Who is the most badass person in history that no one knows about?

He spat at doctor’s face with his only remaining strength to let him know he was still alive.

In 1965 Roy Benavidez stepped on a land mine during a patrol in Vietnam and was evacuated to the United States. Doctors at the time said he would never walk again and began preparing his medical discharge papers. He began a nightly training ritual (doctors did not tell him to train) in an attempt to regain his ability to walk. And guess what. He did it!

I wanted to go back to Vietnam because of what the news media was saying about us: that our presence was not needed there; they're burning the flag....

On 2 May 1968 during the Vietnam War, there was an operation to save his wounded comrades. Because they were wounded, they couldn’t move to the helicopter - pickup zone.

Roy Benavidez jumped from the hovering helicopter (30-50 feet/9-15 meters in the air) and ran 75 meters under heavy small arms fire to the team. I should mention, his only weapon was a KNIFE when he jumped from the helicopter. While he was running to his comrades, he was wounded on his right leg, face and head.

When he reached the team, Benavidez was severely wounded by small arms fire in the abdomen and grenade fragments in his back. Later, the aircraft pilot was fatally wounded and his helicopter crashed.

Although he was critically wounded, Benavidez secured the classified documents and made his way back to the ruins of the helicopter, where he aided the wounded out of the aircraft and gathered shocked survivors into a defensive formation. Under heavy fire, he moved around the squad and distributed water and ammunition to the men.

Then he called for airstrikes and another rescue attempt. He was shot in the thigh a couple more times. While he was going towards the second rescue helicopter, he was stabbed by an enemy. He killed the enemy in hand-to-hand combat (despite his wounds).

When they finally made it back to the base, he was pronounced dead and put into a body bag. As they were zipping up the body bag, he spat in the doctor’s face with his only remaining strength to let him know he was still alive. He survived these wounds and received the Medal of Honor.

His story from his speech
video
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_oUtJxE4sjs

https://sogsite.com/roy-benavidez/

Roy Benavidez had a couple of noteworthy neighbors.

Roy Benavidez

Leonard Roy Harmon

Harlon Block

One black man (namesake of first ship for a black sailor), one Hispanic man (as mentioned above a MoH awardee), one white man (the man planting the butt of the flagpole in the famous Iwo Jima picture and sculpture). All from ~15 miles of one another.

Thanks for posting this. A great man indeed.

Silent

quote:

Lyudmila Pavlichenko

I have read many accounts of women snipers in the Red Army and although some have accused the Soviets of inflating Pavlichenko’s kill record for their (typical) propaganda purposes, there can be no doubt that it was impressive. Another somewhat lesser-known woman sniper was 19-year-old Roza Shanina with 59 confirmed kills before being killed in action herself near the end of the war.





Their accomplishments were really amazing, especially when considering the combat conditions under which they fought, and how women Russian soldiers were treated by the Germans if captured, but especially the snipers.

But for those who are really unknown, I always think of a US soldier who was last seen delaying the advance of a large Chinese force with aimed fire from his Garand rifle as others withdrew past him during the Korean War. Although I haven’t been able to find the account since, I believe it may have been in the book This Kind of War by T.R. Fehrenbach.

As Sir Thomas Browne put it in Urne Buriall (1658), “Who knows whether the best of men be known, or whether there be not more remarkable persons forgot than any that stand remembered in the known account of time?”

I was fortunate enough to meet Sgt Benavidez and other Medal Recipients in 1993 when I was aboard USCGC Metompkin. My cutter and the CGC Madrona ferried the MOH crew to lay a wreath in Charleston Harbor. There was a volley fired from Ft. Sumter to honor them. It was unreal. Each man I spoke to, to a man, said that they didn’t deserve the award but wore it for the ones who didn’t get home.

Our local badass.

