Remembering Rob Taylor

(Note: the quotes in this piece are from a transcription of an interview with Sgt. Rob Taylor in Khenjekak, Afghanistan, C. Co. on February 2012. Sgt. Rob Taylor. Born Neville, NJ. August 1, 1981.)

This time last year I was heading for a two-day interview at Syracuse University. On the drive through western Massachusetts, I got a message on my phone. My friend Rob’s sister called to tell me her brother had died by suicide. It was President’s Day, Feb. 17, 2020.

Before the pandemic lockdown, I flew to Colorado and attended a memorial for Rob at Fort Collins and his burial at Fort Logan National Cemetery in Denver. It’s just days since Rob died a year ago. Almost a year since our lives were irrevocably altered. By the death of Rob. By all the pandemic deaths. By deaths of beloveds in my family.

I had been embedded in Afghanistan in the winter of 2011-2012 with the soldiers of the 1st Battalion, Fifth Infantry Regiment of the 1/25 Stryker Brigade Combat Team from Fort Wainwright, Alaska.

Rob Taylor walked in front of me on patrol. When he wasn’t walking in front of me, he was walking on point on patrol, swinging a Vallon and searching for possible IEDs. He was a brave soldier and a dedicated leader to walk point; he was equally brave and a model of leadership to walk in front of a journalist.

After Rob’s death, his platoon leader, Bryan O’Neal said that as a journalist I would be good with words. He asked me to write something that would let people know what a great man and a great warrior Sgt. Rob Taylor was. 

I was, and will remain always, honored by his request. It’s an easy task. Rob was a great man and a great warrior. And it’s a heart-rending task, because he left us. 

Cheryl Hatch. Daughter of a career solider and Vietnam vet. I grew up in the Army tribe. I know the culture. Yet, when I embedded with the 1-5 in Afghanistan, I was no longer a member of the tribe. I was a civilian. Worse still: a journalist. And worst of all, probably, a woman. 

As a general rule, soldiers don’t like or trust journalists. Some may have been burned. Some just hate. C. Co. was no exception. I spent two months embedded. I knew there were guys who flat out couldn’t stand the sight of me and wouldn’t have batted an eye if I’d met with some unfortunate end. They were the exception. There were those who avoided me and those who talked trash about me behind my back.

I did not have to worry about it because Sgt. Rob Taylor had my back. Always.

On patrol, Rob walked in front of me. I believe O’Neal assigned him the gig. He knew Rob could handle it—and me.

Rob had a rare gift—and I believe it’s because he was raised by, grew up with and was loved by strong women. Mom. Lisa. Liza.

He treated me like a human being, like a person with a job to do. He didn’t treat me like one of the guys. Nor patronize me as a woman. 

He showed me respect. He tossed his bawdy jokes over my shoulders to the soldiers behind me. He let me carry my own gear, climb walls, jump ditches. In return, I kept my spacing, did my job and did everything in my power not to be a liability. 

A good journalist knows the best way to tell a story is to let the subject’s voice be heard. When I learned Rob had died, I ran to the boxes with my notebooks from Afghanistan. I tore through them until I found this small cranberry Moleskine with one long interview with Rob, in a tent, on a dark night, after a long day. Rob made time to talk to me. Trusted me. Brave man. Great man. Great warrior.

He told me why he chose to abandon his lucrative career in finance and join the Army.

“I call it my quarter-life crisis. I’ve been successful in life at many things. But I didn’t feel confident about the direction I was going and I wanted to find something that I could be proud of.”

He wanted to be “a member of a team but still excel as individual.”

“My GT score was a 129.  110 or higher. ASVAT out of 99. 94 out of 99 on ASVAT.

“There were a lot of options for me. Infantry was what I wanted. I didn’t want to find myself back behind a desk crunching numbers.”

He loved being an infantryman. He loved his soldiers. 

“There’s (something) romantic and there’s something real about going to war. Doing it would allow me to quantify the real things in my life.

“I know I was looking for something, but I didn’t know what it would be.

“It’s the front line. It’s the ultimate test of an individual. You always have to be bigger, faster, stronger than the guy across from you. 

“What bigger challenge is there than to step toe to the line?

“We deployed in April 2011. When I said good-bye to the family at the airport, the emotions were as real as I thought they would be.”

3PL: He loved you guys. 

“The biggest advantage that 3^rd Platoon has is the camaraderie.

“I’ve never jumped in front of a bullet for anybody. What’s the hard part is when you get guard duty and your buddy’s having a hard time. You learn that juicy stuff about someone. That’s the glue that really creates a bond that goes beyond the battlefield.

“Trust. Loyalty. Whether you’re in war or in life, you need someone who’s gonna do more than his job. You need someone who’s gonna hold you, someone who’s gonna pick you up. Most people have that with your family.

“I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve learned more about myself—what makes me happy. The obvious: the relationships, the friendships. 

