Not all bikes and braun

This story took first place for news-feature writing among small weeklies during the 2010 Wyoming Press Association awards.

Not all bikes and braun

By BRENDAN BURNETT-KURIE

There’s something about Russel Hicks Sr.’s eyes. It’s hard to pinpoint as they peer out from the deep shadows beneath his Operation Iraqi Freedom ballcap.

There’s an intensity about them, set deep in his face against scraggled wrinkles and hardened skin. Standing behind a tent during Hogfest June 25, his mouth is drawn tight below a fu manchu mustache, his graying hair cut short and day-old white whiskers speckle his cheeks below short sideburns.

Two bracelets dangle from his wrists, one a black plastic band – like a Lance Armstrong Livestrong model – that honors POWs. The other, a silver bracelet, honors his son.

Still, it’s his eyes that draw you in, looking past your veneer to something inside you, something you might not even know exists.

Those eyes have seen pain. Battled tragedy. Risen above. Washed sorrow.

Tenacious sadness.

That’s it. But that’s not all of it. There’s something else, an emotion more determined. Something positive.

Resolute belief.

It’s a belief in what he’s doing. An unflinching dedication to his cause.

His cause is his son. More importantly, his son’s memory and the continued remembrance of the rest of Wyoming’s soldiers who have paid the ultimate sacrifice in Iraq and Afghanistan over the past eight years.

Russell’s son, Pfc. Corey L. Hicks, was killed in Iraq May 2, 2008, by an EFP (Explosively Formed Penetrator) while manning a 50-caliber mine sweeper. Corey had been in Iraq less than two months, arriving March 17 for his first deployment.

“I’m turning a tragedy into something positive,” he says. “This is my way of dealing with it.”

His way is the Wyoming Fallen Heroes Scholarship Program, a group of 25 scholarships named in honor of 25 Wyoming soldiers who gave their life in defense of our great nation.

One of those scholarships is in honor of Pfc. Erin L. McLyman, who was 26 when she died March 13, 2010, of wounds sustained when enemy forces attacked her base with mortar fire in Balad, Iraq.

Her grandmother-in-law, Alex Lockhart, works at Uranium One and lives in Glenrock. While McLyman spent most of her life growing up in Oregon, graduating from Sheldon High School in Eugene in 2001, she was married to Brian Williams in Douglas Dec. 15, 2007.

A memorial scholarship in her name will be given each year at Casper College, one of six given to Casper College students each year. There are six scholarships available at Laramie County College, three at the University of Wyoming, three at Central Wyoming College, two at Western Wyoming College, two at Gillette College and one each at Sheridan College, Eastern Wyoming College and Northwest College.

The scholarships are selected based on the students writing a one-page essay saluting an American Veteran from the past or present. Essays are evaluated on the content, clear point, subject passion, spelling and grammar. Scholarships are open to any degree-seeking student enrolled in at least six credit hours with a GPA of at least 2.0.

As Russell talks, his voice falters, becomes stilted as he fights back emotions that would be unrecognizable except for those emotional eyes.

“We’re not gonna let them be forgotten,” he says.

He tells a story of meeting with the members of Hicks’ 4th Infantry Division.

“They told me, ‘Unforunately your son is gone, but you are still a part of the U.S. Army. You’ll always be a part of the U.S. Army.’”

Russell, who was nominated for the statewide Jefferson Award, walks into the tent set up for the scholarship program in the midst of Hogfest, along the main street lined with busy vendors and bustling attendees moseying through the sights, sounds and smells.

His wife, Shannon, opens a scrapbook of all their press clippings. She estimates that 80-90 percent of the motorcycle fans are war veterans, many from Vietnam.

She thinks back to her son, now just a memory held in photos and belongings.

“You never get over it,” she says. “You never get over the death of a child. You learn to live with it. Somedays you don’t want to get out of bed.”

But each morning the Hicks plant their feet firmly on the ground, lift up from the disquieting slumber of night and soldier on.

As Russell says several times in a matter of minutes, “This is our way to deal with our loss. We’re not gonna let these guys be forgotten.”

Amen.