FERNANDEZ, DANIEL
Rank and organization: Specialist Fourth Class, U.S. Army, Company C, 1st Battalion, 5th Infantry (Mechanized) 25th Infantry Division
Place and date: Cu Chi, Hau Nghia Province, Republic of Vietnam, 18 February 1966
Entered service at: Albuquerque, New Mexico
Born: 30 June 1944, Albuquerque, New Mexico
Citation:
For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. Sp4c. Fernández demonstrated indomitable courage when the patrol was ambushed by a Viet Cong rifle company and driven back by the intense enemy automatic weapons fire before it could evacuate an American soldier who had been wounded in the Viet Cong attack. Sp4c. Fernández, a sergeant and 2 other volunteers immediately fought their way through devastating fire and exploding grenades to reach the fallen soldier. Upon reaching their fallen comrade the sergeant was struck in the knee by machine gun fire and immobilized. Sp4c. Fernández took charge, rallied the left flank of his patrol and began to assist in the recovery of the wounded sergeant. While first aid was being administered to the wounded man, a sudden increase in the accuracy and intensity of enemy fire forced the volunteer group to take cover. As they did, an enemy grenade landed in the midst of the group, although some men did not see it. Realizing there was no time for the wounded sergeant or the other men to protect themselves from the grenade blast, Sp4c. Fernández vaulted over the wounded sergeant and threw himself on the grenade as it exploded, saving the lives of his 4 comrades at the sacrifice of his life. Sp4c. Fernández' profound concern for his fellow soldiers, at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty are in the highest traditions of the U.S. Army and reflect great credit upon himself and the Armed Forces of his country.[1]

In 1967, President Lyndon B. Johnson presented the Medal of Honor to Fernandez's parents in a ceremony at the White House. Fernandez is one of about 60 Hispanic-Americans to have received the honor.

.

Specialist Five Edgar Lee McWethy Jr. was born in the town where I live, Leadville, Colorado.
A street is named for him, but there is little other recognition.

“For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. Serving as a medical aidman with Company B, Sp5c. McWethy accompanied his platoon to the site of a downed helicopter. Shortly after the platoon established a defensive perimeter around the aircraft, a large enemy force attacked the position from three sides with a heavy volume of automatic-weapons fire and grenades. The platoon leader and his radio operator were wounded almost immediately, and Sp5c. McWethy rushed across the fire-swept area to their assistance. Although he could not help the mortally wounded radio operator, Sp5c. McWethy's timely first aid enabled the platoon leader to retain command during this critical period. Hearing a call for aid, Sp5c. McWethy started across the open toward the injured men, but was wounded in the head and was knocked to the ground. He regained his feet and continued on but was hit again, this time in the leg. Struggling onward despite his wounds, he gained the side of his comrades and treated their injuries. Observing another fallen rifleman lying in an exposed position raked by enemy fire, Sp5c. McWethy moved toward him without hesitation. Although the enemy fire wounded him a third time, Sp5c. McWethy reached his fallen companion. Though weakened and in extreme pain, Sp5c. McWethy gave the wounded man artificial respiration but suffered a fourth and fatal wound. Through his indomitable courage, complete disregard for his safety, and demonstrated concern for his fellow soldiers, Sp5c. McWethy inspired the members of his platoon and contributed in great measure to their successful defense of the position and the ultimate rout of the enemy force. Sp5c. McWethy's profound sense of duty, bravery, and his willingness to accept extraordinary risks in order to help the men of his unit are characteristic of the highest traditions of the military service and reflect great credit upon himself and the U.S. Army.”

Lenny Skutnik
Martin Leonard Skutnik III is a retired employee of the United States Congressional Budget Office who, on January 13, 1982, saved the life of Priscilla Tirado following the crash of Air Florida Flight 90 into the frozen Potomac River, Washington, D.C. As passengers were being rescued, Tirado was too weak to take hold of the line dropped from a helicopter. Skutnik – one of hundreds of bystanders – dove into the icy water and brought her to the river bank.

I believe Benavidez has been seen in one of the ACH cable shows--one of the "Against the Odds" episodes, I think.

flashguy

Not on the level of you guys examples but still a personal badass to me...

