Note from Vicki Bell: This post, written by welding instructor Marty Rice, honors his students, particularly those who have served in the Armed Forces, and illustrates the special bond between teacher and student.
Kyle Yother, back from Iraq in 2008, and Marty Rice
One of the worst things a teacher can hear is the death of a student. I've lost them to suicide, drowning, car and motorcycle accidents, and a plane crash. Two, a Soldier and Marine, fought during the roughest times in Iraq, only to come home and be taken in a motorcycle wreck and plane crash. So young and so much ahead of them, they went too soon.
After you've taught high school a while you get where you can predict a lot of student's personalities the first day of class. Some more than others of course, but with Kyle I pegged him pretty much right away. His ornery smile and eyes cutting back and forth around the classroom told me he was gonna be a handful.
Sure enough, as I was talking about all of the virtues of being out in the welding field, I saw his hand go up. In a voice that was way too nice and polite he asked, “Well then, Mr. Rice, might I ask why you aren't out there making all that big money right now?" He looked at his best pal, Zach, who nodded with approval of his wisenheimer question. Without missing a beat I told him it was "because it's fun teaching knuckleheads like you."
Kyle was always getting in trouble back at his home campus, but at our career center it usually just took me hollering "KNOCK IT OFF!!!" to get him back on track. He and Zach loved welding in the shop, but the classroom was a different story. They were two peas in a pod, and I must've told them to "SHUT UP" a million times. They'd look at me with these sickening sad faces like I had just hurt their feelings. Five minutes later they'd start yapping all over again.
Kyle was tough, and strong as an ox, but one day I noticed something sad about him. I'm blessed with a sixth sense of feeling there’s something up with one of my guys or gals. When I get that feeling, almost like the hairs standing up on my neck, I'll call them in my office for a one-on-one talk.
When I asked Kyle what was wrong, he looked at me with tears in his eyes. Someone had told him he would never amount to anything, and it hurt him deeply.
I gave him a pep talk, assuring him it was up to HIM, whether he'd amount to anything. When he regained his composure, I had him open my office door as I pretended to be yelling at him. Since that happened quite often, no one was suspicious if he had a tear in his eye, and he went on with his work in the shop.
Kyle got in trouble one too many times at his home campus and ended up transferring to another school. I didn't see him again until a couple of years later, when one of my students told me there was a soldier wanting to talk with me. There he was, fresh out of Army boot camp standing tall, looking proud. He'd come by to tell me he was sorry he didn’t finish my class, but wanted me to know he was indeed going to amount to something.
A few months later I heard Kyle had shipped off to Iraq. After just a few months in that country, he got an early R&R and came by to see me. He was excited as heck and couldn't wait to tell me what he'd done. Seems his buddy's Humvee had only a small armor plate that left him exposed to sniper fire. So Kyle had finagled a welding machine and built braces to hold bulletproof glass.
One morning, after returning from a patrol, his buddy literally pulled him out of his rack telling him to come quick. Kyle thought they were taking incoming mortar fire, but his friend assured him they weren't. At his buddy's vehicle, he saw the shattered but still intact bulletproof glass on the brackets he had fabricated. His do-it-yourself "up-armor" had probably saved his buddy"s life.
He looked out at my shop and said, "Here's where I learned how to do it." I told him how honored I was and how much I appreciated him taking part of his precious R&R time to come see me. As I watched him leave I realized how blessed I was to be a teacher.
Kyle found out his tour was extended when he got back to Iraq, which meant it'd be a full year before he'd be back home. We emailed back and forth, and he told me of going on IED patrols. He loved the adrenaline rush and was very proud of what he and his buddies were doing to help both our guys and innocent civilians. He'd sometimes volunteer to take an extra patrol for someone who was married or a short timer.
When he got home, I told him whoever said he'd never amount to anything could only hope to equal his legacy. He smiled and said he'd just put in for EOD (explosive ordinance disposal). I asked if he was crazy, and he told me, "Everyone has their time, Mr. Rice; if God calls me, I'll go doing what I wanted to do!" He was gung ho and ready to go. He loved the Army, loved living dangerously, and loved serving his country.
After school one day one, of my former students came to see me, as they often do. At first I didn't recognize him; they change so quickly after high school. When I did recognize him, I knew something was wrong. He asked if I'd heard about Kyle and Zach, and I felt sick to my stomach. When I said no, he told me they'd both been killed in motorcycle wrecks, only a month apart from each other.
Sean, Brandon, Emmitt, Kyle, Zach, Travis, BJ, and Carson … you went too soon. Rest in peace fellas. I thank God for my brief time with all of you.
