~This symbol follows the story in each chapter
Chapter 1 – Simply A Hero
When Rick & Lucy learned of Noah’s passing…
Noah (untitled)
Out in the country, mid-afternoon,
Open road, not a soul in sight,
Seeing all I can ’fore the rising of the moon,
Daffodils begin to close, feeling the chill of night.
An immense freedom lurks out here,
If I stay too long, my spirit may not return.
Out here visions become so clear,
Thoughts of returning, my only concern.
All connections cut, knots undone,
(I feel wanted in His loneliness)
Just the I AM, the wind, and the sun,
Contentment on my head is blessed.
Such a moment puts my soul at rest.
Al Summers (Times Courier)
I've known him since he was a boy playing in the youth leagues, and I've known his family all through the years. I'll tell you this about Noah: Everything that's good about humanity is embodied in him. If you have a son, you want him to grow up to be just like Noah.
~ Mom – June 18, 2005, Ellijay, Georgia
My happy heart had been singing, “Lord, thank you for this day,” all day long. I have always loved nature and reveled in the majesty of God’s glorious earth, and today was a testament to my joy in creation. My newly laser-adjusted eyes devoured the crystal blue skies that seemed to have been dotted magically with perfect, white, fluffy clouds that gently floated on a light summer breeze. It was cool for a North Georgia June afternoon which made the day all the more welcoming. Eight teacher friends from Gilmer High School were almost finished with a year-long “cohort” specialist degree designed by Lincoln Memorial University. We had completed the bulk of the class work and research while teaching a full load of high school courses; so the fact only three more days of university classes stood between us and the crossing of an academic finish line lent an air of carnival to our ride home in Sharon Powell’s “cruising” mini-van.
We had become “buddies-for-life” over the course of the year. Constant phone conferences, intricately executed projects and presentations, and late-night cribbing sessions had drawn the four women in the group into a tightly knit circle we laughingly called the Gilmer Girls. I will always remember how Linda Miller, Gilmer High School’s famous drama teacher and one of my all-time dearest friends, had shrieked and giggled in the middle of class when the “girls” staged the assassination scene from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar as part of our model school presentation. She was always a “party waiting for the people to arrive,” and we were determined to make good on our vow to transform the additional work of earning an advanced degree into a positive benchmark in our lives.
Thus, although we mostly agreed we wouldn’t want to do it twice, we had turned each task into an opportunity to enjoy life. Another bluebird whistling in the tree of my soul was the fact that I was planning a birthday celebration for my son, Noah, who was proudly leading a platoon with the 3rd Infantry in Ba'Quba, Iraq. Together with his fiancée, Ashley, and her family and friends, we were planning to have a party and lift a glass of champagne in his honor. I could almost hear their wedding bells ringing. We were all excited and honored by his commitment to serve.
Faith Davis-Ryan
I met my hero and Noah you were it! I worked at Military Commando Supply! Oh, you were my best customer. When you walked in that door, if I was busy with other soldiers you would always wait to get your hug from me! The day you left Ft. Benning I got that hug and will always cherish it… you will always be in my heart. Also, I had received two delightful e-mails in a row from him, one at 5 that morning, “delightful” because it was long and rambling and full of the small details of living which made it seem to me things had quieted down in that very hot area of the war. I was filled with motherly pride and respect because Noah was always concerned about the forty-some members of the Wolf Pack (US Army, 2nd BN, 69th AR, 3rd BCT, 3rd ID); he wanted them to have every opportunity and did his best to share with them all of his ideas about success. His acronym for his leadership philosophy was IDWIC: “I do what I can.” That’s what he always said when others complimented him for his accomplishments. In retrospect, I think it was his way of maintaining his humility while remaining clear and direct about his goals.
Noah’s e-mail, June 16, 2005:
Hey Mom,
I am happy for you getting your eyes done. You are going to love life not having to deal with contacts and glasses. What a relief. I was seeing clearly in about 2 days. Just use your drops and you will be fine. Mom, just go head and knock out all my debt. If you can pay off my eyes go ahead (Noah had his eyes corrected before deployment). How is the other card coming? I should be getting that chunk of travel debt money within the next day or so. Today we had t-bone steak for dinner. We weren't sure, but we think it might have been camel. I am spoiled from the steaks I got to eat while I was on R and R. I should be getting a pay raise myself pretty soon. I get promoted to 1LT sometime in July. That will be a nice little pay increase. I am doing some budgeting and investing classes for my guys. SSG Dupree is doing a great job of getting their attention on that. Things are slowing down a bit as the Iraqi police and army are becoming better able to handle the security and defense of Baqubah. Since we are not as busy, we are really working on the new vision for the platoon. One of self-improvement. It is a full circle thing. Inside the Army and outside the Army stuff. If you have any suggestions, I am all ears. I am wanting to do one on leadership, but I really do not have many resources or materials. Maybe you could send me some of the stuff from the Scholars (University of Georgia – Institute for Leadership Advancement). I am glad you guys are getting together on my B-day. I hope you have fun; I will be thinking of you all. We have a new LT to the unit that I have been hanging out with. He and I work out together, and we seem to have a lot in common. His name is Colby. Life continues to be interesting day in and day out here. Now that the Iraqis are taking over, we are doing less and less in the city. It is getting a little boring for us, but I guess that is a good thing. I am reading The Traveler's Gift and have gotten to the chapter with Chamberlain. It occurs to me that leaders and heroes are often made by the circumstances that surround them. Being in the right place at the right time is important; courage is also a matter of circumstance. Looking back at my life in the U.S., I realize that courage is there, but maybe the need for it is not as prevalent or pressing. Like, one of my friends I wrote to told me that his life is the same as college, just more expensive toys and more responsibility. No one really has anything new to tell. I ask myself if they have to have courage, doing what they are doing. But courage takes another form off the battlefield; it is often called character. The courage to do what is right even when it is not popular, but then again, how often is a normal nine to five person put in that sort of situation? The question I am coming to is, what is my place and destiny in the working world and in the U.S.? I find myself pondering on that often. Right now is awesome because I am serving something so important globally and historically. And also because I have my men I am responsible for and to lead. I think about building a life and a family in the states and being accountable to them, but is that serving humanity and the world enough for my imagination and ambition? What is my purpose is the question I should be asking myself? Well, I guess I am getting a little ahead of myself. My purpose is here and now to my men. Anyway, that is just a daily blurb from me. I wrote to Ms. Shade and Sen. Isakson. She replied to my e-mail the same day. She said the Sen. will be back from D.C. today and should be able to dictate a message to me. Pretty cool! I love you. IDWIC. Dad, if you read this or Mom, pass on the word that I would like to find an IRA or a good stock to invest in. YMETM
Your ever lovin’ sun, Noah
~ It was June 18, 2005, and after many months of teaching, studying for college, and tossing and turning instead of sleeping after listening to too much news spin, I encouraged the hopeful feelings in my heart to take wing and fly. We Gilmer Girls laughed all the way home–for one-and-one-half hours. It seemed Robert Browning’s Pippa was right: “God’s in His Heaven and all’s right with the world.” It felt so good. Having mentally moved on to the shopping I had to do on the way home, I was rubbing the laughter-ache out of my cheeks and chuckling to myself as we pulled up the long drive to the high school parking lot. Typically, I planned to rush through the gorgeous late afternoon sunshine, slam through the grocery store, and set the cruise control for the sanctuary of our shady little paradise. Tomorrow was Sunday, a quiet day of rest and regeneration. The Gilmer Girls were just beginning to sing to Sharon, “Have I told you lately that I loved you?” It was our way of thanking her because she was–bar none–the best driver on the road. I was laughing in the back with Linda Miller, who always started the song and sang the loudest, when I caught a movement in my peripheral vision. I did a double take and felt my heart stop. There, standing next to my car, was a small group of my friends. I puzzled at the collapsed, ashen expression of Gilmer High School’s unshakeable, always sunshiny secretary, Linda Rogers, as she walked toward our car, and I felt my ears hum in alarm. “Something’s wrong, guys,” I said to my three closest friends. The hilarity of our long drive together shattered like a glass of water splattering across a tile floor. My stomach churned, and my mind raced, but the furthest thing from my consciousness was the news she delivered. “It’s Noah,” was all she had to utter and I realized what others only ponder. The heartbreak of my life will always be simultaneously watching my life pass before my newly 20-20 eyes, wanting to tear them out in anguish so I could be blind, denying the possibility because I had just answered the e-mail of my only son less than 12 hours earlier, and wanting the earth to open up, swallow me, and crush the eruption of pain exploding in my chest. Exuberant, powerful, bouncing images of my beautiful Noah who had for so long animated the whole Gilmer High School campus, even the ground we were standing on, flooded all of us. He had just been here, one month ago, for Mother’s Day and R&R, a time Noah had hit the ground running, and done his best to give every person he saw the 13 bear hugs for which he was always famous. The dear women who crowded around me, hugging, patting, supporting, and doing their best to be brave were, each in her own way, Noah’s mother as well. It is a moment of deeply bonded sisterhood I will always see in my mind and cherish as a portrait of love and strength.
Haley Ford (Driving force behind Adopt-A-Troop Project)
…the one time met him I was literally blown away at how kind and generous he was. It takes a special person to be able to lay down his life and fight for the ones he loves and his country. Don’t forget to give 13 hugs a day! IDWIC!
~ I have to admit that even though I had prepared myself for this separation long before he was even born and daily I had encouraged him to explore fully his birthright as a free American and stand up for his family, his community, and his country, I was blindsided. With deadly calm, I grabbed onto a tiny, vanishing glimmer of a thread of impossible hope. I looked deeply into Linda Rogers’ tear-reddened blue eyes and asked, “Are you sure?” She grimaced and nodded her head in the affirmative. I whispered, “My son is a hero?” She barely nodded.
With thirty years of teacher defense mechanisms kicking into action, I proceeded breathlessly, “I have to call Rick.” Laura Morris and Linda already had him on the line, and I started before he could speak, “Honey, where’s Ashley? We have to go to her. She’s on the way to St. Simon’s to a...She’s there? With you? She knows too?” My dear husband said, “Baby, you are being so brave.” To which I replied, “I’m coming home.”
Unable to move a single muscle, I watched as one of my most longtime buddies in the whole world, Lynn Clark, took my keys out of my pocketbook and managed to stumble over to my car. Sharon gently pushed me back into her van; Linda Rogers reached over the front seat and held my hands. In the captain’s chair at my side, I felt Linda Miller praying. In deep shock, I kept hoping that “Lynniepoo” could see where she was going because she was the self-acknowledged “crybaby” in our group. I worried that Linda would throw her back out or strain her wrists because of the weird position she was sitting in as the cruisin’ wagon carried us on a journey that was so hard.
We had studied, taught, and laughed together. Now we would cry as our tiny caravan swerved and careened up and around the mountains, twenty miles to my home in the woods. When we got there, I was overwhelmed to see our modest, handmade dream house was full of people who had gathered around Rick, old friends, Donna and Conrad, our neighbors, Doug and Brenda; and as my sandaled foot hit the gravel driveway, I felt myself step into an alternate universe from which I can never completely return. I am blessed, comforted, and loved, but instead of living with the most prized aspect of my life, my wonderful son, I am living for him. I am like a butterfly that’s blown off course or mistakenly opened in winter as happens sometimes in North Georgia. I still flutter and seek the nectar and the light, but now must find it as I can.
Senator Chip Pearson (Georgia)
The Fourth of July held a deeper meaning this year, as we mourn the loss, and celebrate the lives, of 1st Lt. Noah Harris and Lance Cpl. Holly Charette, whose families reside in the 51st District. According to John 15:13, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Two of our friends gave the ultimate sacrifice, so we might continue to experience the freedom found here in the United States of America, and spread the gift of that freedom to the people of Iraq.
~ Dad (June 18, 2005)
For me, this warm summer day began pretty much like every other day in the preceding four-and-a-half years…very quiet and peaceful; that tranquil and pleasant description rolls off the tongue so easily now. However, the time and effort to get to the treasured space of “quiet and peaceful” had been anything but easy. Lucy and I had pioneered this neck of the woods twenty-five years earlier. There was no access to where I wanted to build so we put in a gravel road. We had no electrical power when we moved up and when it did come, I had to ask the electric company to bring the power cable to a box I had mounted to a tree. The way I connected the refrigerator made it look like the fridge was plugged into a poplar tree.