My Grandfather. WWI He was hit by a bullet that went through his helmet, struck him in the forehead and punched a hole in his skull. They patched him up by screwing a plate over the hole. He was not allowed to return to combat but in an effort to do at least "something" useful he was allowed to become a cook and served out his remaining time... 6 yr IIRC. After the war he got a job as a steel worker on high rise buildings, with no safety gear. He once saw a nearby worker fall to his death, he said they got the rest of that day off. He said once past the third floor you really didn't think about the height.

Henry "Red" Erwin Sr.

quote:

B-29: Phosphorus burned through his flesh to the bone. His body on fire, he stumbled into the cockpit
Jack Beckett Jul 17, 2015

Henry Eugene “Red” Erwin, Sr., (May 8, 1921 – January 16, 2002) was a United States Army Air Forces airman and a recipient of the U.S. military’s highest decoration—the Medal of Honor—for his actions in World War II. He earned the award as a staff sergeant and radio operator aboard a B-29 Superfortress in the Asia-Pacific theater. During a 1945 bombing mission over Koriyama, Japan, a phosphorus bomb prematurely exploded in his aircraft and seriously wounded him. As smoke filled the plane, he picked up the burning device and carried it through the aircraft to the cockpit where he tossed it out a window. Although he suffered severe burns, he successfully saved his plane by disposing of the smoke-generating bomb.

I offer R. Adm William Augustus Lee, a student of marksmanship, from BB guns, to 16” naval battleships.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=58lfaMFUQc0

Leroy Brown

Come on man, everybody knows Bad, Bad Leroy Brown. Shoot, he’s the baddest man in the whole darned town.

John "Portugee" Phillips.

https://www.historynet.com/ride-of-a-lifetime.htm

Ride of a Lifetime

Clad in an ice-encrusted buffalo overcoat, John "Portugee" Phillips arrives at Fort Laramie on Christmas night 1866 after his 236-mile ride in aid of imperiled Fort Phil Kearny, Dakota Territory.
Portugee Phillips Arrives at Old Bedlam, by Dave Paulley, courtesy of the Wyoming State Historical Society/Paulley Collection
Gene Gade

The situation was desperate at Fort Phil Kearny in Dakota Territory on the evening of Dec. 21, 1866. Shortly after noon that day hundreds of Sioux, Northern Cheyenne and Northern Arapaho warriors had annihilated Captain William J. Fetterman and the 80 men under his command on the far side of a bleak, windswept ridge, out of sight of the post but within earshot. Five wagons sent to retrieve the fallen returned after nightfall bearing a ghastly cargo of 49 frozen bodies that had been scalped, stripped naked, unspeakably mutilated and perforated by hundreds of arrows. Thirty-two corpses remained on the field.

More than one-quarter of the fort’s fighting men had died with Fetterman. Most of the garrison’s remaining rifles were obsolete and in poor condition. Ammunition stocks had been inadequate from the beginning of the operation and were dangerously low. Best estimates were that some 1,500 to 3,000 warriors were in the vicinity, eager to finish the fight. Warriors openly surveilled the soldiers that afternoon, and signal fires were visible on nearby ridges after dark.

The threat of being overrun by Indians loomed large. Colonel Henry B. Carrington, commander of the fort, prepared his men for an assault on the stockade at dawn on December 22. With wagonloads of dismembered soldiers yet to be buried, it required little imagination to envision the horror that would ensue were warriors to capture the fort. The prospect was so grim that Carrington made a dire contingency plan: Were defeat imminent, the women and children were to be corralled in the fort’s magazine, where Carrington himself would set off the powder stores and kill all rather than let them be captured and tortured. Accentuating the psychological chill, air temperatures dropped precipitously in the hours after the battle. By nightfall the mercury was well below zero and still falling.

