that laugh entered the world. It was always like I was standing right next to him.

That night in the mess hall they told stories about the tough Toby. The tough commanding officer that demanded the best from every single one of his soldiers. The sergeant that pushed, yelled and smashed out his cigarettes while working to make them better soldiers. Everyday.  The sergeant that stood in front of them and behind them everyday of their service together. Touching stories. Funny stories. Honest, make your family proud stories. Stories that outside of the direct contextual information, provided insight in Toby’s life, insight that we never had before. Toby didn’t talk much about his service. I guess it’s a military thing. Neither one of my grandfather’s ever talked about their service in WWII. I didn’t even know my Grandfather Hlavaty served in the service until the summer before his death. Toby gave us enough details to help us worry as little as possible. Ever the protector of those he loved.

This brings to mind a silly little story that goes back before Toby joined the Army. He had removed the turbulence from his life and was cruising the straight and narrow while looking at a bright future. I was enrolled at the local junior college and had blown my knee out playing volleyball. I was 2-3 days out of surgery and pretty much bed bound. My mother had been keeping an eye on me, but she needed to go to work and Toby was living at home, so he volunteered to check on his pathetic sister. I vaguely remember Toby coming in while I slept and whispering in my ear that he was going for a bike ride, and that he wouldn’t be gone long. I was on some pretty heavy pain meds, so as I nodded OK, I fell back asleep. I would wake an hour or so later to a silent house. I was hungry and thirsty so I grabbed my crutches and hobbled towards the kitchen. When I arrived in front of the refrigerator the tears began to fall. The tragedy? Food and drink galore, but no way to remove them from the fridge. I had to use the crutches, which required both hands. So although I could touch food and see drink, I could not move them. I just lost it. Sobbing uncontrollable wobbling on my crutches. Damn pain pills. Just then the phone rang and I managed to answer it. It was my mother calling to check in from work and I was a crying mess. Thirty seconds later Toby walked in and there I stood crying like a baby and loudly proclaiming that I had no idea why I was crying. His face changed from the exhilarated smile of a great workout to a WTF is going on here face. He walked quickly to my side and I handed him the phone. He assured my mother that he would take care of me and hung up the phone. He put his arm around me and gently guided me back to my bedroom wiping tears from my face. “You’re OK sister, I’m home and I’m going to take care of you.” He was so genuinely concerned and upset that I had woken up before he returned. He put me back in bed, made sure I was comfortable and said, “Want to watch a movie sister? I’ll make us a couple sandwiches and sit in bed with you and we’ll watch a movie. Ok?” He did. He sat there eating a sandwich and stroking my head until I feel back to sleep.

He was so tender and caring. I often see him in my mind with an arm around one of his soldiers, convincing them too that everything would be alright. I doubt he stroked anyone’s hair, he probably never actually put an arm around anyone, but his sentiment would have been the same. It’s that core care-taker characteristic that endeared him to his soldiers. No matter the language or volume, they all knew he cared. They all echoed the truth behind the words that he spoke, SSgt. Stinson cared. He cared for every single soldier he served with, like he cared for me that day in Arizona. In his own way, for 10 years, he made sandwiches and watched movies with his men and women until they felt safe.

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