Ronald "Ron" Gillespie

In 1967, Ronald Gillespie was called to serve his country.

 

He answered that call.

 

And then, for the next 23 years, he kept answering it.

 

Dad was drafted into the United States Army during the Vietnam War. What began as an obligation became one of the great sources of pride in his life. Had he been given the opportunity, he would have reenlisted and continued serving until the day he died.

 

Instead, in 1990, after a career that took him from Vietnam to Germany, Korea, Turkey, Alaska, the Pentagon, White Sands Missile Range, Fort Bliss and numerous other duty stations, he retired as Master Sergeant Ronald Gillespie, E-8—a career Noncommissioned Officer.

 

Ronald was preceded in death by his wife, Brenda Gillespie, in February 2021. Today, her ashes will be laid to rest with him.

 

He is survived by his son, Steve Gillespie; his daughter-in-law, Kelley Henry Gillespie; his grandchildren, Cameron (21), Ainsley (15), Allyson (13); and his extended family, Jana Waddell Haney and Kelly Haney and Abby (14)and Ellie (11) —all of whom he loved with a passion and patience that could never be matched.

And as we remember him today, his military record speaks for itself.

 

Among his decorations were seven Army Good Conduct Medals, the Vietnam Service Medal with five campaign stars, the Republic of Vietnam Campaign Medal, the Republic of Vietnam Gallantry Cross Unit Citation with Palm, the Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal, multiple Army Commendation Medals, the Joint Service Commendation Medal, and multiple Meritorious Service Medals.

 

But tucked away in Dad's briefcase was something that may tell his story even better than the medals.

 

Dad kept 27 different letters of commendation that he had received throughout his military career. Alongside those letters was another certificate he had saved.

 

It was his certification to coach my flag football team when I was six years old.

 

Twenty-seven commendations from a 23-year military career—and proof that he was allowed to coach a bunch of six-year-olds.

 

Dad thought both were worth keeping.

 

And I think that tells you quite a bit about Master Sergeant Ronald Gillespie.

 

He was extraordinarily proud of his Army service. He wore his retired Army and Vietnam Veteran apparel proudly and collected every pin he could find from the divisions and units with which he had served.

He also loved talking about his Army days. Dad would tell stories to just about anyone willing to listen.

 

There was one boundary, though (unfortunately for me).

 

No matter how many times I badgered him, questioned him or tried to trick him into telling me something classified, he never did.

 

The oath he took as a young soldier wasn't something that expired when he retired. It meant something to him for the rest of his life.

 

After retiring from the Army, Dad struggled for a while to find where he belonged in civilian life.

 

But he never struggled with understanding his responsibility to his family.

 

He sold perfume door-to-door for a couple of weeks. He worked nights at a gas station until Mom decided that wasn't going to work and made him quit. Eventually, he found his place working for—and essentially running—a security company.

 

Whatever the job was, Dad worked.

 

He provided.

 

He showed up.

 

And showing up may be the best way I know to describe my father.

 

When I was young, he coached my flag football team. He coached me in soccer and bowling. When my Boy Scout troop leader suddenly got "sick" the day before camp, Dad stepped in and became the troop leader.

 

Years later, he did the same thing for his grandchildren.

 

By then, his body didn't always cooperate. He was disabled and spent much of their lives on oxygen. Getting to a baseball game or a soccer game wasn't necessarily easy anymore.

 

But when Dad could be there, he was there.

 

That was who he was.

 

He could also be incredibly stubborn.

 

Dad didn't even have to tell you when he disagreed with you. He could sit there patiently without saying a word—and somehow you knew exactly what he thought.

 

But beneath that stubbornness was extraordinary patience, loyalty and love.

 

Dad struggled financially for much of his adult life. When he finally reached a point later in life where things became a little easier, one of the things that gave him the most pride was being able to help the people he loved.

 

It wasn't about how much he had.

 

After spending most of his life worrying about providing, he finally had the opportunity to give simply because he wanted to. It sometimes felt as though Dad was trying to fit 50 years of gifts into the final five years of his life.

That was his way of saying, "I made it. We made it. And now let me take care of you."

 

To Cameron, Ainsley, Allyson, Abby and Ellie, I hope you always remember this about your grandfather:

 

He loved you deeply and relentlessly.

 

He loved you more than he loved himself.

 

And even when his health made it difficult to show you that love in all the ways he wanted to, never doubt for a second how proud he was of you or how much you meant to him.

 

Dad spent his life fighting.

 

He fought for his country.

 

He fought to provide for his family.

 

And when his health began failing, he fought for more time with us.

 

So, Dad, there's really only one thing left that I want to say.

 

Thank you.

 

Thank you for everything.

 

Thank you especially for the last ten years that I didn't expect to get with you.

 

Thank you for the thousand lessons you taught me without ever sitting me down to teach them. I learned them simply by watching you live.

 

Thank you for teaching me what it means to provide.

 

What it means to be loyal.

 

What it means to keep your word.

 

What it means to show up.

 

And what it means to fight.

 

I am incredibly proud of the fight you showed after you got sick. And I'm even more proud of the fight you showed during these last few months.

 

You were a fighter until the very end.

 

In 1967, your country called, and you answered.

 

For the next 23 years, you served it with honor.

 

For the rest of your life, you served your family with that same sense of duty, loyalty and love.

 

Master Sergeant Ronald Gillespie, United States Army, Retired:

 

Your duty is complete.

 

Your family is proud.

 

Your family is grateful.

 

And Dad, we will never forget that you always showed up.

 

Thank you for your service.

 

And from all of us—

Thank you for everything.