Accentuating the psychological chill, air temperatures dropped precipitously in the hours after the battle. By nightfall the mercury was well below zero and falling
The primary hope for reinforcements and supplies was Fort Laramie, a perilous 236-mile ride to the southeast. Crews had yet to string telegraph wires along the Bozeman Trail, so mounted couriers had to carry any communications. Carrington considered sending a detachment of troops for help. However, Indians would surely target soldiers riding in the open, and the colonel couldn’t afford to further deplete an already diminished defense force.

Such were the circumstances when Carrington asked for civilian volunteers to carry news of the disaster and his plea for reinforcements. Thus far in his life John Phillips, a wiry man with dark eyes and a pointed beard, had done little to distinguish himself from the thousands of other seekers out West. But at that critical moment “Portugee” Phillips agreed to make the ride for help and thus rode into a revered place in history.

This much is known: In the midst of the bitterly cold night following the battle Phillips quietly led the commanding officer’s own horse from the fort and vanished into the teeth of a gathering blizzard. Almost exactly four days later, on Christmas night, the courier stumbled from the frigid darkness of the Fort Laramie parade ground into the midst of a full-dress garrison ball with the stunning news of the Fetterman disaster and Fort Phil Kearny’s dire predicament.

Phillips’ feat was extraordinary. His personal courage, commitment and stamina are beyond question. However, there is much confusion and misinformation about the details of Phillips’ ride. Is it possible to separate settled fact from the romance and myth associated with his justly celebrated achievement?

The most dramatic versions of the legend claim Phillips made his journey alone in a continual blizzard, breaking trail through deep snow most of the way, hiding from Indians by day and riding by night. Legend holds that Phillips rode Carrington’s personal horse and that the exhausted animal died on the Fort Laramie parade ground almost immediately after arrival.

As more information came to light, the story came into sharper focus. Most important, Phillips did not ride alone, nor was he, strictly speaking, an unpaid volunteer: He and fellow volunteer Daniel Dixon each received $300 for taking on the dangerous and arduous mission.

One can never know the thoughts of the previously obscure seasonal worker and would-be prospector when he accepted the duty. Some accounts claim Phillips did it to save Frances Grummond, the young, pregnant wife of 2nd Lt. George W. Grummond, who died alongside Fetterman that day.

Carrington gave Phillips his choice of the garrison’s remaining horses, and the courier did in fact choose the colonel’s favorite, a steed named Dandy, described in several sources as a part- Thoroughbred “Kentucky charger,” with discrepancies as to its appearance. In any case, the animal proved to have incredible stamina. Phillips carried only a small sack of grain for the horse, a few hard biscuits for himself, a good rifle and 100 rounds of ammunition. He strapped the rifle rounds to his lower legs, partly as ballast to keep him from falling out of the saddle.

Carrington assumed the Indians had posted sentries to detect and intercept anyone who left the fort. One version of Phillips’ ride had the courier cautiously and quietly leading Dandy some distance from the stockade before mounting. Private John C. Brough, posted that night to watch the water gate at the southwest corner of the fort, later recalled that Carrington, in the company of a civilian leading a horse, approached around midnight on December 21 and had the sergeant of the guard open the gate. After a short, quiet conversation the civilian mounted the horse, and the colonel took his hand and said, “May God help you.” According to Brough, the rider then trotted from the fort. Crooking his head to catch the sound of the fading hoofbeats, the colonel expressed his relief the rider had chosen to diminish the noise by riding on the softer ground alongside the trail.

Daniel Dixon also left from Fort Phil Kearny that night carrying a copy of Carrington’s dispatch. It is likely he, too, left via the water gate, which opened from the quartermaster’s storage area to the southwest, making a rider’s exit less conspicuous. The larger main gate faced east toward the presumed Indian sentries on Lodge Trail Ridge.

It’s small wonder there were discrepancies among eyewitnesses. The events of the day were bewildering. Enlisted men probably weren’t familiar with the civilian contractors and certainly wouldn’t know details of the mission. It is likely planners intentionally staggered the departures of the two couriers to lower their profile and lessen the odds both would be captured. Given the frigid temps, sentries rotated frequently, so any one soldier probably witnessed only a portion of what was happening. And the darkness would make identification of the heavily bundled riders (Phillips was wearing a buffalo overcoat) difficult if not impossible.