I had built us a tent-like shelter under a huge maple tree with a babbling creek rolling all the way around us from 9 o’clock to 6 o’clock. The shelter was large enough so we had a double bed mattress on a plywood platform with lots of storage underneath. On the other side of the shelter, at the foot of the bed, was our picnic table complete with a two-burner Coleman stove. The shelter had no sides because we liked being outside, but when it did rain, there were clear plastic panels attached to the roof that we could pull down. Most of the time, these panels were up and at night we could watch the moon from our bed. We lived outside for 6 months in this early phase of building so we had to learn how to wash and bathe in the creek. Later when we counted back, we figured out that Noah actually was a “nature” child conceived under that maple tree.
Our families thought we were crazy, but there was no turning back because we had left our apartment in Atlanta, and this was now our home. Like Henry David Thoreau, I was glad to be living “deliberately” in the middle of the forest, but I was keenly aware of the fact I had to get enough built so we would have shelter for the winter. I had never built a house before and had only been working in construction a short time, but I had lots of faith and confidence we would “get’r done.”
On this morning, I was sitting at the picture window in my office which overlooks the exact spot where Lucy and I had started so long ago, embracing the beautiful sunny day with the wholeness and holiness of my being, reminiscing about how far we had come. In retrospect, I think I should have known something life-changing was coming. Part of the human condition seems to be that catastrophic, life-altering events always happen when least expected. By design, we had worked so hard to get to this place of stillness in life; and the last five years I had been especially quiet and peaceful so I could meditate and write a book about Christian spirituality. As a practicing spiritual Christian for more than 40 years, I had compiled years of research and meditation experience and finally had arrived at a point in my life when I was ready to write it all down. On this day, June 18, 2005, I was poised to complete the last chapter of the book. Sometimes, as a blinding bolt of sharp reminiscence and sometimes when I call it forth on purpose, the promise of that golden moment floods into my consciousness and I remember:
My meditation behind me for the morning, I pause for a moment to enjoy the sun-drenched rambling creek and the panorama of trees before me. I sit down to my desk and my fingers trace the keyboard of my computer, and just as I am about to begin writing, I am pulled from my sweet reverie as a county police car turns into the driveway. It is followed by a solid black, four-door Jetta that has no markings. This is a curious and very unusual sight for this quiet forest neighborhood. I quickly step outside and move from our deck to the driveway and raise my hand to greet the police officers. I turn to the black car and notice the head and shoulders now visible above the roof of the car are dressed in a military uniform.
I hear my disembodied voice coming as if from a great distance, “Are you here to tell me something about my son?” He says, “Sir, may we step inside, please?” I slowly begin to notice the whole universe has stopped breathing and time has come to a halt. In this breathless moment, I turn and walk toward the front door. I step into the foyer just enough to allow the colonel and police officers to enter. In a daze and stupor I turn to hear the news. In some distant corner of my mind, I am holding onto the thin thread of hope that Noah has only been injured. “Mr. Harris, on behalf of the United States Army, I regret to inform you that your son, 2nd Lt. Noah Harris, was killed in combat last night in Baqubah, Iraq. He was in the lead vehicle charging the enemy when his Humvee was hit by an IED. He was pronounced dead at the scene.”
Without turning, I felt behind me for the handmade apple wood chair I knew was there somewhere. As I slowly eased myself into it, two dreams fell hard from the shadowy shelf where I had been hiding them from myself, and with a sudden jolt of clarity, I realized I had always known this day was going to come. The first dream had come when Noah was around six. The image was extremely clear. It was of Noah standing in a dry, hard-packed desert basin next to a Humvee; no one was around. Suddenly, a thin wire arced out of nowhere and fatally cut him down. After this segment of the dream, I remember looking at some kind of twisted metal I did not recognize. I did not see Noah, but I knew deep inside he had been mortally wounded. I awoke with fear, horror, and dread knotted in my gut. Knowing I would be unable to sleep again that dark night, I had gotten up and gone to his bedside. Sitting next to his sleeping form, I gently rubbed his forehead and realized he would die before I did. I did not speak to anyone about the dream.
The next dream occurred when he was home on leave from Iraq. He came home on Mother’s Day for two weeks and, near the end of his visit, I had the next dream. In this dream I was shown a living symbol. It was a straight line that stretched across the horizon; it did a loop-de-loop, and then continued on in the same direction. As I was looking at this line image, it began to blaze at one end like a fire cracker fuse. It was as if someone had lit one end of a fuse and the blaze had begun to run. The sparkling flame burned its way to the loop-de-loop moving up the front side of the loop, back over the top, and down the back side. When it got to the bottom where it would have stretched out onto the straight track ahead, it went out. The light was gone. In my dream, I had stared at this vision with a sinking heart knowing this was a symbol for my Noah. I quickly had put this image on the hidden shelf with the other one. I spoke to no one about my misgivings as Noah was still at home for a few more days, and in my heart I had hoped I was misinterpreting something I just could not fathom.
Perhaps the colonel cleared his throat, I don’t know, but I came back to the present moment and realized I was staring at the floor in shock, disbelief, and dawning realization. I felt this strange sensation that my fragile world had somehow burst into fragments like a Christmas tree ornament slammed to the pavement. From a distance, I heard words. I turned and saw three faces that combined as a picture of concern and apprehension. One of them repeated, “Is there anyone else at home? We don’t want to leave you alone." “There is no one here but me; my wife is at school...taking college classes,” I told them. We moved into the house to the kitchen table. I sat looking at the early morning sunlight that streamed through the picture window and started to cry uncontrollably. I couldn’t seem to stop. I never knew it was possible to cry so deeply. After a while, I finally regained a fragile composure.
Charlie Daniels (email from the one and only)
I am so sorry to hear about the death of your precious son who is indeed an honored American hero. I know that words are so futile at a time like this, but please accept my deepest heartfelt condolences for your great loss. If there is anything I can possibly do to help lessen your sorrow, please let me know. May God comfort you at this difficult time.
~ Just at that moment, the phone started to ring. It was Mikey, one of Noah’s oldest friends from Ellijay. They had been linebacker buddies in high school. Mikey was angry because, he said, there was a rumor going around that something had happened to Noah. He said they were saying that an Army colonel had come to the Emergency Services office in Ellijay to try to find where we lived. Of course, the people in the office knew Noah and the story was spreading like wildfire around town that something bad had happened. The words seemed to want to stick in my throat, but I had to affirm to him his worst apprehensions. I wasn’t surprised the phone went dead. It immediately rang again.
It seemed louder and harshly insistent, the call I dreaded the most; it was Ashley, Noah’s fiancée. Her usually strong and playful voice was shaky and uncertain. She said she had been trying to get through to me. Someone had called her and said something had happened to Noah and did I know anything? Once again, the universe stopped and an eternal stillness etched my memory. I spoke, "Honey, the worst thing has happened." I heard an unearthly scream of sorrow, and the phone hit the floor, but this time her father was there to pick it up. As Horace and I were talking, Ashley realized that Noah had been killed. It may seem unusual to some people, but to her, the "worst thing" would have been that Noah had been captured. When she realized the love of her life was not going to be tortured by a heartless enemy, she momentarily regained her composure, and I heard her ask her dad, “Where’s Lucy?" “At school,” I answered. She grabbed the phone, “Are you there by yourself?" “Yeah.” Bravely, she said, “We’re on our way!”
Ashley - The Love of Noah’s Life
I was asleep at my parent’s house when I was awakened by my cell phone ringing. I reached over to hit “ignore” when I saw that it was one of Noah’s best friends, Robbie. I remember thinking it was strange that he was calling because he’d never called before. I answered the phone and I heard Robbie’s frantic voice, “Has something bad happened to Noah?” Initially panicked, I sat up in bed to process what was going on. Robbie continued by saying that he had a friend from Athens who knew Noah and this friend had told Robbie something bad had happened to Noah. I explained to Robbie that I had talked to Noah for about an hour the day before and that Noah was fine. I remember thinking what a horrible rumor to start for someone who probably doesn’t even know Noah, but I called Rick and Lucy to see if they’d heard the rumor too. Their line was busy so I hung up and tried again. After about the fourth time, I started to freak out. I remember my mom was standing behind me very quietly and very still.
Finally, Rick answered the phone. His voice was empty and cold. “Rick, is Noah okay?” Rick replied, “Who is this?” At that moment, I knew something was definitely wrong. “It’s me, Ashley. Is Noah okay?” Rick asked, “What have you heard?” and I cried “That Noah’s hurt!” I remember waiting on him to tell me that he hadn’t heard anything and not to worry. Then he replied, “Honey, it’s true.” I remember desperation kicking in and asking, “But he’s okay, right?” Rick said “No honey.” My hands suddenly became heavy and went numb. I dropped the phone and turned around. I’ll never forget the look on my mom’s face. Dizzy, I ran down the hall and sat at the top of the stairs. I put my hands on my head. I couldn’t breathe. I told my mom that she was going to have to take me to the ER. I could hear my dad in the background asking, “Rick, what do I tell her?” Finally, my dad sat down next to me and said, “Sweetie, the worst possible thing has happened.” I asked him if Noah had been abducted by terrorists and he said, "No." I remember looking up at my dad and saying, “He’s dead, isn’t he?” With tears in his eyes, my dad shook his head up and down and said, “Yes.” After an out of body experience for about 15 minutes, I stopped crying long enough to remember that Rick was alone in Ellijay and that Lucy didn’t even know yet. I told my parents that we needed to go to Ellijay and be with Rick until Lucy got home. It was the longest car ride of my life.
Rick – In Shock
As soon as I heard Ashley hang up the phone, her “Where’s Lucy?” echoed loudly in my ears. “Oh, my God!” I moaned to myself as it suddenly hit me like another ton of bricks that Lucy was out of town, in class with some of her teacher friends, and would be returning to Ellijay by early afternoon. I realized the news had been buzzing around town and my concern was that someone she saw on her way home would inadvertently tell her. I couldn’t let that happen.
I called Linda Rogers and struggled to tell her about my concerns and, as she listened, I felt her move into a strategic mode, her only intent to care for my unsuspecting, sanguine sweetheart. We devised a plan. She would wait until she was sure they were headed home, and then she would call the cell phone of one of the ladies riding in the van with Lucy. She told Lynn not to say anything, but to just listen. She gave her instructions for returning home from class, saying that, for reasons she would soon understand, they were not to stop along the way and that they should come to a specific parking area at the high school. When the van arrived, Gilmer High School’s faithful Miz Rogers was there with a group of friends to break the news and to wrap Lucy up in her arms of love.
The phone rang again. This time it was Robbie. He had been keeping up with Noah through me. In recent months, he had called often to see if I had heard from Noah and wanted to know how he was doing. This time there was such panic in Robbie’s voice as he told me he had heard something had happened to Noah and wanted to know, “Is it true?” I almost lost it, but quickly composed myself. Once again, I felt the universe stop breathing. “Yes, Robbie, it is true; he was killed last night.”
I heard the most God-awful wail of despair as Robbie’s phone hit the floor. I slowly hung up. The knife that had been buried to the hilt in my gut was twisting because the sorrow I was feeling had taken on a new face. In a heart-stabbing flash, I thought of Noah’s many friends, how they loved him, and how they were going to be heart-broken when they heard the news. I lost it again and start to cry uncontrollably. In a zombie-like state of shock, I walked toward the kitchen table. All eyes were on me. The officers were clearly worried about me and wanted me to call somebody so I was not alone. It was then I called some old friends only to find they were already on the way with food and support.
I talked the officers into leaving, telling them friends would soon be arriving. I assured them I could hold it together. They departed and I was alone with this unbelievable emptiness inside me. Joy had been ripped from my heart. My world crumbled, the hope of my life gone; my son, gone; my best friend, gone. Noah and Ashley would no longer hope to give us “curly-headed” grandchildren; the heir to all we had worked for was gone. I paced the floor sobbing while my Golden Retriever, Dubya, licked my hand. Soon, people began to arrive and I was forced from my sorrow as I greeted our friends.
