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because wars end for everyone but those who fought them
Today, I honor two friends whose lives shaped mine in ways I’ll never forget. Each molded the better parts of me through their character and influence on my life. And, they were each a character. I have known few like them.
Vic Grinolds (July 29, 1945—June 10, 2006)
The first is Charles Victor (Vic) Grinolds, a Vietnam and Desert Storm veteran. Vic served in the Air Force and was a deacon and trustee of the first church I pastored.
Vic was a man with a slight build and a gigantic personality. Never mind asking him how he was because he was always “finer than frog’s hair.”
He was fiercely loyal and quick to leap to your side when the heat was on. He was genuinely funny, and he loved to laugh. He was a committed husband and a faithful father.
His daughter Dawn Grinolds asked Facebook friends to share their favorite memory of her Dad. Mine was the day the chips were down and the wolves were closing in on a young, mistake-prone, embattled preacher. Vic stood in my living room, trembling with anger, fists doubled, ready to fight for his preacher.
Vic always left me better than he found me.
Wade Evans (August 26, 1948 – December 7, 2018)
The other is Wade Brant Evans.
I met Wade Evans much later in life, in Canada, where I had gone to work as an adjuster on a hailstorm, and he was the storm manager. Turned out, we were both from the DFW area.
Wade was a character, a caricature, a cartoon-like character. He was bombastic, bold, and big-hearted. He could cuss a blue streak, but he always caught himself halfway through when he remembered my background as a preacher. He would sincerely apologize. A few minutes later, he might be cussing again.
I loved Wade. I loved how raw and real he felt. He didn’t hide his rough-hewn character behind a disguise. What you saw is what you got, for better or worse.
My favorite moment with him was during orientation for the Canada storm, when he told us that, despite being on a handsome “day rate” for pay, we were expected to produce, to close a reasonable number of claims per day. An adjuster asked a dumb question, trying to see if he could get away with sand-bagging.
Wade’s response was epic:
“This is TD Insurance. These people don’t know shit about insurance. They are bankers. But they can (****ing) divide!”
I never laughed more heartily than I did right then. My friend was leaning his chair back on two legs, and fell off it, bellowing.
I knew I was going to love that Wade dude.
Beneath the bombastic persona, Wade carried the weight of his military service.
I looked up his obituary in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. Here is a portion of it:
Wade joined the U.S. Army in January of 1966 and served two tours of duty in Vietnam as a paratrooper and a LRRP (long range reconnaissance patrol) team leader. While serving in Vietnam, he was wounded and exposed to agent orange, which eventually led to his 100% service-connected disability. Wade served in the following military units: Headquarters Troup 1st of 10th Cavalry, Long Range Reconnaissance, 4th Infantry Division, 3rd Brigade 1st Platoon, 82nd Airborne Division. Wade was honored to be a member of the armed services and was proud of his contribution. His passing on Pearl Harbor Day was fitting.
But beneath their strong exteriors and unique personalities, both men carried the invisible wounds of war, leading them to fight a common, deeply personal battle.
Fighting Demons to the End
Both of these valiant warriors fought the demon of Alcoholism. Each began to drink to ease the pains of combat, the haunting memories of a life in the trenches where friends and comrades fell by the dozens.
As Vic’s pastor, I was called to his home several times to talk him through the pain and the overwhelming temptation to drown it. He fought that battle like a man possessed of something greater than the relentless demons. As a devoted follower of Christ, he was possessed by such a power.
He once said to me, “God didn’t save me from that to kill me with this.”
He was right.
Wade fought the same demon.
Wade Evans’s obituary includes the following:
Wade surrendered his life to a higher power when he joined The Program of Alcoholics Anonymous in 1993. He gave up his anonymity in the organization, saying that he could better support other members and those seeking guidance if he could help them by revealing himself. He was one of the founding members of his home group and celebrated twenty-five years of sobriety in August of this year.
On this Memorial Day, as we remember those who gave the ultimate sacrifice, we also honor men like Vic and Wade, who served, survived, and bore the lasting burdens of that service with unflinching courage.
God bless Vic Grinolds. God bless Wade Evans.
God blessed America with men like this by the tens of thousands—tough-as-nails, hard-fisted, raw-boned, fearless warriors, with hearts of gold.
God blessed me with the friendship of two of the best. Their names may never be written in history books, but their legacy endures—in every life they touched, in every lesson they taught, and in the hearts of those who carry their memory forward.
May we forever be better for having known them. May we always honor those like them—the Vics and Wades who made America great. God bless you. And God bless America.
Is there a Wade or a Vic in your life? Tell me about them in the comments. Let’s honor them together.