Records concur the weather was bitter. The heavy snow and high winds apparently swept in overnight on December 22–23, catching the couriers and their mounts in the open as they rode south. Indian hunters or war parties likely roamed the route, especially near Fort Phil Kearny.

Legend has it Phillips and Dixon rode parallel to, but some distance from, the Bozeman Trail and traveled only at night. Having arrived at the fort that autumn from the west, Phillips likely hadn’t ventured down the trail to Fort Laramie. High winds and driving snow are the rule along that route in winter. A full-on blizzard would have drastically reduced visibility and blown deep drifts the men and horses would have had to struggle through or navigate around. When landmarks such as the Bighorns, Pumpkin Buttes and Laramie Peak are not visible, the snow-covered hills south of Fort Phil Kearny have a sameness to them that makes route-finding difficult, even in daylight. If Phillips and Dixon did skirt the trail and ride only at night, they accomplished a truly amazing feat of navigation.

In any case, Phillips and Dixon arrived together at Fort Reno about midmorning on December 23, a day and a half after leaving Fort Phil Kearny. They had averaged less than 2 miles per hour. There Brev. Brig. Gen. Henry Walton Wessells, Fort Reno’s commander, gave them an additional message to carry to Fort Laramie. Around noon the two couriers, joined by rider Robert Bailey, departed for the longest stretch of the epic—the 130-plus miles to Horseshoe Station (near present-day Glendo, Wyo.), which housed the nearest telegraph relay.

Some accounts claim Indians had burned the station and/or the telegraph lines were down. Neither statement is true. The trio arrived at Horseshoe Station around 10 a.m. on Christmas Day. Telegraph operator John Friend tapped out a synopsis of the Fetterman disaster and Carrington’s plea for reinforcements, but the Fort Laramie operator either didn’t understand or discounted the garbled message. Dixon and Bailey, suffering from exhaustion and exposure, elected to end their ride at the station. But Phillips was determined to hand deliver the dispatches to Fort Laramie, some 40 miles farther southeast. Shrugging off the frightful weather, his own diminished state and the admonitions of his companions, he remounted the colonel’s horse and rode off into the snow.

One can imagine the astonishment of the officers in dress uniform and ladies in their finery when the apparition that was Portugee Phillips—in ice-encrusted buffalo overcoat, hat and gauntlets, his lower legs wrapped in feed sacks—stumbled in from the parade ground and asked in raspy tones to see the commanding officer
At 11 o’clock on Christmas night a full-dress garrison ball was in full swing at “Old Bedlam,” Fort Laramie’s bachelor officers’ quarters turned post headquarters. Outside the snow had accumulated 10 to 15 inches deep, the temperature dropping to 25 below zero. One can imagine the astonishment of the officers in dress uniform and ladies in their finery when the apparition that was Portugee Phillips—in ice-encrusted buffalo overcoat, hat and gauntlets, his lower legs wrapped in feed sacks—stumbled in from the parade ground and asked in raspy tones to see the commanding officer. Captain David Gordon, a participant in the dance, was surely understating their reaction when he recalled, “The dress of the man, and at this hour looking for the commanding officer, made a deep impression upon the officers and others that happened to get a glimpse of him and consequently, and naturally too, excited their curiosity as to his mission in this strange garb.”

The courier and his horse had suffered greatly from exposure and were beyond exhaustion. Phillips essentially collapsed after delivering his message and required weeks to regain his strength. Carrington’s marvelous horse is said to have died soon after arriving at the fort. (Forty-two years later a frail Carrington expressed grief for Dandy when he returned to Wyoming for the dedication of the Fetterman Battlefield monument.)

Thanks to Phillips’ fortitude, Fort Phil Kearny got its desperately needed reinforcements and supplies. On December 27 a hastily dispatched party of three officers and 22 enlisted men from Fort Reno arrived at the beleaguered garrison. It was an inadequate but welcome relief. Meanwhile, the weather remained so severe that the main body of reinforcements and supplies wasn’t able to leave Fort Laramie until January 6 and then took 10 days to travel the distance Phillips had traversed in four.