“I like being able to depend on myself and my physical abilities. I like people looking to me for leadership, camaraderie, advice. I like feeling strong. I like feeling confident. I like just how much I love the people in my life.

“My family. My friends. My fiancée. 

“Not that it takes war to measure those things. It allows you a little something more to fight for, to protect.

“You’re more than qualified, more than able to do whatever it takes to preserve them.

“The innocence of my 5-year-old niece

“(the) perspective my fiancée has on the world

“The fragile age of my mother

Air Assault Mission

Rob was the guy who often took point and swung the Vallon, sweeping ahead of his buddies to clear the way.

One summer day in 2011. First day of an eight-day mission.

“Second Squad was on point. I was up front.  Leaving that compound with a Vallon, I didn’t think I ever prayed that much. I had to stay focused on the job. And there were people relying on me to be as effective….

“Every swing that day— I pray God. I pray God to please return us safely away from harm. I ask that you fill me with your spirit. Guide me to make decisions that will keep myself and others safe. And do my job as effectively and efficiently as possible.

“I’ve always been a very religious person, but not a Sunday church person. But I’ve always had a strong faith.

Rob joked that walking in front of me was a vacation.

Swinging the Vallon

“Sgt. O’Neal, team leaders do it. He’s expected to be demanding.  Once you bear that burden, you don’t want anyone you care about to do it. You hate it. It’s mentally, emotionally, physically exhausting.

“It’s absolutely, without a doubt, a burden I will always choose to bear rather than have my guys do it.

“…I think I’m pretty damn good with it. I’d swing the hell out of that the first couple of months.

“At the end of the day, there’s human error. You have to be the best. You have to have confidence in yourself. You can’t control who steps on an IED. You can’t control who puts it in. If you always do your best, there’s no room for guilt or error.

“You need to know you left it all out there.

KIA

All the guys were a KIA bracelet. You can see it in the photo.

Wood’s. Everyone in 3 PL wears it. Ist squad. 

“I was the first one there. I’m not glad that it was me, but I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else. I take comfort maybe even Sgt. O’Neal and I are the only ones who had to bear the burden…

“I’m happy I was able to protect those guys from that. 

“No chance. He died instantly. I got there and Sgt. O’Neal made the decision. Taylor, you’re holding your shit together. I need you now. Pushed out sector. I felt good that I was able to do that.

“The memories aren’t something I enjoy, but I wouldn’t have wanted it to be anyone else.

He respected you, O’Neal.

“Sgt. O’Neal. One of the things that gives Sgt. O’Neal an edge?? as a leader… he had the ability for empathy and he can balance it. He acknowledges human needs. Everyone who comes here takes comfort in it.

Near the end of this interview, Rob talked about his family. I had left the most personal questions until the end.

“My sister and I have always been close. She gets nervous. She gets scared. She always says I’m the strongest person she knows. She never doubts what I’m capable of. 

“My mom—she’s proud of me. She supports me. She’s really proud of me. 

“Everyone that knew me when I was six….I know you. Don’t be a hero. Come back to us.

November 2009: Engagement to Liza

“She recognizes that it makes me happy and she supports that. She doesn’t care what I do as long as she gets to be next to me.

Ending

I was prepping for a job interview a few days before Rob died. I was looking through my clips from Afghanistan, and I found the story my students at Allegheny had written about Rob for Veterans Day. I remember how he showed up for the students via Skype—how his college football coach, Coach Matlak, showed up to surprise him.

And a few years later, he made an epic journey to reach Meadville, Pennsylvania, for the last home game before coach retired. He said, as long as I make it there to shake his hand and thank him. And he did.

I was looking at his face, the photo with him smiling and Kent Young next to him. I was thinking of him. He was on my mind. And I didn’t text him. I didn’t call. I regret it that I didn’t take a few minutes to reach out.

O’Neal is right. Rob was a great man and a great warrior.

He was brave and strong. Not just in mind and muscle, but in heart.

I know because he walked in front of me on patrol and took that detail seriously, respecting my job and my duty. I know because he sat in a tent on a dark night in Khenjekak and trusted me with his story. 

He loved his family, all his family: his late father, Pops, memorialized on a tat on his right bicep. His mom. His sister and her kids. His beloved Liza and his three children.

It’s hard to come to terms with how he left. I’ve thought about it.

I figure he did what he wanted to do. He took point. He walked out into the darkness, braving the minefield, shouldering the burden so that others wouldn’t have to.

He got tired. It got darker. And he pressed on until he couldn’t.

Rob needs to know that I would have taken point. I would have walked ahead of him in the darkness. I’ve known that darkness. I would have grabbed his hand and led him out.

And I know that any one of you, his buddies, would have thrown him over your shoulder and carried him out. I know. We all know. And Rob knew you would have.

And his chose to take point. Go out ahead. Shoulder the burden.

Sgt. Rob Taylor was a great man and a great warrior.

Copyright 2020 Cheryl Hatch ALL RIGHTS RESERVED