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| Lindsay Craig Rupple
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| NO. 17862 •
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Died 1 July 1971 at Letterman General Hospital, Presidio of San Francisco, California, aged 44 years.
Interment: Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Virginia
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OTHERS IN REFLECTING may tell of Lindsay Craig Rupple, 1927‑1971, as cadet, company commander, or combat leader; and it
will be a tale well‑told, for Lindsay's was an Infantry officer's life
well, though briefly, lived. I knew Lindsay best, however, as friend, family
man, and neighbor, a "terrestrial" in Dubos' term, at ease and at home
wherever he might be on the globe. It is of this Lindsay that I speak, one who
was true to himself in all the plain and polished and complicated facets of his
nature.
Had I ever been isolated in a survival situation,
with a choice of working companion for the ordeal, Lindsay Rupple would have
been the comrade of my choice for whatever period of necessary pioneering
effort and for celebrating with, afterwards. Lindsay could reckon with the
dangers and the opportunities alike of crises of varying magnitudes ‑
from those, for example, of the dread disease which felled him to those of a
more homely, garden variety such as kittens frozen with fear high in backyard
tree tops.
Level‑headed and alert, Lindsay was also
quietly erudite. He kept himself informed on a variety of subjects and spoke
several languages, German among them. His proficiency in the Korean language
often led to escort assignments throughout the United States with dignitaries
visiting from the Republic of Korea. Lindsay never failed to earn praise for
himself and for the unit he might be serving at the time, such as the 22d
Battle Group, 4th Infantry Division, Fort Lewis, Washington, where he and I
were fellow officers and near neighbors (1960 - 1962). The tall, slightly
stooped Kansan was equally knowledgeable about things environmental, erotic,
classical, controversial, or comical. He sometimes quoted the cartoon
character, “Okeechobee Joe.”
Logical and learned, Lindsay possessed a
self-sufficiency which allowed him to cope equally well with exigencies of the Service or with more
mundane home emergencies such as power failure in house current or car battery.
He managed well at gypsying his family around in required nomadic style. Once,
he undertook, to drive cross‑country with Helga, daughters Petra, Renee,
and Sylvie, two family cats, and some cherished bibelots for the next
residence. He made it smiling and pleasant through such an endurance run.
Courteous, masculine, efficient, Lindsay would indulge
his excellent tastes only when he could do so without infringing upon the
rights and pleasures of others. In fine foods, he most appreciated wife Helga's
gourmet skills, yet he remained almost cadet‑lean and trim. Lindsay
enjoyed when he could a good Scotch, a good brandy, a good cigar.
In fact, it was months before I knew that Lindsay
always parked any lighted cigar he might be carrying, before he would enter my
Arlington home to visit. Only after we found cigar butts lined up on the
bannister rail and others fallen into the shrubbery did we think to question
Lindsay. Then, he cheerfully admitted that he preferred forsaking the smoke to
risking an offense to his host. He continued to park his cigars outside in
spite of our demurrers.
Lindsay's brand of forethought and care for
others would indeed be an asset to look for in the person with whom one might
have to face a critical situation, as it was a plus for those who knew him in
everyday life. Other qualities as well made him a pleasure to know. He was a
positivist, an optimist; his was a "can‑do" spirit. With all
his strengths, he was not a stuffy paragon. Lindsay gave way, albeit
infrequently, to his moods. He sometimes moped through a "down" day;
once in a while, he let the proverbial redhead's temper flare.
Lindsay's life contained a brimming share of
hardships and disappointments. Yet, during the decade in which I knew, him, he
handled each one as a learning exercise, or as stretching, strengthening
calisthenics to prepare one for the good things to come. In 1960 I saw him
bowed and almost broken with grief over the loss of an infant daughter. And I
watched him then tap inner reserves of iron will and tempered‑steel
endurance to guide his surviving family through the sad days and to rally their
flagging spirits for new adventures in the next assignment.
My deceased friend, Lindsay Craig Rupple, was a
man who in today's vernacular "had it all together." Yet, he was a study in contrasts. Quiet,
soft‑spoken, often employing understatement, he was nonetheless an adept
conversationalist, witty without being frenzied. Equanimity was a hallmark of
the man. His courage was subdued and low‑key, but abounding in quantities
almost beyond measure. Lindsay was practical at the same time that he was
idealistic. He was a homebody; he was a cosmopolite. He was reserved in speech,
open‑minded in compassion and acceptances. Well‑read, well‑educated,
he was acutely aware of new things to be known, and ever ready to tackle the
knowing.
Because this man lived and moved where I could
for a while get to know him in some of his roles as husband, father, world
citizen, officer, and gentleman, my life is enriched. There must be countless
others whose lives he touched who share my fond respect for Lindsay with his
unobtrusive integrity. I salute him as a capable colleague, an irreplaceable
friend, and a full-duty soldier on this spaceship Earth, which is a better
place for Lindsay’s having lived, and the poorer for his passing. All my
remaining life, I shall continue to remember him warmly and to miss him.
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USMA 1950