Ashley – The Longest Ride
When we finally got to Ellijay, I hugged Rick. He looked numb and in shock. He said he’d arranged for Lucy to be told the news by her friends before someone around town approached her. We waited what seemed like all day for Lucy to get home. I cried every time I thought about seeing her get out of the van. Finally, she arrived. I remember Lucy walking up the deck very slowly with her sunglasses on. We all cried until we had no tears left.
My mom slept with me that night. I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling and at pictures of Noah and I that were on my dresser and night stand. Finally, I went to sleep around 5:30 am for about an hour. I remember waking up, rolling over, and looking at my mom. She asked if I was okay and I realized it was real. I remember saying “Oh no, it’s not a dream!” We too often hear that freedom isn’t free, but it wasn’t until Noah paid the ultimate price that it resonated within me and forever will. Noah being killed in action in Iraq isn’t the defining point of his life, but it describes the type of man he was. He was the most genuine, caring, selfless, loving person that I have ever met. Noah sets the benchmark for the type of people that I want in my life.
As I sat down to write words describing the type of person Noah was, nothing seemed adequate or could encompass the magnitude of his selflessness. In one of the letters Noah wrote to me while he was in Iraq were these words, “In the consciousness of the end is the limitation of the moment.” This McDermott quote is perfect because Noah lived his life with no limitations. He didn’t worry about the end. He enjoyed the moment. Even if he was nervous, he drove on! Because of Noah’s sacrifice, millions of other people around the world will be able to live without limitations as well. And because of his sacrifice, I am a better person.
Mom -“YMETM, Baby!”
“YMETM, Baby,” was Noah’s favorite affirmative end to a conversation on the phone or when taking off in his trusty little white compact car. He always used acronyms as emotional touchstones he wanted to put into your hand, your pocket, and your heart. This one means: “You mean everything to me.” The “Baby” was attached after he had spent lots of hours in athletic arenas. I always felt, to him, it meant, “You and I? We’re on the same team. I’ve got your back.”
~ Lucy
When the last car pulled out of the driveway after what seemed like a welcome but endless invasion of sound and activity, ringing phones, car wheels crunching on the driveway, friends appearing at the round table in the kitchen, playing with our dogs in the yard, piling the refrigerator with food, it was still 06/18/05, but not by much. Ashley and her mom and dad were the last to leave and they did so reluctantly; but out of sheer exhaustion, they headed out because we all knew our tomorrow–with an obvious but unknown set of challenges–was coming fast. Rick and I stood and waved, YMETM’ed, and blew kisses to Ashley and her parents, Horace and Gloria, until the car got to the top of the driveway where Ashley honked five times in honor of her man. Being a superstitious athlete, Noah NEVER left the house without honking five times. “Honk, Honk, Honk...Honk-Honk” was his way of sealing the deal, making his mark, showing his love.
As soon as they were out of sight, Rick and I collapsed into each other’s arms and wept until we simply ran out of air. Clutching his strong arms with all my might, I leaned away and asked, “God has always had us in his hands, right?” The steady, loving look of confident belief flowed out of Rick’s eyes and warmed me from the inside out. After a life of deliberate soul-searching in the face of risks and challenges, we have developed a practical philosophy around our house: “Faith is a decision; once you make it, you ‘JUST DO IT!’” It was then we put our hands together and made a pact to celebrate the life of a hero. We both knew that somehow we would find a way to rejoice in our sadness, and then we would celebrate the victory that is Noah’s life because that’s what Noah would want for his mom and dad, for his friends and family, for his community, for his beloved country, and for the world. He was and always will be our treasure that we honor. His message lives in our hearts, an unseen but cherished gift from which we learn above everything else.
Although I can count on one hand the dreams I’ve had that significantly impacted my waking hours, in the early hours of June 19, I had a dream with Noah that was so real it took me to the other side and softened the edge of steely pain that was cutting through each breath, even in my sleep. I was lying on my back in bed crying to myself, thrashing about and worrying I would never be able to thank all of the wonderful people who were standing by Rick and me with food, prayers, and love. Suddenly, the room swirled with mist, and the ceiling of my bedroom slowly floated upward. As I struggled to focus, trying to figure out what was happening, the mist evaporated and I saw Noah’s smiling face as he leaned over a balcony from on high, looked intently into my eyes, and said, “Silly Momma, I’ve already paid the price.” With his sweet chuckles still resounding in my ears, I immediately awoke from the dream and said, “Well, okay then. We’ll just do what we can.” It was then Rick and I remembered that it was Father’s Day.
Noah’s Journal: (Journal entry from Dr. Lankau’s class, the Leonard Leader’s Program at UGA)
I like to think... probably more than I should. On any given day, I contemplate the universe and life and just about everything in between. Life can be really scary. The outcome, even after plenty of examination, is still uncertain. The only thing that is certain is that someday, the game will end. In most sports, there is a time limit, but with life, the game could end at any moment. I wonder why a person does the things that he or she does. Is it because we see meaning in it? Sometimes it feels like all efforts are futile because when my number is up, that is it. There will be no more chances to do anything more. I am afraid that I am going to get stuck in a routine life doing the same thing every day. I’ll work all my life for someone else’s company helping to support their dream while putting my dreams to the side. I’ll be working and paying bills until I’m old enough or rich enough to retire. By that time, I’ll be too old to really enjoy my free time. So I’ll end up playing golf with some other retirees, talking about the good old mediocre days I used to live. That is what really scares me and motivates me to work hard and plan an ambitious future. Everyone talks about getting a good resume so they can get a good job ... what is that? Good benefits and a big paycheck? At all levels of our society, people seem to be satisfied with that. Whatever happened to standing up and saying, “I want more out of myself and my life?” Now, I am not pointing my finger and blaming others. I take full responsibility for the fact that I am guilty of self-satisfaction as well. But, today, I refuse to let myself accept that behavior. I, Noah Harris, vow to lead an extraordinary life and to seize each day to make a difference in someone else’s life.
Dr. Melenie
Lankau: (UGA/ROTC Memorial)
I can’t say why Noah was taken from this world so young. It hurts deeply and I miss him very much. But his family’s strength, the outpouring of support from his community, the influence he made in so many peoples’ lives...have helped me to understand that Noah is in heaven and at peace because his dream came true...he lived a life that mattered.
~ As a high school English teacher, one of my greatest privileges has always been to attempt to bring to my students an understanding of the beauty and logic of some of the documents upon which we base our lives. Often ranging across centuries and millennia to discover the exact origins of the phrasing and the motivating ideas, together we struggled to translate the subtle meanings of words and interpretations. Noah always heard all about it and was a willing sparring partner for discussing new ideas in the search for keys to understanding.
I have always loved The Declaration of Independence. It teems with the great maxims we know so well–most of which are not entirely original; but the way they are arranged, re-expressed, and refined makes this document a special message of the universals that have always meant so much to a civilization that seeks to attain the ever-changing goal of providing for its citizens “...Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness...” Although by most accounts, Jefferson and a committee that included Benjamin Franklin are credited with writing The Declaration of Independence, Noah and I and my students imagined what it would have been like to edit and discuss the exact wording: “that all men are created equal.” “...endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights...”
Noah heard repeatedly that, of the cornerstone document of American culture, my favorite word is “consent” from the line, “Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed...” We would discuss this word and why it was so important. I always wanted to convince young people to claim their birthrights, become part of the democracy, and consent by casting a ballot–a simple, but powerful, positive act that all citizen leaders can do. When we vote, we say that, though there may be many faults to be corrected and problems to overcome, we will unite with others and focus on the vision of a stable future that provides liberty and justice for all for all time. What a goal!
Around this house, “I vote for the future!” is what we say when we mean, out of infinite possibilities, no matter the odds or challenges, we will take the positive road. We believe that, when in doubt, it’s simply American to choose for the highest vision of our world, to become involved in the search for meaning and to give our consent to our government so each of us takes part in the ever-changing struggle to maintain the promise of “...life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” My happiest moments as a teacher and as a parent occurred when I saw the light bulb of concern and interest turn on because it gave me the feeling I was passing on the best to Noah and his generation and they would understand that freedom is our homeland even if we have to fight for it. He was very familiar with the citizen’s burden of faith and responsibility expressed by The Declaration’s call to action: “...that when a long train of abuses...” becomes obviously “... a design to reduce them (people) under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.”
I wasn’t surprised that, during his officer’s training, when he began to come to an understanding of the duties he carried as a future leader of a platoon of warriors, Noah latched onto a not entirely original quote from Thomas Jefferson. As he shared it, his warm, green eyes were focused with intensity and understanding; his words penetrated my comfort zone: “The roots of the tree of Liberty must be refreshed with the blood of patriots and tyrants.” We talked about Uncle Johnny, brother to my Aunt Lucy (my namesake) and Uncle Wade (he’s a retired Army colonel). I never met Uncle Johnny because at age 21 he volunteered for a mission during World War II and became a hero of what many people have called the Great Generation.
What history will call Noah and his band of brothers and sisters, I am not certain, but I am confident everyone realizes they are the guardians of an America that will fight for the great pearl of freedom, no matter the cost; and we will long remember each one is simply a hero. Noah was very passionate about and committed to this cause, and when he came home from Iraq in May, having lost a highly regarded brother in arms, Sgt. David Salie, Noah knew it wasn’t going to be easy. He felt, however, even more strongly than before that all people deserve the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. He constantly repeated the words Sgt. Salie had impressed upon him, “Drive on!”
Noah clearly understood our way of life is a gift we possess only because people fight for it, so, like his forebears, he spoke, called, wrote to everyone he could about the importance of liberty. That’s how he became friends and pen pals with Senator Johnny Isakson of Georgia. A few days after Noah was killed, Johnny stood upon the Senate floor, to honor, as he said, “the gift of First Lieutenant Noah Harris” and to share part of an e-mail Noah had sent to him.
Senator Johnny Isakson (Washington, Thursday, June 23, 2005)
“I rise today to speak about an e-mail (Noah’s) sent to me in May of this year. It said the following: ‘Our presence here is not just about Iraq. It’s sending a message to the oppressed peoples of the world that freedom can be a reality. Freedom is the greatest gift that we, the United States, have been granted and as such it is our responsibility to spread it. For it to become a permanent fixture in our future and our children’s future, we must give our all to those who desire it.’ Noah Harris is the type of young man that serves without desire for a credit or a claim in Iraq today, but on behalf of his country and everything that we stand for. At the age of 23, he embodies the hope of the future, and his sacrifice in fact ensures that the future for others will be brighter.”
Noah (untitled)
Penetrate my skin and soul,
O bountiful sun, warming my happiness.
O that I could be the wind, rustling through
the needles of the pine beneath a sky, blue as teardrops.
Such truth finds my soul on breezy days;
Free as leaves tumbling along the ground...
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 2 - Simply American
50 Miles of Yellow Ribbons
The Mustard Seed: “FAITH” (written in all capitals in Noah’s unmistakable “lefty” cursive, on a little pink sticky note tucked inside the front cover of his 4”x6” camouflage Army issue Bible)
~ When we opened it, we had to smile. It was so Noah, so comforting, and it reminded us that Noah lived in the daylight, out in the open by design, his life transparent. He shared and exchanged his tears, prayers, poetry, and ideas with anyone and everyone, the kind of guy people would talk and listen to on a long flight because he was engaging. Famous in the family for his tattered “to do” list, Noah clearly marked his trail with affirmation note cards, napkin poems, and black composition books. No longer an invasion of his privacy, like following a well blazed map, all have been visited, re-visited, and honored. Each page was a hidden treasure, and to our surprise and delight, we found that he was even more prolific, his expression more profound than we had imagined.
Noah (untitled)
Resting in the shade on such a sunny day,
Leaves casting shadows as in the wind they play.
Sky's a blue ocean; in it I could swim,
floating on clear ripples that never seem to end.
Across my skin, gentle breezes drift so light,
My mind wonders if I shall move before the night,
knowing with calm evening, burdenless I shall be,
old troubles like new butterflies are finally set free.