The expected follow-up attack on Fort Phil Kearny never materialized. When the mercury plummeted on the afternoon of the Fetterman battle, the Indians apparently had considered the fighting season over and ridden north to celebrate their great victory in the relative warmth of winter camps. They welcomed the time to hunt, tend to their families and care for their own dead and wounded. The warriors had enjoyed overwhelming numerical superiority, and a determined assault might have taken the fort, dooming its inhabitants. Knowing such a campaign would likely incur steep casualties, however, the warriors had decided against a prolonged winter siege. They would fight again when the snows retreated.


Phillips enjoyed the adulation stemming from his famous ride. He likely enthralled guests with the tale and may have embellished a bit. (Illustration by Greg Proch)
So what is known about the hero of our tale, Portugee Phillips, and his life beyond the four days that brought him fame?

John Phillips was born Manuel Felipe Cardoso on Pico Island in the Azores on April 8, 1832. His first language was Portuguese, hence his nickname “Portugee.” As a teen he left the archipelago aboard an American whaling ship to seek his fortune in the California goldfields. Anglicizing his name soon after arrival, Phillips spent the next 15 years drifting from one strike to another, bouncing from California to Oregon and Washington territories before landing in Dakota Territory (which included present-day eastern Wyoming). He never struck it rich. The summer of 1866 found him prospecting in the Pryor and Bighorn mountains. As winter approached, Phillips and fellow diggers thought it best to seek paid work. The major employer in the area was the U.S. Army, whose regional mission was to safeguard Montana-bound travelers on the Bozeman Trail.

The Army happily hired civilians for its many menial tasks, including freight hauling, cutting and milling the timber used for fort construction or firewood, and harvesting hay to feed horses and other domestic livestock. Phillips found work hauling water at Fort Phil Kearny and was present when Fetterman and his men marched out to meet their fate. Then came his epic ride.

By the spring of 1867, his health and strength recovered, Phillips worked for the Army as a mail carrier and courier between Forts Laramie and Phil Kearny. After one such trip in April he reported that 15 Sioux warriors had surrounded him en route. “Without aid of my faithful horse and good revolver,” he only half-joked, “I would have lost my hair, the part of my body I feel most anxious about on the prairie.”

The Bozeman Trail and its three forts—Reno, Phil Kearny and C.F. Smith—remained open another year and a half, a period marked by sporadic clashes, notably the Wagon Box and Hayfield fights in August 1867. Meanwhile, a newly built rail line offered faster, safer access to the goldfields. Maintaining the trail and its forts in the face of continued Indian resistance ultimately proved more trouble and expense than it was worth. The trail closed to civilian traffic in 1867, and in March 1868 President Ulysses S. Grant ordered the forts closed and abandoned. The last soldiers marched away that August, and the Cheyennes later burned the posts to the ground.

That put Portugee Phillips out of work. Relocating west to Elk Mountain, he spent a year or so hauling ties for the Union Pacific Railroad and freight to Forts Laramie and Fetterman. Sometime later he ventured eastward again to start a small ranch near tiny Chugwater, and on Dec. 16, 1870, he married Indiana-born Harriet “Hattie” Buck. While he built up his stock, Portugee continued to supplement his income hauling freight and doing other contract work.

In 1876 the Black Hills Gold Rush was in full swing, and the Phillips’ property was smack along the Cheyenne–Black Hills road. In addition to the hundreds of miners flooding north, there were countless freight wagons, a burgeoning stagecoach service and routine Army traffic between Forts D.A. Russell and Laramie. A veritable who’s who of the era and region passed the Phillips’ door. To profit from this influx of travelers, Portugee and wife opened a hotel in Chugwater. Hattie soon earned a reputation as a baker of excellent bread and other products, while Portugee apparently raised both beef and dairy cattle to supply their enterprise. One Cheyenne paper ran the following testimonial: “His ranch is the finest in the West, and all who travel on that road report that he furnishes the best accommodations to be found between Cheyenne and Custer City.” Some nights the couple housed and fed more than 60 guests.

