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| William Herbert Bloss, Jr.
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| NO. 18003 • 18 July 1928 - 12 May 1985 |
Died 12 May 1985 In San Antonio, Texas, aged 56 years.
Interment: Muncie, Indiana
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READING "BE THOU AT PEACE" and "The Last
Roll Call" in the ASSEMBLY is
very hard, because we remember old friends, in the prime of their youth at West
Point and later in the service of their country; finding Bill's name on that
role of honor was a little different - heart‑breaking but accompanied
with a warm feeling. Though many of us received those late night phone calls
starting with, "This is your old buddy, Bill" and knew he was not
well, it was hard to believe he was gone. Anyone who knew him, knows how hard
he tried to do his best, for his family, for his friends, and for "Duty,
Honor, and Country." What more can a man do? Yes, he was gone, but it was ‑
and is ‑ impossible not to smile.
Born on 18 July 1928 in Indiana, he was a baby‑faced,
very old 17 on 1 July 1946. If anyone of the entering Class of' 1950 looked
less like a future general than William Herbert Bloss, who could it have been?
He said his nickname was "Slats," back in West Lafayette, Indiana
(“Home of Purdue University, sir," he would quickly add to any firstie who
asked where he was from.) At 142 pounds and six‑feet‑one, he was
certainly not considered intimidating by the opposing football players of A‑I
(nor M‑1 either, for that matter) during intramural football.
Nevertheless, he was called "The General" by
all the upperclassmen during Beast Barracks and the rest of plebe year as well;
our classmates even picked it up. Ed Reidy thinks our classmate, Leroy Shreve,
was the first to use the affectionate term. But many of us can probably still
remember Bud Vockel collaring Bill every day after lunch and running him back
to First Company's piece of old South Area, all the while yelling,
"Faster, General, faster; more yetl"
True, he didn't look like what we thought a budding
general should look like (Jack Murphy, Bill Todd, Al Crawford, Bill Aman,
George Vlisides, or Bill DeGraf maybe, but "Mr. Bloss" ‑ no
way!) But no one could deny his spirit,
sense of humor, persistence, or good, old‑fashioned guts. He just would
not give up. How many others remember watching, for what seemed an eternity,
while he attacked that 10‑foot high wooden wall on the obstacle course?
Bill was convinced that the prime ingredient of success was speed. With those
long, thin legs and that unconquerable heart, he sailed into the wall; he was
all horizontal with no vertical vector. He tried over and over again. Finally,
a firstie took him by the shoulder and forcibly led him around and past the
wall; the General was not about to quit.
Bad things seemed to happen to Bill in Beast Barracks;
four of us (including Bill) couldn't seem to get him to formations on time and
in the right uniform. His troubles didn't end with the plebe hike. Someone came
racing by to tell him that inspection for guard duty was right now. He had his
M‑1 in pieces on the blanket we used for a floor and was dutifully
cleaning everything. We all grabbed parts, passed them to him quickly, while he
snatched up others, fitted them all together, and took off running ‑
dragging the edge of the blanket, which he tore away from the chamber as he
ran. He arrived at the formation late, but was prepared when his turn came to
present his piece for inspection. He snapped the M‑1 up smartly, slammed
the hammer back, and looked resolutely into the eyes of the inspecting officer ‑
as pieces of the M‑1's innards began to pop up into the air. The rifle
fell apart in Bill's hands.
Plebe year was a little more relaxed for "the
General," although at best, he was only an adequate scholar. He did
collect more than his fair share of demerits, it's true, but walked the
appropriate number of tours, insisting ‑
especially when the demerits were awarded for returning late from dates ‑
that the crime had been worth the punishment.
At intramural athletics, whatever the sport, he was in
there working. Softball was probably his favorite, because, though he sometimes
looked awkward, he was loose and really quite coordinated. He fielded and hit
well. Opponents in intramural football smiled, shook their heads in disbelief
at his eager, aggressive style, but came by after each game to shake his hand
and compliment him for his efforts.
With graduation came marriage to a lovely young woman –
Gretchen ‑ an assignment to the Infantry and Korea. Bill was assigned to
the 2nd Infantry, and later awarded the Bronze Star. He went to war willingly,
probably
enthusiastically, because he always fought for what he
believed. One former roommate still bears a scar attesting to the depth of
Bill's feelings, because, in yearling year the classmate failed once to show
the proper respect for Bill's hero, Ted Williams, and got a split lip to show
for it.
Assignments after Korea included Headquarters, 77th
Special Forces Group, Fort Bragg, 1954‑56, the Infantry School from 1956-57,
and G‑3, Division Headquarters, Communications Zone (APO NY) in 1957.
In 1960 in San Antonio, Bill was assigned as Assistant
Professor, Military Science and Tactics to Texas Military Institute, and he
described his Korea combat, particularly the long, late night patrols in the
narrow strip of land that separated the United Nations and North Korean forces.
He had returned ‑ a 200 pound, no‑nonsense, combat infantry officer
convinced that he had met the challenge of manhood well. He had volunteered to
lead patrols at every opportunity and was confident that lie had "taken
care of the troops." Unfortunately, the overseas assignment and separation
had been too much for the young marriage. As usual, however, he picked up the
pieces, forged ahead with his career, met a fine military nurse, married again
and fathered two children‑a boy and a girl ‑ whom he loved very
much.
His assignments, thereafter, were probably not unlike
those of many of his Army peers. He received the Commendation Medal following a
tour with the 1st Special Forces Group (1964), a second award after his 1968‑69
years with I Corps in Korea, and the Legion of Merit while at Headquarters Army
Communications Command, Fort Huachuca, AZ 1970‑71.
Bill was retired in 1971 as a lieutenant colonel, with
major disabilities, the result of a parachute jump in Vietnam. He had landed in
a rice paddy, bordered with a brick wall, and was slammed against the wall when
his chute caugh a heavy gust of air, just after he hit the water. His back was
damaged severely and Bill's health became a major problem from that point on.
For the next several years, he was in and out of hospitals, being near death
more than once but always coming back for one more round. While he seemed to be
in pain frequently, his greatest regret with the permanent disability was that
he was unable to smash a golf ball as far as he could when he was healthy.
After retirement, Bill decided to live in Texas where he
returned to school and earned a master of science degree in business
administration at Trinity University. He finally settled in San Antonio where
he pursued several business ventures, one in the solar energy field. He died at
the Veterans Administration Hospital, not able to answer the bell in the last
round.
Bill remained as close to his old friends and the Army
as his infirmities, the telephone, great distances, and funds would allow. He
journeyed to the Washington area frequently and headed west to California to
see his old buddies – probably really to see the Dodgers play, because he
didn’t miss a game in the 1977 playoffs.
What else can be said? Perhaps that our country and its
Armed Forces call on many, that most answer that call with honor and
distinction, and only a few reach the top and become generals, the envy of
many who tried and fell short. Bill was
one of the many; nevertheless, he spoke often, with pride, of the classmates
“who had made it”, of wonderful commanders he had served with and great
admiration and respect, and of how much the Army had meant to him. Perhaps,
without the dedication and courage of the many unsung heroes like Bill Bloss,
“the General”, the path upward would have been much more difficult for those
who did succeed.”
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USMA 1950