~ Amid the stacks of dog-eared journals and scraps of paper, we searched for the shiny surfaces of his laminated source of strength. Once Noah came to understand the power of focused prayer, a tool he got from Napoleon Hill, Norman Vincent Peale, and his mom and dad, he always carried his current prayer in his wallet so he could read it aloud every day. Noah knew from sports that perfect practice makes perfect, so he was always practicing getting to the higher ground. Although his last notebook never came back from Ba’Quba, this note card did: I recognize I am one with God; everything I need will be provided. I accept all experience as being for the benefit of my learning and growth; each experience is sufficient. I know that the experience of each new moment leads me toward becoming the ideal self I see. I believe in myself. I am empowered and self-confident. I accept serendipity in each moment of my life. In faith, I fearlessly follow the path to my true destiny.
From EllijayGeorgia.com - Home of the Apple Festival
The year was 1832 and it was a cold, brisk December 3rd. A portion of Cherokee County had just been divided to form a new county; this new county, Gilmer. 24 years later, in 1856 a portion of Union County was added to form the now 427 square miles that make up beautiful Gilmer County Georgia. Two years after Gilmer County was formed, Ellijay became the county seat for government. Ellijay lies where two rivers, the Ellijay and the Cartecay, come together to form the Coosawattee river. It is at this point that the Coosawatte River begins its run to Carter's Lake which is home to the largest rock dam east of the Mississippi River. The 3200 acre lake is open to many recreational opportunities. Named for George R. Gilmer, former U.S. House representative and governor of Georgia, our county is bordered by Pickens to the south, Fannin to the north, Dawson and Fannin to the east, and Gordon and Murray counties to the west. The 2004 Georgia census puts Gilmer County’s population at over 26,000 though for most of us, we know that now, in 2006, that number is much higher. Nearly half of Gilmer County’s territory is located within the boundaries of the Chattahoochee National Forest. The beginning (or end, depending on where you start) of the Appalachian Trail (AT) is located right here in Gilmer County high atop Springer Mountain. Gilmer County is also home to Rich Mountain, the fourth tallest peak in the state at 4,081ft. There are many smaller communities in Gilmer County that thrive on down home courtesy. Boardtown, Cherry Log, New Hope, and Tails Creek are but a few. The Georgia Apple Festival, celebrated the second and third weekends of October, brings many visitors to our county and with picturesque views, many forests, lakes, streams and rivers, it is no wonder that Gilmer County has become such a popular vacation and residential destination for so many in recent years.
~ For the Harris family it’s been our modest mountain town, with a square-turned-roundabout, quaint and unpretentious, but with a uniqueness all its own. It's an easy place to go shopping, or to enjoy world-famous Poole’s Barbeque, fresh fried apple pies, kayaking, mountain biking, hiking, strolling at the park, Friday night football games, wrestling tournaments on Saturday, church bells ringing on Sunday, with the fresh scent of hemlocks, poplars, and magnolia trees wafting on the air that always echoes with crows calling and hawks screaming; at the high school there is a mockingbird that sings its head off every morning. Kudzu waves blossom into summer topiaries of green; the cicadas are buzzing and there are lots of inviting hollows in which to sit and write. Mrs. Miller always told everyone the mountain views were “heartbreakingly” beautiful, and despite the growing inroads of building development as well as modern culture, it yet has a polite, respectful feel to it. It’s a place where we transplants blend harmoniously with locals because most of us who stick around do so as Noah did, for the love of Mother Nature. We’re good-hearted Americans who want to appreciate life and protect our children. Most think there is nothing better than a family living in a cabin in the woods where the flag is the symbol of freedom and justice, and that walking by faith is a good way of life. In Ellijay, a smile precedes a friendly wave; kids drawl, “Yes, sir.” It’s a place where the young at heart of all ages call us Miss Lucy and Mr. Rick. Of course, there are teenagers who call it “boring” because “there’s nothing to do”—that just means it’s a sanctuary for peace-seekers who have acquired a taste for the value of space and the “live and let live” life.
Noah often said, “It’s not perfect, but it is a caring kind of place.” It's a place where high school students spontaneously raise money to support families in need or partner with a New York City middle school and fire station in the aftermath of the 9/11 attack. It’s a place to grow, to heal, and to find truth in the changing of the seasons. We think of it, not as dull, but as the embodiment of mellow; yet something shook the foundations of the calm in the fourth week of June, 2005, an event that was beyond normal explanation. When we look back at the week following Noah’s death, we realize that, by many accounts, it was the stuff of epic poetry. However, at the time we were like deer in the headlights, not sure in which direction we were going, unaware that ripples of love were starting to lap against our shore with growing force.
~ Lucy
I was in the shower when Hailey burst into the bathroom and said, “Fox 5 TV just drove up in a huge truck.” I remember saying, “Is Papa out there helping them park?” It was Deidra Dukes of Fox News, followed by Tony McNary of WGCL 46. I remember asking my granddaughter, “Hailey, where’s your Mom?” Hailey answered with the nonchalance of a 10-year-old, “I think she’s on the phone with Governor Perdue.” I thought about my agreement with Rick to take the high road and hoped to demonstrate that we were in fact the parents of a special man. The atmosphere was charged with loss, but also with synergy; and we all did our best that day to share with the world what was important to us—Noah’s higher purpose and his love of community, the magnolia blooming, the heroism of Ashley Case, how supportive Ellijay had been to the Wolf Pack, our prayers for Johnny Chrzanowski, Noah’s driver. Noah was a warrior, committed to his mission and so were we. Perhaps it shocked some folks to hear that we were proud and honored to be his parents—that we wouldn’t succumb to remorse in his honor, rather that we would cheer. They knew how much we loved him, but could the world join us in celebration?
As the day melted in the humid June air, we sat around the kitchen table, Linda Miller doing the dishes and Lynn Clark, with her seminary degree and her yellow pad, discussing, orchestrating what was going to happen, dear friends gently prodding Rick and me to go on and make the kinds of decisions we had never allowed ourselves to think about. Realization was dawning and, with the light, we went from shock to planning mode in a short time. We had to get going because in the moment we understood that we wanted to have a big celebration, we realized it had to be Saturday, June 25, Noah’s twenty-fourth birthday, just five days away. Though we didn’t belong to a church in Ellijay, it had to happen there because that’s where Noah had made his mark and where he had planned to return. Was the Methodist Church that had supported him and honored his men available? Linda Rogers took care of it, but suggested that a lot of folks were concerned about how many people were coming and we might consider moving the memorial service to the gym of Gilmer High School and hold it later on in the summer. We just scratched our heads and said, “Noah would have wanted that church, and Saturday is his birthday.” We didn’t understand what was happening, but we knew, as usual, somehow God would provide. We wanted to see everyone and spend time with Noah’s people, look them in the eyes, and tell them, “It’s gonna be all right.”
Mikey Bramlett (Noah’s Football Teammate)
This week I’m doing Noah’s work, and so are all the people I know.
~ When Mikey spoke with such conviction as he crossed our deck, his eyes a curious mixture of defiant mischief and tears, we might have had an inkling of the rising tide, but it was as we told Del Land and Dave Garner of ETC-3 TV, the authors and producers of a remarkable television tribute to Noah’s life (Heroes of Heart: The Shooting Star), we were busy doing other things that had to be done, one right after another. We were in the clutches of a certified waking blur, interrupted by moments of sharp clarity. We’re still remembering bits and pieces because we were in shock and it was hard to adjust. In a flash, we went from a total focus on communicating with Noah and his men and holding the fort in his absence to being fed by Chrissie and Shane, Ashley’s sister and brother-in-law, because they cook when they can’t sleep, to facing stark facts with our deeply compassionate Army contact, Major Tony Owens, to hugging Ashley, to crying with Gloria and Horace, to answering the door, which means walking out and waving because folks are never quite sure exactly how to approach across the moat that surrounds our house. We found ourselves standing on the porch with a dear friend who owns the local Ford dealership, Ronnie Thompson, who refused to come in but insisted that he and his wife, Vicki, take over the task of organizing arriving family and friends, meeting them at the airport, and taking them wherever they needed to go, including Fort Benning.
There was a smiling Brian Heaslip, Noah’s wrestling sidekick, their birthdays one day apart, saying, “I brought dinner,” as he covered all available flat surfaces with warm, comforting Charlie’s Italian. Caroline Hart was at the door sobbing, and there were Corey hugging us with all his might, streaming tears, Walker reaching across a mile of grief to lift our hearts, Mikey, Neil Gary, Clay Owensby, Mike Jung, and a whole bunch of Noah’s friends who wouldn’t do as they were told, and keep it quiet—like Noah pursuing a strategic mission, they came right in, made themselves at home, and held an old-fashioned wake, telling stories that prompted Rick to say, “When I get a hold of Noah, he’s going be in so much trouble.”
Flowers and bushels of mail came in from people all over the world who said Noah had been a best friend; we were caught up in the surging after-effect of a great communicator. Noah had touched a lot of lives; he was not to be an unsung hero, yet, overhanging all, like oppressive heat clouds, was the longing to go back in time, paired with the stark realization there would be no “do-over.” We kept remembering the passionate sincerity of his voice, the “he was home a few weeks ago” Noah who said he would never forget the faces of the Iraqi children, aching with the “...never gonna feel those huge arms and the moist, warm, gurgling experience of being wrapped up and lifted off the ground by our gentle bear” blues. Noah’s voice was all around. Things he said flying through the air–like radar beaming out to the world from our tiny haven: “Mom, all people deserve to live in freedom.” “Dad, I’ve got to serve a higher vision.” “I do what I can.” He knew what he was doing, and it seems now he knew his people would react the way they did, be what they have always been to him. Noah looked for and found every day in the eyes of everyone he met, respect and honor—it goes with the territory; and before he left, his people made him know they were going with him.
It was months later that Dr. Stallings, our science buddy, told us to look up “tipping point” because it described what happened in Ellijay and Georgia. What we understand is a tipping point is a moment or situation at which fundamental change occurs because an evolving situation becomes so compelling it leads to a new and irreversible development, an event of a previously rare phenomenon. It comes on rapidly and dramatically and involves the building of critical mass in such a way as to connect everyone involved and carry them to higher ground, kind of like riding a huge, perfect wave. We had been thinking a lot about the analogy of how a pebble dropped into water can make ripples with no end; and there in the center was Noah. The mustard seed in his pocket had fallen onto fertile ground.
Every day the house would fill up and empty only to fill up again and, with each passing moment, we could feel something big was going on because the faces of our friends just became more and more “full of light.” We were so caught up with planning what we were going to do and say that we didn’t really understand the magnitude. The family started arriving and since we hadn’t all been together for such a long time, we spent time teaching each other how to simultaneously laugh, cry, and reminisce. Everything just seemed to fall into place; sitting around the kitchen table, Linda and Stu, Betsy, Mike, and Katy, Mom and Dad, Po Po and Nancy putting together the dog tags that arrived miraculously just as everyone was looking for something to do.
Art Nieto of DogtagCity.com, who had made the dog tags for our adopt-a-troop drive, dropped everything when we called him and told him about Noah, saying, “I’m cranking my machine now and I’ll run it 24/7 until the last minute before they must be shipped to get there in time. You will have those IDWIC tags.”
We all kept thinking that Noah would have loved all of the activity; he’d have been looking for his role. Uncle Jimmy (a.k.a. Po Po) kept telling us, “Kids, you better write it all down, names, dates.” It was Noah’s kind of party, everyone leaning together, group hugs abounding, giggling—and the LT might have understood we were about to experience a “rare phenomenon.” Like a mountain miracle, as Rick and I were returning from the heart-wrenching boot ceremony at Fort Benning, having passed through Kudzu Canyon and crested this particular hill on Highway 52, we did a double take, shook our heads and began to understand, for there among the picturesque mountain peaks at the turn-off to the road that leads to Harris Road, a shimmering tribute for as far as the eye could see. We were simply awestruck. It was a proper send-off for a king, almost like the Vikings. There was no burning ship, but the overwhelming sense of homage was something beyond anything we could have ever imagined. In the days that followed, we tried to see them all, but there were too many and they ran for miles in many directions, put up by friends, acquaintances and total strangers...except, there are no strangers in America. Freedom is alive and well, and the real story of the "yellow ribbon trail" must come straight from Jim Fox’s mouth.
