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North's dream, however, suffered a nearly crippling collision. On Washington's Birthday weekend in 1964, North was driving home to New York with four friends. He was asleep in the back seat of the rented car they were traveling in when it plowed into an 18-wheel truck. The driver of the automobile was killed, and North suffered knee and back injuries so severe that his doctor initially thought he might never walk again. After three months in the hospital, North returned to Philmont, missing the rest of his first year at the academy. His greatest fear was that his injuries would prevent him from winning a Marine commission. At home, he devised his own peculiar rehabilitation program: he made jump after jump off the six-foot-high roof of the family garage to strengthen his damaged legs. No pain, no gain.
When he returned to Annapolis in the fall, limping in his stiff knee brace, North felt he had no time to lose. He pushed himself to the limit, studying ferociously. There was no such thing as free time; he spent school vacations getting his paratrooper's wings and learning military survival tactics.
But the way this slight distance runner chose to make his name at Annapolis was brutally elemental: boxing. Though he lacked the natural tools to excel, he worked harder than anyone else. In his third year, North fought his way into the academy's middleweight championship. At 147 lbs., he was scheduled to meet James Webb, now Secretary of the Navy. Webb was the favorite, a polished puncher; North the underdog, all blood and guts. In front of 1,500 screaming midshipmen, North won the three-round fight in a close decision. "Ollie was a Friday-night fighter," recalls his coach, Emerson Smith. "One of those guys who looks like a bum in the gym, then performs like hell on Friday night." Some of Webb's supporters begrudged North the victory and did not like the way he had played to the crowd. But the win had a larger purpose for North. He showed the film of the fight to the review board to prove that despite his earlier injuries, he was fit for the Marines. They agreed.
After graduating in 1968, North skipped summer leave and cruised down to Basic School at Quantico, Va., in his new, fleck-metal green sports car, a Shelby Cobra. North stood out right away, recalls Fellow Officer Scott Matthews. "He was hot, extremely hot . . . He was a very action-oriented individual, eager to get on with it." While at Quantico, North married Betsy Stuart in a traditional military ceremony, complete with an arch of crossed swords. He had met her on a blind date set up by his cousin when he was in his last year at Annapolis and she was working at Hecht's department store in suburban Maryland. At first, she refused to return his calls requesting a date, but his persistence -- and a snapshot -- won her over. Only days after their honeymoon in Puerto Rico, Larry, as his wife has always called him, left for Viet Nam.
North loved combat. He was in Viet Nam for eleven months, and won a Silver Star and a Bronze Star with a V for valor, the nation's third and fourth highest combat medals. He also earned two Purple Hearts. "He was all guns, guts and glory," says Machine Gunner Randy Herrod, now an Oklahoma private detective. Herrod, like others, was awed by him; though 6 ft. 4 in., Herrod did not realize until much later that he was taller than the 5-ft. 9-in. North.