If the reasons for the war do not always seem clear to all Americans, few can fail to be moved by the tales of individual valor and self-sacrifice that the conflict has inspired. One of the most gallant of all was written last week on the rugged Kontum plateau by a man who had first won hero credentials on the football field: Army Captain William Stanley Carpenter Jr., 28, the famed "lonely end" and captain of West Point's 1959 team.
In what was clearly one of the major battles for U.S. forces to date, Bill Carpenter was at the head of a company that was pinned down and heavily outnumbered by a North Vietnamese regiment. After calmly reviewing what seemed to be a hopeless situation, he radioed his base camp for bombing and napalm strikes: "Put it right on top of me. We might as well take some of them with us." At week's end Carpenter and other haggard survivors miraculously fought their way out of the trap—bringing their dead and wounded with them. Said Carpenter: "I'm just happy as hell to have my men out of there."
"Mentality for the Unusual." Remarkable as Carpenter's feat was, few people who knew him were surprised. A superb, all-round athlete at Springfield (Pa.) High School, Bill Carpenter had some two dozen college offers when he graduated—including one from the U.S. Military Academy. That was the one he wanted, and after a one-year brush-up course at New York's Manlius School, Carpenter was admitted to the Point.
Besides being football captain and holder of five pass-catching records at the academy, Carpenter was battalion commander and winner of a special award for "inspirational personal courage and leadership in athletics." "Bill," said former Army Coach Earl ("Red") Blaik, "had the mentality for doing the unusual. His kind of leadership was the quiet type—action rather than words. He'd do something himself on the football field and that would inspire the others."
Glowing Determination. Carpenter got reams of publicity for the position he played—the Blaik-invented "lonely end," who stationed himself near the sidelines, never entered the huddle, and got his signals for the plays through a series of hand-and-foot movements from one of the other players. He scored six touchdowns in his years at the Point, encouraged his teammates to extra efforts by playing under extreme handicaps. Against Oklahoma in 1959, Carpenter played with a painful shoulder separation: his left arm was taped to his side, yet he caught six passes—one-handed. At the end of the season he was named an All-America.
A burning determination glowed through all of Carpenter's performances at the Point. Everyone he knew was aware of the reason behind it. During World War II, when Bill Carpenter was seven, his father—a private in the 9th Infantry Division—died during the fighting in the Ruhr. Says Bill's pretty wife Toni: "He wants to carry on where his father left off."