Saxby Chambliss (June 23 - U.S. Senate floor, announcing Ellijay’s Celebration plans)
“In tribute to Noah, members of the Gilmer County community will assemble at Gilmer High School Friday, June 24, at 2 p.m., to distribute yellow ribbons across Gilmer County in preparation for the celebration of Noah’s life on Saturday, June 25, what would be his 24th birthday.”
~ Jim Fox
(Servant-Leader of the 50 miles of Yellow Ribbons, in his own words)
On Saturday morning, June 18, 2005, my oldest son, Joshua Fox, came to tell me of a phone call he had just received from his school mate DJ Meadows. It was not good news. DJ’s father, Dan Meadows, assistant principal at Gilmer High School, had received the word about Noah, a legend to my sons. Joshua had just graduated from GHS in late May, 2005, and my only other child, Michael, was a rising sophomore. Both are very active in wrestling and drama and, though Noah graduated from GHS six years before Joshua, they had met when Noah returned to the campus and spoke to the graduating class when he was at home on leave. Joshua came home from school that day, excited and inspired about what was going on in Noah’s life.
Doris & Emuel Sanford
(Noah’s Ninth-Grade English Teacher, Lucy’s hall mate at GHS)
As we look back over the years, watching Noah grow into a fine, young man from his kindergarten days... similarities between Noah and Eric our son. They shared many accomplishments and aspirations in life—whether it was football, wrestling, UGA, military, becoming an anesthetist, or girls! After all, they both are good-looking! The very special memory I will always have of Noah is that he was never too busy to befriend and care for those around him. It did not matter if it was the governor of Georgia or a special education student at GHS. His love and compassion crossed all boundaries. This love carried him to the battlefield... After high school, Noah always greeted me with a big hug. I will miss those hugs, but maybe his sweet smile and hug will be what welcomes us through the Pearly Gate... The legacy of Noah Harris will be remembered for generations to come...
~ This talk was a great treasure as it put a face and a memory to the reason for the war in Iraq, a source of conflict between Josh and his God since 9/11/01. The attacks devastated Joshua, knocked the wind out of his sails. He questioned God's plan in allowing this tragedy because in the late summer of 2001, Josh, Michael, and I had toured Virginia, Washington, D.C., Philadelphia, New York. We saw a great history lesson in the flesh, from the changing of the guard at Arlington Cemetery, to the Statue of Liberty. Later, we watched the news coverage of the falling World Trade Center Towers on 9/11 as we opened the packs of photographs from our trip, our family in front of the Trade Center, the images of the boys on Liberty Island with the Trade Center in the background. So Joshua knew why Noah joined the Army after 9/11. Joshua truly respected the actions Noah took when he answered the question, “What can I do?”
James W. Hoberg of Douglasville, Ga.
I never got to meet your son but he and my son, Peter J. Hoberg, were friends at UGA. Our boys went through Army ROTC together and shared many social activities including workouts at the Ramsey Center. I wanted to tell you something Peter told me about Noah because it is the kind of thing I would want to hear about him if he gets killed in Iraq. Peter said the two of them were alone together in the ROTC building talking about all kinds of things when Noah told Peter that if he, Noah, were to get killed in Iraq it would be “no big deal.” He was, I'm sure, being sincere about how he felt for himself but completely wrong about what it would mean for others, including Peter. My son spoke about your son all the time and his loss came as a blow to me as well. In fact, I am typing this through tear soaked eyes. You may be interested to learn that Peter is now a platoon leader with the 4th ID in Iraq. For my part, I flew 310 combat sorties in Vietnam back in 1968-1969 and retired from the FBI 3 years ago after 24 years in the Bureau and 11 in the Air Force. I mention that only to say that I have seen brave men die for our country before, but it is never easy for those of us left behind. Everything I have heard about Noah tells me that you were fortunate to have had a remarkable son for those 23 plus years. I pray you will be able to take joy in those memories and comfort in the knowledge that many of us out here are grateful for the sacrifice your son made for this nation.
~ “What can I do?” That same question came to our family that Saturday morning in June 2005. “What can we do?” We were not personal friends of the Harris family. I had seen Noah during his wrestling matches, but, like Joshua, only met him when I stopped him at the high school, introduced myself, shook his hand, and thanked him for his service. He was on his way to visit his Mom, and thanked me for the greeting. I had never met Rick, never seen his face before the newscast from his home by an Atlanta news station. The grace, strength, and courage of the man came through the screen to all who watched... the love in that family... the peace in Rick and Lucy’s eyes as they spoke proudly of their only son...of his service and of his loss...was an amazing display of undeniable truth. Lucy, I knew from wrestling related visits to the school. Our family didn’t feel compelled to call on the family because we were not that close. However, we were proud enough of Noah’s life and loss while serving his country, to be sure that the news was spread quickly so that those who were closer to Noah’s family could be made aware and comfort Rick and Lucy. I first e-mailed Sam Snider, coach of the high school wrestling team. He had already posted notice on the high school varsity wrestling vent page of the news of Noah’s loss. An outpouring of grief, pride, and acknowledgment of patriotic service came from this outlet of opinions in the sports community.
Ben Worley, USAF 315 TRS 17 TRG...
There is a type of person, who, when in the course of life are called upon by a higher purpose, do not waiver, do not hesitate to put their very lives on hold to serve others. Noah was one of those individuals. 15 years ago, I looked up to Noah at Ben Kiker’s karate studio. Noah was always willing to help the younger kids rather than just beat them up, a rare quality in a child of that age. In high school, he was the unquestioned leader of the wrestling team, and again, whenever someone needed help, Noah went out of his way to improve the team, even if it meant working longer or on the weekend. On stage, Noah never acted like the star he was. But, his passion in The Boys Next Door inspired me to commit my final years of High school to drama. And when his country called her sons and daughters to her defense, Noah needed no encouragement to heed the call to arms. Noah was the best at everything he did. But he also understood the necessity of those who had the ability to do good in this world, to accept the responsibility of doing so. Noah exemplified the concept of service. To the man who I have always looked to as a role model: America will miss you dearly, but the honor you bring us and your inextinguishable spirit will not be forgotten.
~ I had recently served as president of the GHS Takedown Club, and getting timely messages out to the wrestling supporters by e-mail was one of my jobs. The coordination of organizing state championship parades and celebrations meant I had the addresses of state and local politicians, school administrators and teachers, community and business leaders, newspaper, radio, and television contacts, wrestlers and their parents. This extended group of eclectic people with wide, diverse interests had come together in the recent past to celebrate Gilmer High School’s Wrestling Team successes in winning two state championships in 2005. These folks were used to getting e-mail and forward updates from me and knew that I sent messages for information’s sake. This “clearing house” method of sharing information, ideas, and opinions was the fastest and most efficient way I’ve found of organizing a large-scale community effort. That morning, messages went out to media outlets, friends, and teachers. Local information, news reports, e-mail forwards from numerous Websites were shared. Peoples’ thoughts, ideas, and emotions were shared as well.
Shawdee Kendall (Noah’s classmate in Gilmer County)
Noah always knew exactly what to say to me right at the very moment when I needed to hear it. When Noah was sent to Iraq, I would be talking with people about him and some would say, “Can you believe that Noah joined at a time like this?” and sternly, I would say, “Yes, I can, and if you are asking me that question, then you don’t know the Noah I do.” When Noah came to my fifteenth birthday party, we went bowling with a group of friends. When we got to the bowling alley, we chose partners and Noah was mine. Every time it was our turn, whether we got a few pins or a gutter ball, we would give each other a high five and Noah vowed we were winning! Recently, I had a dream about that birthday, and this time, when we gave a high five, Noah said, “I won!” and I feel in my heart that he did. He won his fight at everything he set out to do. He will always be my hero and I will share Noah’s story with people for the rest of my life and tell them about his mission and the love he had for the Iraqi people.
~ Right away, people expressed an interest in doing something as a community. We just didn’t know what to do. Linda Miller, theater director at GHS, was in contact with my son, Joshua, and proved to be the cardinal point of our compass and kept us going in the right direction, the Harris’ clear and focused needs expressed in a crystal-clear manner by Linda and David Miller’s e-mails. The Millers shared Rick and Lucy’s wishes in the next week without intruding, from the Harris’ wish to visit with each well-wisher personally, to Rick’s idea of lining the roads to the church with ribbons, to the details of the “Celebration of Noah’s Life Service.” There was no wasted time, manpower, or materials because all involved were sure of two things. There was a clear vision of what the Harris’ wanted, right from the horses’ mouths, no doubts about it. Line the roads from the Pickens/Gilmer line along Highway 515 to the church. The “trail of ribbons” would welcome and lead the large number of out-of-town friends and dignitaries. We expanded the length of highway coverage to include the route from the Harris home 19 miles away to the United Methodist Church in Ellijay as well as the main thoroughfares through town.
Rick and Lucy’s note:
When he was asked if there was anything that might help the numerous out-of-town guests, Rick suggested to Linda Miller that a few yellow ribbons could be used to line the roads from the major 515 intersections in Ellijay to the church—a distance of perhaps 1 mile from Hardee’s. What can we say about Linda Miller’s interpretation? She loved that boy!
~ There was a whole lot of commitment from a community of citizens who each wanted to help; and now that we knew what to do, we had to “Get’r done.” But we needed a leader. In the days leading up to Tuesday, June 21, 2005, there were discussions in our house about what we could do as a family to honor Noah. Michael would be going with the Gilmer High School wrestling team to the University of North Carolina for wrestling camp. Would the team still be going? Could the wrestlers help in the placing of the ribbons, if they cancelled the camp? Would Coach Snider want the team to miss the service? Our family had planned to leave for Florida on the 25th, and to a self-employed business owner, the week before vacation is extra busy. Joshua was getting ready to leave home to attend the University of Georgia. Pam was slammed with work. We were disheartened, depressed, and stressed. We wanted to help and get involved, but we knew our limits. Joshua even told me not to volunteer to lead the effort. He knew me well, well enough to know when time gets short, so does my temper. He didn't want friction between us to be the last thing endured before leaving for college. He said that I didn't need to be the leader, just to be a leader.
As the ideas floated in by e-mail, Pam and I consciously stood on the sidelines, waiting for someone to step forward. That's when Ms. Miller e-mailed Pam and said she was STILL looking for a leader to step up, and Josh and I had a man-to-man talk about an old adage that had gotten me into coaching little league, “Lead, follow, or get out of the way.” It was time for us to step up, he and I together. We rearranged our schedules as Coach Snider made the hard decision to continue with the scheduled camp and have the team miss the service. Sgt. Neil Gary, U.S. Marine and former GHS wrestling champion, and Noah’s sparring partner, would read his memories. Pam committed to focus her energies to hold the fort. It was Josh who made the decision to line not only Highway 515 with ribbons, but also the route along Highway 52 East to the Harris home. It was an addition of almost twenty miles, but Josh and DJ Meadows decided that they were going the extra miles, driving the stakes into the ground, right to the driveway of the home of Rick, Lucy, and Noah.
DJ Meadows (From the ad he ran in the Times Courier)
Noah Harris, who would have been 24 Saturday, June 25, was a son to be proud of, a friend to everyone, and an outstanding individual who gave his life serving others. It is comforting to know we have men like Harris serving and protecting the freedom we all have as Americans, even to the point of giving their own lives if necessary. Noah was a good man. Those who knew him were blessed because they did.
~ We had limited time and resources, but people like Gwen Calhoun, Dan Meadows, and Linda Wingate stepped up with us. Gwen coordinated the teachers and the students. She was a force of nature, so organized, energized and inspiring. She arranged a place at school for students to congregate to store supplies and make ribbons with support from John and Patty Jugenheimer, Brittany Parson, and her dad, Randy, the principal of GHS. He and Dr. Raiford Cantrell, school superintendent, agreed to all our needs. Dan, Mary Beth, DJ, and John Meadows felt compelled to provide a lot of sweat equity and make calls, make bows, tie bows to stakes, deliver supplies to the school, food to workers, troubleshoot safety issues, and, when we needed it most, put up the stakes on the busiest highway in North Georgia. I guess you could say that the Meadowses were our “wingman” on this mission.
