A memory from the Ranger Rendezvous celebration at Ft. Benning (Columbus, GA, 2007):

Ranger Rendezvous is a unit tradition, an event held every other year when the Regiment welcomes a new Colonel and farewells the outgoing Colonel. It’s always held at Ft. Benning in Columbus, GA where the Regimental Headquarters and 3rd Ranger Battalion are located. The event is kicked-off by a mass tactical airborne operation (parachuting) and followed by days of demonstrations, events and between-Battalion athletic competitions (think soccer, wrestling, tug-of-war).

That August in Columbus, the temperature was off the charts. I learned to accept it; something didn’t seem quite right about complaining about the weather to a bunch of Rangers, so I pushed through and pretended it was fun to be in direct sunlight on a field all day. Eventually, the 1st Ranger Battalion’s S-5 shop set up and in no time, swarms of people began showing up, awaiting the parachuting Rangers.

I noticed a bunch of men with leather jackets, jeans, motorcycle boots and long hair.

“Max,” I interrupted him talking to Sergeant Langston about whether or not to hang a few tee-shirts from the tent, “Who are all of those guys? Are they a motorcycle club?”

He glanced in the direction to face the men to which I was referring and began laughing, “those guys are probably some vets...I'd guess Vietnam.”

“Oh, of course,” I nodded, feeling stupid. Motorcycle club?

When it was time for the Rangers to land via parachutes, everyone gathered to huddle on the field. Soon enough, the C-130 airplanes were first heard and then quickly seen, followed by popping parachutes, one after another, plane after plane. It was quite a sight. Since one of the Ranger Battalions was deployed (they are on a constant rotation schedule), the two remaining Battalions were the show.

I overheard a wife who was standing with her friend next to me say, “I hope there aren’t too many injuries.”

That, of course, reminded me of the time when a parachute jump of Max’s didn’t land the way he had hoped and consequently landed him on crutches.

“Max,” I said, turning to him, “Are there always a few jumpers who get injured?”

“There usually are a couple of them,” he explained, “Sometimes, it’s just a twisted ankle and sometimes it’s a concussion, like the one I got from my jump.”

Right. I had forgotten he had a concussion from another jump the year prior. The Rangers had to complete a certain number of jumps each year to maintain their airborne status.

“Well, they all appear to have landed just fine,” I asserted, confidently.

“Okay then, subject matter expert,” Max laughed back at me.

Once the jumpers had all landed, the Rendezvous officially began.