Phillips clearly enjoyed the adulation stemming from his famous ride. He likely enthralled guests with the tale and may have embellished a bit. For example, one circulated version included an episode in which he singlehandedly fended off a sizable Sioux war party from a hilltop at night and made a run for it in the morning. There is no evidence Phillips encountered any Indians on his ride to Fort Laramie. Perhaps the incident he reported to superiors as a mail carrier got incorporated into or confused with the epic ride.

Phillips made the story all more personal than it probably was, maintaining throughout his life that the Sioux were enraged he’d managed to slip away from Fort Phil Kearny and were committed to exacting vengeance. He further claimed the Indians repeatedly tried to capture, torture and/or kill him and to destroy his livestock and other property as part of their vendetta. This was almost certainly a falsehood, as the Sioux and Cheyennes did not capture and torture male enemies. Farther north and east raiding parties did pillage ranches and attack wagons and traveling parties along the routes to the Black Hills. However, it’s unlikely the Indians even knew about Phillips’ ride at the time it occurred, let alone fixated on an individual and his little ranch and hotel along Chugwater Creek a full decade later. By the late 1870s the Indians had far bigger issues with the disastrous effects of the Treaty of 1868.

John and Hattie Phillips had five children of their own, four of whom died in childhood. The only one to reach adulthood was son Paul Revere Phillips, named for an even more famous American messenger. They also adopted two daughters. By the time of Paul’s birth in the early 1880s, Portugee, in failing health, had sold his Chugwater property and moved to Cheyenne. There he dabbled in a few business and real estate transactions. He and Hattie remained in Cheyenne until his death from kidney failure on Nov. 18, 1883, at age 51.

Hattie and John Phillips had acquired some 300 acres of land along the Laramie River, a dozen miles upstream from the storied fort. Widow Phillips lived on that property for 12 to 14 years. For decades Hattie and various advocates, including Henry Carrington and his wife, had petitioned lawmakers to recognize John’s heroism, as well as to recognize an outstanding Indian depredation claim from his 1870s stint as an Army contractor, with a cash award. Congress, citing discrepancies with Phillips’ naturalization papers, hadn’t granted it in his lifetime. But in 1900, 34 years after his epic ride and 17 years after his death, Congress enacted a resolution granting Hattie $5,000. She used part of the money to erect a graveside monument to her late husband at Laramie’s Lakeview Cemetery and the rest to help build a Methodist church near Gray Rocks. In 1912 she moved to Los Angeles, where she died in 1936 at age 93.

Just east of Fort Phil Kearny is a pyramidal stone marker with a bronze plaque, erected in 1940 by the Wyoming Historical Landmark Commission to commemorate John “Portugee” Phillips’ praiseworthy ride. And as the state geared up for its 1990 centennial, the Wyoming State Historical Society commissioned artist Dave Paulley to render oil paintings depicting remarkable people or events in Wyoming history—one being Phillips’ arrival at Old Bedlam, Fort Laramie, on Christmas Day 1866.

The incredible ride that brought Phillips fame requires no embellishment. As with many heroes, he was a seemingly ordinary man who, when faced with extraordinary circumstances, responded with Herculean effort. Outside of those dramatic four days John Phillips lived an interesting, if not particularly exceptional, life by the standards of the late-1800s frontier West. He had small successes, failures, human flaws. However, when history called, Portugee Phillips answered with selflessness, stamina and, yes, exceptional courage. MH

Retired educator Arnold Eugene “Gene” Gade, of Sundance, Wyo., became captivated by Bozeman Trail stories nearly 60 years ago and has studied historic sites associated with Fort Phil Kearny for a quarter-century. Suggested for further reading: Give Me Eighty Men: Women and the Myth of the Fetterman Fight, by Shannon D. Smith, and Red Cloud’s War: The Bozeman Trail, 1866–1868, by John D. McDermott.