Linda Wingate and Sabrina Wingate Teague, owners of a very special flower shop, are angels on Earth. As a businessman, I know the unending solicitations for contributions made to small businesses, and I was uncertain where their good will would end. It turned out to be endless. When the ribbon color changed to yellow because the Harrises wanted to honor all the troops along with Noah, they replaced the already purchased ribbons for free. They coordinated the effort to make the ribbons with all the other florists in North Georgia, from Hiawassee to Canton. They showed volunteers how to make a decent ribbon by hand. When the number of miles of highway was changed from 12 miles to 45 miles, they knew what to do. Linda and Sabrina cranked up the bow-making machines at their store for free as well as putting up the large ribbons that ran the length of River Street as their part of the effort.
They made bows for days and nights, foregoing their normal business. The many visitors to their shop, buying bows to donate, were told the money was going to materials only, that the volunteer effort was for a war hero. That’s when Candy Kipp and many other gracious donors started learning to operate the bow-making machines. The excitement and good will in that flower shop is a memory that still warms my heart. The good will kept growing and spreading. When ribbon material ran out, someone would call and go to Marietta or farther for the material. Yellow ribbon material used to make bows was selling out in North Georgia. Janice Durden went to Garden Ridge, south of Atlanta to pick up more stock. The bow-making machine at the Wingates' Flower Shop was being run morning, noon, and night—for free.
Linda Wingate
“We just turned it over to the volunteers and they went to work.”
Candy Bramlett (Mikey’s older sister):
“I drove all the way to Dalton for yellow ribbon. We bought it out. There wasn’t any left in North Georgia.”
~ Sabrina left her children at revival with friends from church so she could stay at the shop and make bows. The end result from the many different sources was that over 1800 ribbons were made and put on stakes or tied to bridges and trees. The remainder of the money, almost one thousand dollars was dispersed to different charities at Lucy’s request with part of the money going to the Quilts of Honor Quilters of Deepstep, Ga., and to the fund to help John Chrzanowski, Noah’s driver. Linda and Sabrina, we love you! Stories of Noah’s effect on peoples’ lives were shared on line and over lunch. Prayer chains were started throughout North Georgia, New Jersey, and other places around the world. Writers at the newspaper and TV stations in the area were reporting the story of the young man from a North Georgia mountain community who made a difference. Sites for message boards regarding fallen soldiers were posted online. Messages were sent to the family of Noah’s slain comrade, William Long. Numerous people suggested naming the new training facility under construction at Gilmer High school for our fallen hero. Amazing as it may seem, it had already been designated as a combination wrestling/cheerleading multi-purpose center.
Jennifer Swartzell (Ellijay, Ga.)
Noah meant a lot to everyone in the community and will be missed by all. He was the kindest and nicest person anyone would ever meet. My son was named after Noah because he made such an impact on both mine and my son's father's lives that we hope our son can grow up to be the man Noah was. We intend to make sure our Noah knows who the man was he was named after and we hope he takes pride in name.
The Bronze Plaque at the Noah Harris Center (by Athletic Director Greg Burrell)
NOAH HARRIS CENTER. In Honor of 1st Lt. Noah Harris. Noah was a state champion wrestler, football letterman, and an active participant in Drama at Gilmer High School. Noah received many awards for both academic and extracurricular activities and was a true Bobcat. Prior to joining the Army, Noah was Captain of the Georgia Bulldog Cheerleading Squad. Noah loved his school, his family, and his country and he will never be forgotten. IDWIC.
Christy Lindstrum (ETC-3 Interview, R&R, May 2005)The local TV station re-aired the recent interview of Noah when he was home on leave.
Noah, what would you like to say to people today?
“Keep making America great! Keep appreciating what we have here because we have so much to be thankful for. I miss the beauty, the smell, so clean the mountains. Ellijay is a great town... (In Iraq) the people are with us. I mean they have nothing and have lived in a constant state of survival. There is no sense of community because they have to be so concerned about not being shot or where their next meal is going to come from. But they are still warm and happy friendly people and it just made me feel so thankful for everything that I have here, the opportunities. They have no opportunities, but now there are more chances to get educated. Women are getting to vote and have a voice. They had the first free election in 1,000 years. Reminds me to be thankful for what I have...”
Lucy
Ribbon-making sessions were held at homes and churches throughout the community. Janice Durden, Desiree Trujillo, the Meadows family, Devon Cochran, Pam Garrett, Betsy Herschberger Ballew, April Beavers, all contributed at a bow-making session at our home, the girls upstairs making bows from ribbon, the guys downstairs stapling the bows to stakes. Schedules were made and then changed as needed. Deadlines were moved up as the scope of work grew and grew. David Miller worked on the stakes. Jim learned how to make “poof” bows. Plans for the Noah Celebration were growing; the service at the church would be fed by cable to the school auditorium across the street. The Octagon Club, the United Methodist Church, family, and friends had decided to provide a meal at “Noah’s Celebration of Life Service.” The story of a true American hero was in the air.
Noah’s Magnolia
We told the reporters from Fox and Channel 46 that it was unmistakable, the lemon-orange fragrance of a freshly opened magnolia blossom. We had watched it with Noah and Ashley from Mother’s Day (Second week in May, 2005) until his departure (Fourth Week in May, 2005), a single bud on a small magnolia, planted in honor of his deployment to Iraq. We wanted it to bloom for him because it was meant as a promise to him that it would grow into old age along with him next to the azaleas as a reminder of his valiant service of his country and of his family’s appreciation. We showed everyone the creamy opened petals and they seemed as thrilled as we were that it had finally opened for Noah on June 18, 2005. To me it was one sign of many, and the story spread...
~ Josh, DJ, and I were on a scouting mission early Friday June 24, 2005, driving the entire route of the “ribbon trail,” calculating mileage, looking for safety hazards, timing the route, figuring the spacing intervals for the ribbons. We needed to pass an accurate count of ribbons necessary to Gwen Calhoun at the school “manufacturing facility.” We knew the rush of volunteers coming later that day to the high school depended on our judgment. Joshua and DJ were determined to have a “ribbon trail” to Rick and Lucy’s door before their return from Fort Benning, and they knew it was going to be cutting it close. Around 10 a.m. we set out to find the Harris home with Coach Snider’s directions. That’s when we realized it was over the line in Dawson County, adding another 4.5 miles to our route. We would have to scramble to get the job done, and it became apparent it was going to take longer than expected, so we stopped scouting and started staking.
Josh and DJ wore red hunting vests and took turns jumping out and hammering stakes into the ground. We longed for an open pick-up to work out of, but you don't always get what you want, you get what you need. Josh and DJ sat on the rear bumper, hammering stakes on the move with the hatchback of the Blazer opened and using the bumper as a sunscreen. It turned out to be cooler and quicker than the pick-up. Traffic was light, but it was slow going. People seemed to realize what we doing. Word must have spread. People who did beep their horn did so with a hardy “thumbs up.” Dan Meadows kept our crew stocked by shuttling more stakes and ribbons, drinks, and sandwiches from Mr. P's Eastside Grill, as well as much-needed moral support and updates.
Oddly, we started receiving cell phone calls from a number of Gilmer County friends who were Atlanta job commuters. Early in the morning, on their way to work, they noticed yellow ribbons were already up from the Gilmer/Pickens county line south nearly to Canton all along Highway 515. After a little investigation, we found out that, unbeknownst to us, our Pickens County neighbors and compatriots had worked through the night out of the back of a golf-cart type work vehicle with a small crew, lining the highway in an effort to extend the “ribbon trail” farther towards Atlanta than we in Gilmer County had planned. The spirit of good will is contagious and the folks in Pickens County were not going to be left out of any tribute to a North Georgia hero. I have to say, this got the competitive juices flowing; Gilmer County was going to have to get energized! Pickens County had beaten us to the punch. God bless them every one!
The Pickens effort changed our strategy. We scrapped the original plan of using 30 or so different teams to “adopt a mile” because this meant a lot of people on the road, near traffic. A small group could cover as much ground without exposing a lot of different volunteers to the hazards of traffic. We divided into two “highway” teams. Dan and John Meadows and Brendan Trujillo would start at the Pickens County line and head north towards town. When Dan's truck overheated and traffic got dangerous near the new Wal-Mart, he was relieved by Noah’s teammates and alumni members of GHS’ wrestling team, Airman Ben Worley, his new bride, Erica, and Jarrod Young, who finished the stretch of road to the Hardee's restaurant. Joshua, DJ, and I headed towards town from the Harrises’ on two-lane, Highway 52 East.
It took longer, but it was safer. The larger group of volunteers from the high school safely walked the roads through town from the square to the Dairy Queen to the Veterans Memorial in front of the Civic Center. Gold Kist and Gilmer County Bank sent employees to take the section from the Dairy Queen to the Hardee's restaurant along Industrial Boulevard. New Horizons Bank lined the service road along the Highlands Center Commercial District. Another group of volunteers finished the route from the square to the Methodist Church. Drs. Jimmy and Barb Talbot made the bows and placed them in the magnolia trees at the church. Other volunteers shuttled stakes and bows to the crews along the highway. It seemed when we needed manpower, people miraculously appeared.
When we needed more stakes, Cindy Fuller, Don Mahaffie and Dianne from Fireside Log Homes and Robert Gudger from Columbia Forest Products dropped off close to a thousand stakes unexpectedly because they thought we might use them... like manna from heaven. Judith Williams from the Garden Club planned to honor Noah's memory with a planting project. Ellen Grant worked to spread the word, as did Martha West at United Community Bank and Diane Bowen at Region's Bank. I spent time talking with Cherrie Martin at SKID who was so inspired she made the volunteer T-shirts. As with so many of the acts of kindness at the time, it was only later I found out Cherrie was the driving force in the Pickens County ribbon effort that lasted three long nights. Pat Jewell brought needed ribbons from the Pickens County group to Ellijay, then took needed stakes from Ellijay back to Jasper.
The Bargain Barn and the local banks had their marquee signs lit with Noah's message all week long. Sign makers Jan and Barbara at Appalachian Signs and More as well as Martin at Pride Signs answered the call to make signs for the square and the entrances to the county. Sandra Sales at the City of Ellijay was coordinating flags, police transportation. Brian Watts from Downtown Ellijay Merchants Association coordinated the flag display by the local merchants. Jason Richards offered his family land to display ribbons. Nancy Gheesling at Gilmer Middle School encouraged her staff to help in the effort as she prepared to send her son, Russell, a member of Noah’s class, to serve in the Middle East.
Gwen Calhoun said it all with the message she sent after working so hard, that she was glad to be part of this “awesome healing process.” It was providence, it was meant to be. Volunteers joined forces and met at the GHS lobby entrance at 2 p.m. Friday afternoon. Gwen, John and Patti Jugenheimer, Letson and Janetta McCoy were set up for business, and as soon as we planned and re-planned, even more people showed up to meet the needs of the operation. Local pastor Tim Harrison worked with the larger groups and made sure things got done in a safe manner. I fully understand why people who remember good works always seem to say, “I’m afraid I’ll leave someone out if I start mentioning names.” I stand guilty as charged. I can’t remember all of the names of the people I met that day, and know for certain I wasn’t introduced to half I saw; it was wonderful.
Late in the afternoon, when Josh, DJ, and I finished our section of the project, we drove around to check things out. Some of the stakes with ribbons had fallen down along Industrial Boulevard. As we turned around to reset the stakes, we were cut off by a truck in front of us. The passenger jumped out and reset the stake himself, not realizing that’s what we were doing, too! We went around him to the next stake that had fallen and stopped to reset it; the same truck leapfrogged around us to reset yet the next fallen stake. We followed this “Chinese fire drill” method of repair until we reached the end of the road. We didn’t know those guys in the truck. They weren’t part of the volunteers as far as I know. They just wanted to make things right.
Bob Merritt
(400 Edition) Newspaper Article
A war is fought, a soldier dies, a father mourns and a mother cries. A grateful community showed its appreciation for one of its fallen heroes on June 25. A gathering of around 2,000 friends and family gave thanks for the sacrifice 1st Lt. Noah Harris made for his country. Buried on his 24th birthday, he was given a hero’s celebration... This year (2005) Dawsonville has the flags and markers... a needed sign of patriotism, but something else was there. Where did all the yellow ribbons come from? As I left Dawsonville and drove down Highway 52, I saw a yellow ribbon here and there on a mailbox, but as I crossed into Gilmer County the ribbons outnumbered the flags. From the outskirts of Ellijay to the center of town, yellow ribbons hung everywhere and the streets, yards, and storefronts flew the American flag. You had to know something was happening so I asked a store owner. “We just lost a fine boy in Iraq and this is our way of honoring him and his family.” Ironically I had noticed the headlines in the Dawson Community News that Dawsonville had lost a son to war. It wasn’t until I laid the Times Courier, from Ellijay, on the seat of my truck beside the Dawsonville paper, that I realized it was the same young man. Independence Day will never be the same to many people because of the supreme sacrifice Noah Harris made... we should never take our freedom for granted.
