Too Fast for a U-turn

I wrote this piece in memory of Major Doug Odera (1983-2019), a friend, a leader, and an incredible Soldier. I decided to share it broader for two reasons.

1. The world needs more leaders with Doug's empathy, compassion, and honesty
2. A reminder to ask yourself or someone else, if 'you're going too fast for a U-turn'

Another year passes, and I find myself memorializing yet another remarkable leader, one who left us far too soon and without saying goodbye. Such behavior was uncharacteristic of Doug. Ever the gentleman, he was renowned for his etiquette, which likely means he didn’t want to disturb anyone.

Doug was a fellow West Pointer, but I don’t recall meeting him at school. Never one to steal the spotlight, he excelled under the radar. My first encounter with him was later in my military career. Tall, lean, and faster than the wind, Doug spent his weekends training a mutual friend to run faster. After continuously hearing the horror stories of mister ‘one more hill sprint,’ I needed to meet this physical specimen. I envisioned Bobby Knight, screaming or blowing an air horn, so I was underwhelmed to find Doug standing quietly with his circle rim glasses and perfectly pressed khaki pants, meticulously checking his stopwatch. He looked more like a scientist than a vicious coach or athlete. I was not the first, nor the last, to underestimate Doug’s exceptional capabilities. In the years to come, I would witness firsthand the extent of both his physical and mental prowess.

Not surprisingly, Doug was selected to join Special Forces. It was at Camp MacKall, in survival school, that our paths crossed again. Doug seemed to sense my uneasiness; he had a unique gift to empathize without ever saying a word. He would save me a seat and bring me into conversations, ensuring I was not excluded from the group of future Green Berets. But perhaps my favorite memory of Doug is from this training experience. While being held ‘captive’ our captors asked if I was worth more ransom as the only female. Doug, in all of his compassion, insisted this was true, hoping I would receive better treatment (I can assure you, it had the opposite effect). It was apparent that it pained him to see anyone hurt; he intervened often at his own expense. Doug exemplified selfless service; he desired to protect others. I often joked with him that he authored the ‘Soldier’s Creed’ as he was the ideal American Soldier.

When I left the Army, I moved to Houston, Doug’s hometown. When he came to visit he showed me the city’s highlights including the best sushi, cigar bars, and of course, the Memorial Park 5K loop, which he could complete in under eighteen minutes. It was then, over conversations with wine and whiskey, that I began to marvel at just how special Doug was. His interests varied from astronomy to Tchaikovsky from deep sea diving to Toby Keith. He had read everything from the Art of War to The Notebook, yet never seemed ostentatious. Doug was equal parts engaging and observant.

As my career took off, I embraced the privilege and social life that ensued. I worked hard and played even harder, living the life that I assume most do in their 20s with better champagne. And while I was reveling into the night and day, it was Doug who sat me down to discuss what I couldn’t yet admit to myself.

‘You gotta know when you’re going too fast for a U-turn...because you get to a point where you can’t turn around.’

He was not accusatory or imposing; he was genuine, thoughtful, concerned. Doug helped me slow down enough to consider my life path and self-destructive ways. He saved me from myself.

It’s been over ten years since Doug befriended me in Army training. He’s remembered every birthday and checked in even during schooling and deployments. I wish I could say that I did the same, but I didn’t. Doug was special; he was generous without expectation, he loved unconditionally, and he never mistreated others, even when they mistreated him. He was always patient, and appropriately his last message read, ‘Rona, slow down.’ I meant to reply that I’m not going too fast for a U-turn, but I think he knows that already.

De Oppresso Liber

If you'd like to read more about Doug, here is the link to his obituary