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<em>Richard Albert Green </em>entered the world his usual impatient self on 15 December 1948 in Pottstown, Pennsylvania. Always the rebel, he decided that a premature birth would be no exception and, indeed, it was clearly the best opportunity to start a trend! More than any other characteristic, his independence would carry him through life with an ability to absorb adversity without taking it personally. Dick could always be counted on to be a friend, for he saw no need in excluding anyone. He saw something positive in everyone he encountered. A peculiar trait or quirk of character might be what everyone should possess!</div>
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Shortly after his birth, his parents, Howard M. and Emily L. Green, moved to Glen Rock, New Jersey. During his high school years, his many friends would gather upstairs at his home in the “Greenies’ Lounge,” where soda, goodies, and friendship were amply stocked. He played a large alto horn in the school band. Since the case resembled a small whale, he and his horn case became known as “Moby” and Dick. On the debating team, he acquired the rhetorical skills which would later be flourished in battles with tactical officers brandishing quill sheets. At the local Episcopal Church, he was both an acolyte and junior choir member. Of great importance to Dick was his involvement in the Boy Scouts. It was a proud day for all when Mrs. Green pinned on her son’s Eagle Scout Badge.</div>
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When it came time to select a college, he shopped with his parents and decided to try the examinations for West Point—and made it. Appointed by Senator Harrison Williams, he was one of two senatorial appointees from New Jersey. A good student in high school, he continued to excel at the Point. Assigned to Company B-1, not only did he hold the common belief that the 1st Regiment was the most strict in the Corps but that B-1 was the toughest company in the regiment. He held his assignment to be an indication that the entire Army had a personal vendetta against him. Nevertheless, Dick reasoned that the best way to prove them wrong would be to test the system to its limits—and to succeed.</div>
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Greener’s flashing eyes and singular smile were his best allies during those four years. Attempts to maintain his hair as long as the regulations conceivably allowed resulted in a series of “hair wars” which were legendary in the battalion. More than once he earned an “8 and 8” for his efforts.</div>
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Typically, he was always ready for fun or anything else which remotely suggested a change of routine. During the final exams of cow year, Baltimore, Boehm, and Johnson were engaged in one of the most ferocious, non-stop “Risk” games ever played in B-1. Each night in the wee morning hours as the game was about to fold, Dick would glide into the room, grab the dice, and challenge the winner. The result was, obviously enough, another “all nighter.”</div>
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It also almost caused Baltimore and Johnson to flunk the “Juice” exam.</div>
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Dick had numerous friends in B-l. In particular, Paul Terry and he were the closest of friends. Paul spent so many short leaves at Dick’s house that Mrs. Green called him her “Nebraska son.”</div>
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Dick was extremely serious when branch selections approached. He spent hours canvassing the various branch representatives from personnel. He ultimately selected Military Intelligence, with a detail in Armor. His excitement at the prospect of being in Military Intelligence was evident to all.</div>
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Armor required Dick to attend its basic course at Fort Knox after graduation. Following completion of the usual military schools, he arrived in Vietnam on 11 October 1971. He was killed in action on 3 December 1971 as he served as platoon leader, F Troop, 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment. A posthumous award ceremony was held at West Point on 23 May 1972, at which time his parents were presented with several awards and decorations earned by Dick.</div>
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How many times has a family member or classmate taken pen in hand seeking to distill the life of a fallen son or classmate into a few short paragraphs so that all may recall him? How difficult has the writer found it, groping in his ignorance of the language, to pick those few words which will best epitomize through eternity, the loss that all who knew him feel? Surely, if Dick had been asked to write his own epitaph, he would have demurred and laughingly retorted—“Well, what can I say?” And how often he said that! In retrospect, however, it proved to be fitting. As heartily as he lived for himself, he courageously died for his country. What more need be said? Rest in peace, Dick.</div>
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<em>His Classmates and Mother</em></div>
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