~ It was at this time that we got a call from David Miller. It was after five and he was at his work place, Ace Hardware, having just returned from the military service held for Noah at Fort Benning. He and Linda had spent the day with Rick and Lucy at the service and they sounded tired and emotionally spent. We drove over to meet him in the parking lot. They were happy to see the ribbons were already up, and David, work horse that he is, was literally in tears over not being there to help. We told stories about our day and the great work of the volunteers and of the luck we had with everything falling into place. He said he hoped to be a part of taking down the stakes and ribbons before the Fourth of July at the request of the department of transportation. I assured him he would be a big part of that task, since we were going to be in Florida that following week.
Melinda Hadden of Ellijay, Ga.
We are going to continue Noah's Miracle and if anyone needs some inspiration, ride up to Ellijay and see the 42 miles of yellow ribbons that were placed for Noah and ALL of our military. We thank you who are serving and we thank the families who have made the ultimate sacrifice.
~ Saturday morning there was literally a buzz in the air. Joshua and I prepared to leave the house early to help set up at the church. After a discussion about the proper attire, I acquiesced to Josh’s casual look to accommodate the work load we were expecting. As we drove through town we noticed that American flags lined the city streets for the Fourth of July season. ETC’s people were wiring the connections for the television feed to the school auditorium to accommodate the large crowd that was expected at the church service. We weren’t planning on staying at the church, though. We were going to meet Mikey and David Mooney at the school auditorium and watch the service over closed circuit television so as to leave room in the church for the out-of-town guests and dignitaries. Mikey and David Mooney contributed greatly to the online memorial resources that told Noah’s story over and over.
SPC. Travis Miller of 3rd platoon, Bayonet 2-69 AR
“LT” - You are the bench mark for every platoon leader I will ever have. You made sure we were trained and well prepared for what we would face in Baqubah. Your first thought was always of our welfare, but you lived the warrior ethos and knew the mission always came first. You taught us to treat the Iraqi people with respect but to always be on the hunt for the guerillas that sought to undermine our mission and harm the Iraqi people. “BEANIE BABIES IN ONE POCKET AND BULLETS IN THE OTHER.” You taught me how to be a good leader and I will teach my soldiers to live the “IDWIC” way. Thank you for being here for me and all the Wolfpack. We will never forget you and Cpl. Long. We miss you, LT.
The Warrior Ethos
I will always place the mission first.
I will never accept defeat.
I will never quit.
I will never leave a fallen comrade.
~ When we arrived at the church, I suddenly recalled my mother’s stern admonition to never under-dress for any occasion. “You can never be overdressed,” she’d said. I shared this with Josh as we entered the sanctuary; he reminded me to lighten up. “You’re just worried about what people will think of you.” Deep down, I knew he was right. I was too tired to change anyway after helping to set up the church. The place was hopping. The emcee/speaker organizer, Lynn Clark, was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a baseball cap, my kind of gal. Laura Morris, a devoted Florida State fan, sported a beautiful UGA shirt in honor of Noah.
Lynn Clark
(Nicknamed “Herself” by Pop Pop and Granny Peggy)
Whatever length of time you were fortunate enough to know Noah, you will be forever touched through your experience with him. He touched the lives of children, peers, and friends. Though not perfect, he was a very special person. No matter who you were, Noah infiltrated your heart and enveloped you with love. The teachers knew Joshua and me from school functions and though they were scrambling to complete last minute details, Lynn was kind enough to thank me for the work done on the “ribbon trail” and asked if I’d like to say a few words during the service. I declined from a severe lack of planning, proper wardrobe, and sheer fear of screwing up in front of congressmen and out-of-town officials, let alone Noah’s family and friends. I just didn’t think it was my place. I wanted to make room for what I considered more deserving visitors. I just wanted to decompress and listen to the tributes.
Mark Pettit (Noah’s football and wrestling coach, June 25, 2005)
Even from a young age, something about him stood out... his perception and awareness of other people amazes me. When I would get a little intense (at wrestling tournaments), Noah would put his hand on my shoulder or smile that Noah smile. He had an ability to choose goals of importance. He would find out what he had to do and then relentlessly pursue... I wasn’t surprised about his decision because he had a great appreciation for the freedom we have. We live without fear because of Noah... He was willing to act–he didn’t just keep it in his heart; he acted. He was a difference maker... Keep Noah’s life alive in our hearts and let it motivate us to be a difference maker like he was.
~ It was then that Joshua came to tell me that he’d been honored by being asked to speak during the service on behalf of Dr. Mark Stallings (Georgia State Teacher of the Year, one of Noah’s mentors, and a friend of Lucy). Joshua, who had wanted to be low key during the tribute, was now in a large public spotlight of attention, but he said he was up to the task and went about reading the prepared statement in order to feel more relaxed. When Joshua got to the podium, he shared some of his personal thoughts of his recent meeting with Noah while on leave from Iraq. There are times when I have been more proud of my son, but I’ll never forget his courage in performing with little notice. For Noah, he was just comfortable being himself. It was a just reward for the previous week’s lesson, learning lessons he and I shared. The other speaker’s messages were funny, heart-wrenching, patriotic, inspirational, clear, and full of love. The messages of loyalty, honor, commitment, love of God, country, and family are life’s lessons I’ve tried to live by and tried to pass on to my sons and with which to honor my wife of 24 years. Validation and affirmation of all the things I hold dear were lifted up that day. It was very moving.
Loran Smith (Athens)
With the Stars and Stripes decorating every pew, mourners, which included U.S. Senator Johnny Isakson, constantly dabbed their eyes as the life of the former Bulldog was celebrated. I was honored to be in the room, to be part of the community, to see this celebration of life. It couldn’t get any better than this... until Rick and Lucy got up to speak. The strength, the grace, the call for compassion, to care for the children and people of Iraq... the “roll call” of colleges and schools... the calling of the Dawgs... singing Happy Birthday to Noah. Lucy, you are an inspiration: You truly made everyone feel like part of your family. Rick, you were strength to all fathers of men in the audience, as well as their sons. Your quote, “If only ignorance were painful,” was clear and concise. I will use the term “bonehead” more often. We stand in awe of the strength you showed by allowing your son to live his dream, aware that by doing so, you might well lose him... and then sharing all those personal feelings with those of us who heard your words. Much of what Noah was to you showed clearly that day in your words. And by that sharing, we all took a part of Noah with us to keep forever. Well done. It was that day that I was asked how many people it took “to make this happen.” The ribbons... the celebration... the food... the spirit of the community... It just felt right to answer, “Just one. Noah Harris.”
Sid Webb (Noah’s pastor, coach, and friend, June 25, 2005)
...I believe that God knows what he is doing...Noah packed more into his 24 years than many do in a...lifetime. Anyone who can go from excellence on the stage to excellence on the mat to excellence on the gridiron to excellence on the sideline to excellence in the classroom to excellence on the battlefield... Well, that person is a special person. We admit too late that we were in the presence of greatness... After the service I wrote one last message to those “in the loop.” I shared the words of Methodist Hymn # 437, “This Is My Song”... the closing verse is, “O hear my prayer, thou God of all nations; myself I give thee; let thy will be done.”
~ I've received many thanks from friends and loved ones, including Rick and Lucy Harris, but Ms. Miller's message was special in that it reminded me we were not done, yet. The stakes and ribbons had to be taken down before the Fourth of July. David and Linda Miller led the way by starting in Dawson County and heading towards town picking up stakes and ribbons along Highway 52 East with David on the trunk lid of the moving car, waving off speeding semi-trucks with a wood stake tipped with a yellow ribbon. In the evening's setting sun you could see Don Quixote fighting windmills. So innocent...until we were stopped by the Sheriff's Department. David explained what we were up to and the deputy left us to finish our task.
Michael had returned from camp and heard of all our “fun” and was instrumental in pulling up stakes along 515. While Joshua held his baby brother by the belt, Michael grabbed the passing stakes. Pam walked the triangle within the city, River Street, Main Street, Industrial Boulevard, and picked up all the stakes there. Alan and Becky Settel picked up the stakes in the Highlands Shopping Center complex. After our trip to Florida, school started, and I went to visit Lucy at the high school. She showed off her new tattoo and told the story of how she and her 80-year-old father were being cheered on by bystanders, as they went through the process of having a memorial to Noah's memory tattooed on their left deltoids. Lucy rocks! I was then blessed by Lucy's words of thanks and endearment, that left me humble ... again. I was left, once more, saying Noah's inspirational words: "I do what I can."
Merritt Melancon (onlineathens.com)
Time and again, Harris’ eulogists–a group composed of the friends Harris had made everywhere from Gilmer High School to UGA to his time in Iraq–approached the lectern at the front of the overflowing church with stories of his resolve to spread kindness and freedom throughout the world, and to live with enthusiasm and with out regret... Their stories about Harris were meant to celebrate his life, the lives he touched and his resolve to make a difference in the world... “We want to be able to say, ‘Oh yes, that’s our son,’ that we were responsible for the way he turned out and that we were his teachers,” she said. “But really, it was all of his best friends. Every one of you was his teacher. He was hungry to live, and he was hungry for you to feed him.”
Tony Long (Robbie’s Mom)
Lucy, I just have to tell you this one Noah food story. One time when Noah spent the night, I decided to close the kitchen after he ate 64 pancakes.”
Rick
I will never forget the police escort to town. In my experience, it was so surreal because the police were leading instead of following me. Lucy and Ashley burst into tears of pride as we rolled by mile after mile of yellow ribbons, flags waving, and a sign that broadcast, WELCOME TO Gilmer County, Home of 1st Lt. Noah Harris. When we got to town, I had a hard time driving because it was just so amazing. Every possible spot in view was filled with a waving Old Glory or a yellow ribbon. They were everywhere!
Lucy
I remember that Dr. Jim (Talbot) helped us from the car as someone drove it away to be parked; he strongly led us into the foyer of the church and a line formed immediately and we began hugging people. From the moment Rick and I got out of the car until it was time for the celebration to begin, we got our wish, holding onto Noah’s people and encouraging them to take the high road that Noah envisioned. An ocean of smiling faces, old friends, family, Noah’s friends from all over the place... and Damon Evans’ beautiful smile (UGA Athletic Director), and Johnny Isakson, calm and gentle and comforting. It was obvious everyone had gotten the word that we were determined to honor Noah in celebration! Hailey and Alyssa were right beside us, earnestly putting “Lt. Noah Harris, IDWIC” dog tags around the necks of well wishers.
Rick
I lost it for a little while when Earl Leonard hugged me and looked into my eyes; there are no words adequate to explain the immensity of the connection. We cried together for our Noah as mentor and father, no distinction between us. We were of one mind and one heart, celebrating the passing of our great son.
Lucy
The sanctuary was dominated by light, filtered through stained glass; I remembered how Noah loved it. The music was Noah through and through: A song called, “Flying,” with the words, “I’ll never stop loving you,” and Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA” with the words “I’m proud to be an American,” Gavin DeGraw’s “Belief”–so powerful the words, “Tonight you arrested my mind when you came to my defense...” There were also Pastor Frank Colloday singing, “You Are So Beautiful,” Chrissie’s great image tribute on the program, Hailey squeezing my hand, Ashley, so beautiful, so brave. The amazing tributes which are scattered throughout this book, Kym telling how her big little brother loved to scare her on the 4-wheeler and then stop and talk about finding meaning and purpose. Amy jumping up to help lead the congregation in the GHS alma mater! Calling the dogs, “Woof, Woof, Woof, Woof, Woof!” Singing the Army fight song and having the whole crowd cheer like thunder for our troops. Speaking calmly in Noah’s honor—easy because everyone there wanted it to be what it was, a hearing, a healing, a Hallelujah for our boy. Rick’s saying, “Ignorance should be painful,” and making everyone laugh. “Happy Birthday, dear Noah...” The 21-gun salute followed by reveille outside uniting the congregations of the church and the auditorium. Proud my entire family was there.