I actually did know about Mr. Benavidez from ex-Navy SEAL MrBallen's Youtube channel...

My entry of another little known bad azz is Pat Tadina. God Bless !!!



https://www.military.com/daily...-ranger-dies-77.html



A 30-year Army veteran who was the longest continuously serving Ranger in Vietnam and one of the war's most decorated enlisted soldiers has died.

Patrick Gavin Tadina served in Vietnam for over five years straight between 1965 and 1970, leading long range reconnaissance patrols deep into enemy territory -- often dressed in black pajamas and sandals, and carrying an AK-47.

The retired command sergeant major died Friday morning in North Carolina. He was 77.

"Early this morning my Dad ... took his last breaths and went to be with all the Rangers before him," his daughter Catherine Poeschl said on Facebook. "I know they are all there waiting for him."

He is survived by his wife, two sisters, two daughters, four sons, six grandchildren and two great-grandchildren, the family said in a brief online obituary. A funeral had not yet been scheduled.

A native of Hawaii, Tadina earned two Silver Stars, 10 Bronze Stars -- seven with valor -- three Vietnamese Crosses of Gallantry, four Army Commendation Medals, including two for valor, and three Purple Hearts.

After the release of the second Rambo movie, he was profiled in Stars and Stripes, where he was contrasted with Sylvester Stallone's beefy -- often shirtless -- portrayal of a Vietnam combat veteran.

"The real thing comes in a smaller, less glossy package," wrote reporter Don Tate in December 1985. "Tadina stands just over 5-feet-5, and swells all the way up to 130 pounds after a big meal."

His small stature and dark complexion helped him pass for a Viet Cong soldier on patrols deep into the Central Highlands, during which he preferred to be in the point position. His citations describe him walking to within feet of enemies he knew to be lying in wait for him and leading a pursuing enemy patrol into an ambush set by his team.

In Vietnam he served with the 173rd Airborne Brigade Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol, 74th Infantry Detachment Long Range Patrol and Company N (Ranger), 75th Infantry.

Tadina joined the Army in 1962 and served in the Dominican Republic before going to Southeast Asia. He also served with the 82nd Airborne Division in Grenada during Operation Urgent Fury in 1983 and with the 1st Infantry Division during Operation Desert Storm in 1991.

A 1995 inductee into the Ranger Hall of Fame, he served with "extreme valor," never losing a man during his years as a team leader in Vietnam, a hall of fame profile at Fort Benning said.

Some 200 men had served under him without "so much as a scratch," said a newspaper clipping his daughter shared, published while Tadina was serving at Landing Zone English in Vietnam's Binh Dinh province, likely in 1969.

Tadina himself was shot three times and his only brother was also killed in combat in Vietnam, Stars and Stripes later reported.

The last time he was shot was during an enemy ambush in which he earned his second Silver Star, and the wounds nearly forced him to be evacuated from the country, the LZ English story said.

As the point man, Tadina was already inside the kill zone when he sensed something was wrong, but the enemy did not fire on him, apparently confused about who he was, the article stated. After spotting the enemy, Tadina opened fire and called out the ambush to his teammates before falling to the ground and being shot in both calves.

He refused medical aid and continued to command until the enemy retreated, stated another clipping, quoting from his Silver Star citation.

"When you're out there in the deep stuff, there's an unspoken understanding," he told Tate in 1985. "It's caring about troops."

He was not one to boast of his experiences, his daughter said in a phone interview Monday.

After retiring from the Army in 1992, he continued working security jobs until 2013, Poeschl said, including stints in Iraq, Afghanistan and Pakistan.

In recent years, he'd been struggling with dementia and other ailments, she said, and he often believed he was back in the Army with his buddies.

He always seemed most at home with his "Ranger family," his daughter said. She was trying to get word of his death to as many as she could.

"He was my dad, but he belonged to so many other people," she said.

I don't know.