Excerpts from an email from Kyle written in Iraq, June 2007. Punctuation flaws are because it was written quickly from a combat zone with limited time and computer access …
mr, rice.
ive got those pics i told you about, the different things ive welded
up over here as far as small weld jobs on the vehicles to the uparmor, cause
we arent getting funded the way we should. i had a 45 day long mission.im a engineer equipment mechanic. they (Infantry) got me rolling out on missions with them over here,
its awesome. i do the same stuff they do, route clearance (think i told you bout that, we go out drive 5 to 10mph and look out a window for i.e.d hoping we find them before they find us) to normal patrols and guarding I.P. (iraqi police) stations. i love getting behind that fifty cal. nothing like it! and i also get to wrench which ive always
loved to do.but its awesome talking to you. every now and then ill be welding and ill catch myself telling myself how to weld a certain way and it makes me think of the welding booths. im trying to teach a few of the other guys simple stuff i talk to zak chesters lil sister everynow and then but take care mr. rice, thanks for all of your prayers from you and your friends.
About the Author: Vicki Bell
I'am a vet and was and now lucky again to have a son in Mr. Rices class! This last letter brought tears to these old eyes and respect for our boys serving. They change always for the better having had his rath! The kids seem to have a sixth sense that he respects them no matter how loud he yells at them. He's more than a teacher! He's family! Some of these kids dont have much at home but one year in Rice's class seem to last forever! Thanks Marty for being there! A very proud father.
3/1/2011, 2:00 am
Mr. Rice,
I hold on dearly to the memory of Carson's countenance, whenever he heard the word "welding." Before he passed, he and I took a trip to Waco to visit TSTC. You should have seen him light up in discussions with various welding instructors there, several of whom said they'd come to your class before to talk about TSTC. These instructors spoke very highly of you, which made Carson's chest puff up even more to be able to say he graduated from your instruction.
I look back now, and I'm so ashamed to remember I wondered how we would afford sending him to TSTC, putting him up in living quarters on campus for a couple of years. He was so excited to learn that about the time he would complete his Associates Degree at TSTC, they were predicting heavy involvement in preparing welders for nuclear plant work, which would mean he'd stay for an additional third year to qualify for the task. Looking back, well, there’s no looking back.
I tell you, I can't hardly look at his helmet and gloves, see the marks of hot metal scars on the plastic and leather, see the grunge on the helmet lens, remember the cotton shirts we bought at Academy, see genuine jesters of pride at his accomplishments when he brought home completed projects for Julie, me and the family to see…Julie and I miss him so much.
I am so blessed to know you, to know the man that Carson spoke so highly of, to know that even after Carson finished his last class of high school, he'd still drop by to see you, to feel honored to sit and just visit with you.
I wanted to let you know that the podium that you guys completed with Carson to donate to Fellowship Church in Grapevine is still in use in the church Chapel. In fact, Lisa Young, Ed Young's wife used it for one of her heavily attended Flavour Women's conferences. Not only did she use it, she closed the night announcing that Carson had made it, that Carson had taken his own life, that Carson had Bipolar Disorder, and that Fellowship was committed to begin determining how it could do a better job of reaching out to individuals like Carson and others with illnesses like his in the future. Julie and I have been in several discussions already with the church. It is slow going. I will eventually edit down a tape of the presentation, and when I do, I will be sure to make a copy for you.
Disorders of the brain are extremely complex. The brain is the largest organ in our body. Bipolar is not cancer, not heart disease. It doesn’t present itself in a package that can be identified and treated acutely with excellent results. It’s understood by few and feared by most, as the result of unintended ignorance, and this I speak of is the medical professional community, including pediatricians, primary physicians, Psychologists and Psychiatrists. Bipolar to the rest of non-medical folks is just simply “out-of-sight, out-of-mind.”
There is no one drug that is the cure-all for Bipolar. In fact, there are so many complications with medicinal treatment of this illness, an individual with Bipolar can take five and more prescription medicines…and still suffer, still not be “normal.’ You begin to wonder if the combination of medicines becomes the culprit, but medicinal trial and error is still required for many that suffer with this illness. Thankfully, many do find relief. And, thankfully, different medicines come out almost yearly, more and better tools to help the brain operate the way it was miraculously created by God.
I guess the Lord has given me this time to write to you as a way of calming my unsettledness this morning. You are a God-fearing man, one whose “genuiness” I’ve observed to be, well, genuine. Thank you for what you do for the kids that come your way.
I would like to speak with you sometime about perhaps a sculpture, a welded memorial, something permanent that will remain after you retire, in honor of Carson, the other kids that have passed, and to also honor you and LISD for having such a wonderful program. I don't have a lot of additional financial resource, but Julie and I would gladly help to fund something that would endure the future. Perhaps it could be stationed permanently in LL Woods Park, or some other area in Lewisville, with City permission.
If a sculpture is not workable, then if it's not too late this year, Julie and I would like to fund a one-time $1,000 Welding Scholarship to memorialize Carson's love for what you taught him. You would be welcome to determine the selection criteria, to honor whichever student you wish. I'd need to know whom we should work with inside LHS to make this happen officially and correctly. If it's too late for this year, we can commit to next year instead. Let's talk sometime. My email is hookem777@verizon.net. The work you do is a "good work". Be blessed my friend! Let me hear from you.
Todd Brooks
Carson’s Dad
I am saddened each time I hear of a young trooper's death, active duty or not. This young trooper found his niche and faced his duty with pride.