Rick
The military presence throughout the service was so supportive and compassionate. Following the 21-gun salute and reveille, Lucy and I received Old Glory from the commanding officer doing our best to be strong, but I broke down when an ROTC officer presented Ashley with a flag from the UGA cadets. Soon thereafter, the colonel who had delivered the news of Noah’s death found me, and I’ll always remember what he said: “Mr. Harris, I must tell you how impressed I am with how you and your family have responded. I have never encountered such a patriotic family.” I sent a prayer out to Noah at that moment: “Thank you my son.”
Lucy
After the rifle salute, it was suddenly very hot outside, and I remember Lynn Clark’s pushing me through a sea of open hands and loving hearts inside, to the head of a receiving line; Rick was across the room at the head of another. I can hear her now as we struggle to finish Noah’s book, encouraging firmly and repeatedly, “Come on Lucy... Come on Lucy...Come on Lucy.” I was so grateful for the coolness of the fellowship hall, and I remember more hugging and sharing and laughing, trying to stand up for Noah and touch all the hands and hearts of all who had come to bear witness to his passing. I will always remember it as a turning point of my life. Across the crowded fellowship hall, I could see into the kitchen. Lou Ann Teague and the sweet men and women of the church were managing the piles of food brought by students and friends. It was epic; joy in the alternate universe is different, but possible. Again, thank you all so much for the pictures, the patriotic bracelets, the kind words of encouragement.
Rick
Gene Anderson (Noah’s future civilian employer, former military) called me the next day and said he told his wife, “Honey, when I go, this is the kind of service I want to have, a celebration!”
Amy
All because of this little boy we love so much. Noah was the kind of friend who could always find something good to say about even the worst hair cut. He looked for the positive attributes and aspects in every human being. He was the hometown boy with values that stretched as far as the mind can imagine. Carpe Diem was his thing. I didn’t have to worry with Noah because with him, I was always safe. Thank you for being my Huckleberry friend. You always had an old spirit, but you were always young at heart.
~ From Rick & Lucy: Thank you, Jim, Ellijay, UGA, USA!
Rick and I always try to remember Lucy’s dream of Georgia’s son, Noah shimmering in the air above our loft, grinning lightheartedly, reminding Mom not to worry about thanking everyone, but, like Jim, we are humbled by the magnitude and the wonder of it all, and yet, that’s just the way Ellijay is, and the way the Bulldogs roll, and it is America. The attitude of gratitude lives here and it heals. Still, to all of the folks whom we didn’t thank personally, it’s because we didn’t know, maybe still don’t; but we’re not gonna miss this opportunity: “Thank YOU!” We know that each of you was and is an “Army of ONE” and together you proved to this family, this state, this country, and this world that, although Noah’s body is no longer with us, his spirit will never be forgotten and his legacy will be magnified. You are Noah's people, and just like you, we do not consider his death to be an accident, but rather the fulfillment of a great man’s destiny.
Most of the ribbon is down now, but the message of it still goes on. There are teachers who are teaching Noah’s philosophy, the theater students and football players dedicated every play to him in 2005—it was marvelous being hugged by 65 guys who had just warmed up for a game. Go Bobcats! FCCLA teacher Carol Watkins arranged about half of the student body into a giant yellow ribbon which she photographed and sent to Noah’s men. Six-year-old Jay Stowe whose daddy is a Georgia Bulldog and one of Noah’s football coaches told us at a Friday night football game in clear terms that he was writing a book about Noah’s life and that, for dress-up day, he was going to be a hero, he was going to be number 27 (He presented us with the book on Veteran’s Day, 2005, and we hope someday to share it with primary and elementary school kids.) A center page spread in the GHS Band football program was dedicated to our hero. Jodi Bramlett and her mom, Susan have vowed "...to pay our respects every year..." by placing American flags where we can see them in honor of Noah's birthday.
John Peeler (Times Courier, August, 2005)
Gilmer High School paid tribute to the fallen former GHS standout, 1st Lt. Noah Harris, by retiring his number 27 football jersey during a pre-game ceremony, Aug. 26, at Huff-Mosley Memorial Stadium... Head football coach Rob Stowe presented the jersey to the parents of Harris.... In addition to retiring his jersey, the Gilmer Touchdown Club sold T-shirts (lovingly designed by Lisa Bradley and her mother-in-law) honoring Harris, with the proceeds from the sales going to the Noah Harris Memorial Fund. The T-shirts were printed by Team Sales of North Georgia, Inc., in Jasper Ga.,... with a picture of Harris in his football uniform, and one of him in his desert Battle Dress Uniform on the front with the words “From a Gilmer Bobcat...To An American Hero, In Loving Memory of 1st Lt. Noah Harris, KIA 06-18-05,” on the front, and his name and number 27 on the reverse side, sold during the game.
Jessica Creson (The Purple and White – Gilmer HS paper – September 2005)
#27 FOREVER!
~ Lucy
The tipping point continues to send out aftershocks of love. The Harris family and Ashley have been very busy attending 4th of July Parades, the UGA ROTC chapel ceremony and the Bulldawg Battalion's Harris Weight Room dedication, the UGA Terry College of Business' recognition of Earl Leonard who honored Noah, the UGA Athletic Memorial dedication (Noah is the first UGA athlete to be killed in action since Viet Nam), the Red and Black Band playing like angels for Noah as well as visiting UGA President Michael Adams at his Athens home as honored guests for a pre-game party. Before the September 9, 2005 game, we stood with UGA athletic director Damon Evans on the field as 95,000 Bulldawgs shook the earth and rocked the heavens with their approval, yelling, “Your son is a hero!”
Then, we worked our way through an adoring crowd that patted our backs and shook our hands; we watched UGA take it to the Gamecocks from the president’s box. Later in the year, we were received at the capitol by Governor Sonny Perdue, U.S. Representative Nathan Deal, state Senator Chip Pearson, state Representative David Ralston, and many others as they honored the LT and the students of the GHS Leadership Program which Noah had inspired with the help of Dr. Stallings, Dr. Melanie Lankua, and the Terry College ILA. There have been many loving ceremonies in churches as well as speeches given at Veteran’s and Memorial Day Commemorations. Many Georgia magazines and newspapers have constructed handsome full page spreads in honor of our American hero.
At the Gilmer High School Noah Harris Center building dedication, all of Noah's men and friends from the company came up to the mountains from Fort Benning to participate in what Noah would have called an "awesome" event; the soldiers stayed for lunch and interacted with the students who excitedly asked their heroes for autographs and answers to thousands of questions. They even played soft ball. 1SG Gaston said, “This makes the men feel like they are finally home.”
We are amazed and gratified by the scholarships and the donations that are being made in his honor to various causes and charities. Noah had always planned among many other things to help students at GHS, North Georgia College, and UGA. Through the kindness and love of his many friends, he is realizing his goal. Shelly Korpieski O'Brian made this positive affirmation, “We’ve got to raise some money, but we are going to get it done for Noah.”
At the Ronnie Thompson Ford Dealership, home of the Support the Troops project, the Lt. Noah Harris Hero Wall -- constructed by Ronnie, Vicki, Jeff Ellington and all the fine folks at the dealership -- is a “must see” shrine to all who serve America or wish to pay their respects. We were there when Vince Dooley and Shelly came to help dedicate it. Vince says he keeps close at hand a picture of himself and Noah with arms draped over shoulders, grinning with love and Bulldog pride. Larry Munson, the voice of Georgia football since 1966 and Noah’s future fishing buddy, has donated all proceeds from his Larry Munson Talking Bobblehead Doll to the Noah Harris Memorial Scholarship Fund at UGA.
Throughout Noah’s 24 years, we sang with all our hearts because we were so happy, and Noah always applauded for us. He loved his life! Now we sing because we must applaud, for our warrior knight, the standard bearer for his hometown and state with its nerves of steel, heart of compassion, and the fiber of loyalty the likes of which hold the country together. Our heads are bowed and our hearts brim because we realize we are the lucky ones and that all the friends of Noah are as well. We surf the ripples caused by the passing of a great man. As such, we never have to ask the big questions again because we’ve had them all answered.
We know what love is, what family is, what community is. We know that when we put our hands on our hearts to say the pledge or to sing for our country’s freedom that there are no strangers in America; freedom is alive and well. We don’t have to puzzle when we hear children ask, “Who should be my hero?” He has been named a medal of courage recipient by the National Wrestling Hall of Fame, there is a road named for him in Ba'Quba, a building in Ellijay, a weight room in Athens and there will always be the memory of the 50 miles of yellow ribbon. That belongs to all of us. It’s a forever thing.
When we met with President Bush and his mom in Atlanta, we told them not to worry, that we are glad Noah left some of his DNA in Iraq forever so that no matter what happens there, a piece of Noah, the best of America, will remain and grow until humanity reaches another critical mass and recognizes we are one. It may come quietly in the night, or when grief wracks our peaceful days, or when a patch of ice causes a startling slide, but some day, and we hope it is sooner than later, we all feel our hands go to our hearts and connect with the presence that is watching over and protecting America; it is then that we know that everything is all right. Lucy told her students, “If you feel someone pushing you, making you want to pump iron in the middle of the night, you better get up because it just might be Noah and his friends gently urging you to do something with your wonderful life.
Perhaps right now is the moment to reach out and touch the hero spirit and feel it beating in unison with all the others. United we stand... United we stand... America is calling all of us, like she called Noah. In every Ellijay, in every Athens, in every place where the inhabitants realize, as Noah did, that the faces of children everywhere need to be filled with the light of hope, and that when men and women are allowed to walk freely with faith the size of a tiny “pink sticky note,” it’ll be a world of peace, possibility, serendipity, and higher destiny.
Walker Chandler, Rick’s cousin (attorney, author, bagpiper, and poet…from his book, “The Gift”
Oh, Soldier!
Lt. Noah Harris
Oh, young soldier who with the girl you loved
sat across from me at the family gathering,
oh, son of my warrior cousin who served
a tour in the far-off jungles,
what are these awful tidings
that tell us now that you are gone?
What is this news that brings scenes to mind
of parents crying in the woods?
We all knew the costs that wars impose,
and prayed for you and your comrades there.
We thought of you with pride —
bold and handsome, young and strong,
leading men in battle,
your country’s sharpened point.
Oh, sweet Noah, whom last I saw
these months gone by when combat death
was but a distant chance,
a thing marked out for other sons and daughters!
As we gathered as a family in the sun
should we have somehow known, you and I?
Did some unheeded bird cry out
or did a special cloud pass a shadow on your face
as a warning we had not grace or wit to see,
some reminder that our freedom is never free?
For had we known that day at Nellie’s home,
had we but foreseen as we laughed and talked
there amid the flowers Carson grows,
then longer would we have held your hands
to say our last goodbyes,
and more with love and yet greater pride
we would have met your youthful eye.
More sweetly, too, and laced with tears,
the piper would have played for you
a long and proud lament, a battle song
before we let you go on our behalves to face the foe,
before your Spartan mother gave to you the shield.
But who could so well foretell or rightly dread?
We therefore raise tunes of joy and triumph
when blessing our soldiers on their ways
for only in the boldest resolution,
amid the flowers thrown and waving crowds
can we in honor send you forth to war
to help a suffering world in no-longer-distant lands
where dangers dimly seen shall lie in wait
along the roads to freedom.
Oh, Noah!
Now the warlike music,
now the flowers that we threw,
come back across the roughened, tear-strewn sea!
Yet we see you standing there upon the prow
of our foreshadowed, lumbering ark
sending forth like him the second dove
who spreads her hopeful wings,
who circles and then flies away,
staying gone for days
as you the lonely vigil keep,
waiting till she brings to us
the olive sprigs of hope and peace.
Oh, soldier dear, whom we loved here,
we could not have held you back:
Your honor and your nation called,
and now you rest on Mt. Ararat.
Rick (Many newspapers)
“Noah would never let me brag on him,” Harris said. “Now I get to brag and brag and he can’t shut me up.”
Next: Chapters 3-4
