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<p>If <em>Richard Allen “Dick” Chatfield</em> were with us today, one wonders if he’d be pondering 11-dimensional string theory as part of his normal waking hours. Dick used any time offered him to work on equations and theory proofs in his head. While his parents and sister cheered an Army touchdown in Michie Stadium, Dick was standing beside them, deep in thought, likely working on a nagging equation, attempting to solve a gnarly conundrum of theoretical proportion. Such thought came naturally: his great-grandfather was a Heidelberg Ph.D. chemical engineer with patents still being used today; his grandfather was head engineer at Standard Oil; his father an engineer in the nuclear power industry. Dick was always willing to work with cadets who were just trying “to get through” their math, science, and engineering classes. He was like that; with any and all of us, his classmates.</p>
<p>At Dick’s funeral, an officer emerged from a group from the Pentagon, approached his sister and said: “The American scientific community has just lost an incredible mind. He held such immense promise for us!” </p>
<p>Dick was the first born of Alexander Chatfield and Helen Mae Reiter Chatfield, and the only sibling to his surviving sister, Reverend Leslie Anne Chatfield (Karg), married, with two married daughters and three granddaughters. They all talk about “Uncle Dick, the family legend” despite never meeting him.</p>
<p>Dick joined the USMA Class of 1966 on July 2, 1962, appointed from Delaware after passing on a full scholarship to Yale for physics and chemistry. Academically, he ranked in the top five percent. An equally great athlete as a gymnast on the pommel horse, he lettered multiple years (like his father, he had been a pole vaulter and wrestler in high school). He pleased his gymnast mother, who was selected to the U.S. Gymnastic Team for the 1936 Olympics in Germany. He participated in the Russian Club and Math Forum. Clearly goal-oriented, with crystal clear direction, he balanced these attributes with a truly deep free spirit which “marched to the beat of its own drum.” Such interior spirit did not often get in the way of his duties, with a few exceptions. His coaches and teammates knew such an occasion only too well. One weekend Dick went skiing, injuring his ankle. On Monday, with a cast on his foot, he was told by Coach Maloney, “You broke team rules by skiing; now you must train and compete with that cast on your foot.” Dick walked to the pommel horse, worked out and competed in the next meet with the cast on his ankle.</p>
<p>After graduation, Dick fired up his new 1966 TR4–A Triumph convertible, popped his surfboard into a seat and drove to the ocean, singing, on perfect pitch, Handel’s mighty choruses or the close harmonies of the Mamas and the Papas—with equally joyful abandon. Often, he would take his sister with him, harmonizing all the way. Singing was a lifelong love: he sang in the Chapel Choir all four years and one in the Glee Club. Music was his exquisite passion. He and sister Leslie were trained as classical pianists, often playing four-hand piano pieces when he was home on leave. An honor he especially cherished was permission to play the organs at the Cadet Chapel. What a joy!</p>
<p>After graduation, he attended Airborne and Ranger schools. Dick and I were Ranger buddies, working as gymnasts in Ranger training. If required to do push-ups for any infraction, we would do handstand push-ups to fulfill our punishment. When required to climb rope, we climbed using only our hands and arms. One Ranger instructor was so shocked, he exclaimed, “Those Rangers are climbing rope without using their hands!” He meant to say, “…without using their legs!” We laughed uncontrollably, taking pride in performing at a high level as disciplined gymnasts. </p>
<p>In the mountains on our first patrol, Dick was point man, leading us through pitch-black forest in extreme terrain. Around midnight, we heard a scream; the patrol stopped. Word filtered back to me, “Ranger Chatfield stepped in a hole; broke his leg.” I couldn’t go to him: the Ranger Instructor had stopped me. Later I learned Dick crawled a quarter mile (demonstrating his strength and mental grit) to a road where he was evacuated. When I visited him in the hospital, he said he wouldn’t be recycled into another class but would go to his duty station in Germany. That was the last time I saw my gymnastics teammate and Ranger buddy. Dick competed on the pommel horse in gymnastics competitions in Germany.</p>
<p>In August ’67, I learned of an accident on the Autobahn in Germany where Dick’s vehicle exploded into fire. With severe burns, he was hospitalized, then airlifted to Fort Sam Houston Burn Center in Texas. Dick fought valiantly for nearly three weeks, telling his father that, though he may not be able to use his body, he still had his mind and would use it to be successful in life. </p>
<p>He lost his battle on August 23, 1967. Members of his family, who loved him deeply, were close at hand. His life inspires his family, classmates, teammates, and everyone honored to have known him. His fighting spirit, buoyant sense of humor, kindness, compassion, unbreakable determination, and love of country will always inspire us. He made us all better people. </p>
<p>Dick, you walk with us with every step. We cherish your memory in the days we are blessed to live. We will see you on the other side. Keep the light on for us. Thank you for accompanying us all on our journey.</p>
<p><em>— Paul Roggenkamp ’66, gymnastics teammate and Ranger buddy</em></p>
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