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<em>DEE W. STONE,</em> son of Irene and Dee W. Stone Sr., was born on 17 February 1943 in Forest Hills, New York. His father was a member of the law firm Chadboume, Parks, Whiteside and Wolff in New York City and a colonel in the Reserves. He served in Africa with the 4th Infantry Division. Dee has two older sisters, Mary Stone Inwright of Tinton Falls, New Jersey and Grace Stone Marrion of Niantic, Connecticut. Dee’s early years were spent in Forest Hills. He attended the Kew Forest School in Kew Gardens, New York. The music director discovered that Dee had a good voice and invited him to sing with the Boys’ Choir of the Episcopal Church of the Heavenly Rest in New York City. He also performed in school productions of Gilbert & Sullivan operettas. In 1955, Dee entered the Manlius School and participated in football, baseball, choir, double quartet and Chapel Warden’s Society. He was awarded the Degree of Champion, Order of the Phoenix, for high academic standing, fidelity and devotion as a member of the Chapel Warden’s Society and assistance in B Company. He also was awarded the Military Medal for distinguished achievement and the degree of Commander of the Order of the Phoenix. He was awarded the Renssaeler Polytechnic Institute Medal for Mathematics and the Bausch & Lomb Medal for Science. Chet Kempinski, also a Manlius student, said Dee was the brigade adjutant and appeared to love the military even then shoes always shined, lots of pride, etc.</p>
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He graduated in 1960 and joined the Class of 1964 on 5 July 1960, having won a competitive appointment.</p>
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Woody Rodgers recalls: “A scared plebe, I double timed across central area, anxious that this short trip might end in disaster should I run into an upperclassman. Another plebe passed quickly, but I heard and sensed a sudden shoe scrape as he turned and, seemingly, began tracing my footsteps, soon breathing down my neck. Then, to my amazement, I heard, ‘Pssst. Hey, Rogers, follow me.’ Who was this crazy<br />
guy speaking out loud to me in such a location? I followed him up the stoops of some foreign division neither of us knew, and into some classmate’s room, equally unknown. The big fellow said, ‘Hi, I’m Bud Stone, and I wanted to say hello.’ Bud had been looking for me at the request of mutual friends, and the split second glimpse of my nametag was all it took for him to take the risk which led to our enduring friendship.</p>
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‘ ‘Thirty years later, the details of that meeting are still fresh. The event typifies the man open, non-critical, confident—who could get other men to follow his lead in any endeavor. A laughing, completely honest demeanor, the ability to sort out the important from the ‘small stuff,’ and to instruct others in negotiating the pitfalls of four years on the ‘rock.’ Our friendship endured across regiments as Bud helped me in so many ways to get through and get educated and led me in principle and approach in the ensuing 30 years.</p>
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“I remember visits to his home, his gracious parents and an outstanding 30-day leave in Europe. I remember walking down the Cadet Chapel aisle, singing some goose-pimply battle hymn, past a resplendent Supe and staff, Bud’s stentorian baritone leading the section. Then, disappearing into the woodwork, down the back stairs and out the side door and down the back stairwell to snatch 40 minutes of freedom. While the Protestant Corps still sat prisoner to reverendly exhortation, we relaxed, read the paper or got ready to ‘drag.’</p>
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“I tried to talk Bud out of his dream of flying in that uncertain period. Being an Air Force Junior and safely selected for medical school, I knew that fanatic little men would try to kill my friend. In the heartsick days following the news of his heroic death, I faced a less final threat of demise. An enraged professor of surgery threatened to expel me because of a botched presentation of a patient case history. While waiting for the ultimate decision, I asked myself what Bud would have done. I marched into the man’s ‘den,’ bearded the lion, and asked for another test of my fitness to serve. He consented, and I later finished the course with honors. I will always treasure the years of unqualified friendship that began with the words, ‘Pssst. Hey, Rogers, follow me.’ During his four years at West Point, he was vice president of the French Club, a member of the Astronomy Club, Math Forum, Rocket Society, Russian Club and Chapel Choir. He also taught Sunday School for three years.</p>
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As a second lieutenant, he served with the 1-19 Field Artillery in the 5th Infantry Divison at Fort Carson, Colorado. He then went to Ft. Wolters, Texas, where he trained as a helicopter pilot. After promotion to first lieutenant, he went to Ft. Rucker, Alabama to complete his training. Bud went to Vietnam in June 1966 and was killed in action 11 November 1966. He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Air Medal with nine Oak Leaf Clusters, the Purple Heart, the National Order of the Republic of Vietnam and the Cross of Gallantry with Palm. Military services were held on 28 November 1966, and he was laid to rest at West Point.</p>
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Dee Stone symbolized the wonders and happiness that America represents and, with no thought for his personal well being, made the supreme sacrifice while flying an escort mission with the 119th Aviation Company. When called upon to suppress enemy fire, Dee pulled out of formation and immediately directed his full firepower at the enemy heavy machine guns which were seriously endangering the troopships he was escorting.</p>
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For those of us who know him, it was Dee at his best, wanting to take the chance, knowing the danger, but also knowing that his actions might allow others to live. We knew him as a slightly overweight plebe who would take seemingly suicidal chances to help another classmate; as a trimmed down yearling who became a serious, yet ever-exuberant young man; as a cow, who became a resourceful and imaginative companion; and as a firstie, a well-rounded handsome, energetic contemporary who could, in a few seconds, give more reasons for life than many had given in a lifetime.</p>
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To his parents, Dee was the only son who grew up quickly and who was the pleasure of their lives. To his sisters, Dee was the little brother who was their pride and joy in life and a monument to them in death. To his friends, Dee represented friendship at it’s finest. He lived life to the fullest.</p>
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<em>Paul Rennie with family and friends</em></p>