CHIEF WARRANT OFFICER 4 SCOTT COCHRAN
2nd Battalion, 228th Aviation Regiment
Joint Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst, New Jersey
There comes a time in an adult’s life when you just want to say, “What were you thinking?” That’s exactly what I said one July morning after reading a young Soldier’s Facebook posts. I can’t say I didn’t participate in risky activities back in my younger days, but this article isn’t about my past behavior. I’d like to share with you something I struggled with that may have saved a life.
Several years ago, I met a young Soldier who was just out of basic training. He was actually a friend’s son and as new to the Army as they come. He reminded me a lot of myself more than 30 years earlier, standing there in his Class A uniform, mosquito wings and all. He was getting ready to go to Fort Benning, Georgia, for advanced individual training and eager to get into the fight. I took the opportunity that evening to offer him my help should he ever need anything or find himself in a pickle with his leadership. Yes, I saw even more of me in him than just a starving GI. Before he left that night, I gave him my email address and we said our goodbyes.
A few months later, I got a Facebook friend request from him, which I gladly accepted. We sent a few posts back and forth over the next couple of days, catching up on his progress in AIT, and then a few months later after graduation. His first assignment was at an installation I had been stationed at many years earlier, so naturally I was following his postings but rarely commenting on any of them. It wasn’t long before he deployed, and I found myself sending him a message every now and then to let him know we all were thinking of him and praying for his safe return.
Soon after his return to home station, his Facebook posts began showing increasingly risky behavior on his motorcycle. Some of the posts were quite disturbing, with tales of pushing the speedometer to nearly 150 mph, doing wheelies on the freeway, lane splitting with oncoming traffic and standing on the gas tank as the bike coasted down the road. He also posted about “tasting death” and not caring about life anymore. What made it worse was his peers were actually “liking” these posts and cheering him on with their comments.
I knew I had to do something — and I’m not talking about social media punishment here. I needed to take the appropriate action required of our profession to safeguard and preserve Army resources against accidental loss. Even with all of my safety training, however, I found myself at a loss as to what “appropriate action” was and how to apply it. But I knew that in this case, if someone didn’t intervene, this Soldier would soon be appearing in email inboxes in the form of a preliminary loss report. It wasn’t going to be simple.
I considered sending him a private message to ask, “What were you thinking?” and tell him to straighten up. But if he didn’t like what I had to say and wanted to keep me from reading about his unsafe actions, all he had to do was “unfriend” me. I didn’t know what unit he was in, so I couldn’t just pick up the phone and call his commander. After some thought, I decided to use Facebook to my advantage and started looking through his friend list. Maybe I’d find a clue as to what unit he belonged to though his friends’ Facebook pages.
To my surprise, it did not take very long to find the information I needed. I immediately got on the phone and called his entire chain of command. When I finally got in touch with the commander, I briefed him on the situation and sent him a copy of the posts I had copied from the Soldier’s Facebook page. Thankfully, the command took immediate action and followed up with emails assuring me that this situation was of the utmost importance to them.
As it turns out, there were a lot of issues the command was unaware of that led up to this event. The ensuing intervention might have saved this Soldier’s life. Unfortunately, though, just a day later, another Soldier on the same installation lost his life to a motorcycle accident. That Soldier was riding his sport bike when he lost control in a hairpin turn, went over the center median and collided with an oncoming vehicle.
When you are made aware of unsafe situations, step in and say something to either the Soldier or his/her supervisor. Sitting back and doing nothing could allow a preventable accident to occur.
There is a poem by Don Merrell that goes, "I could have saved a life that day, but I chose to look the other way.” That stanza says it all. If you see or hear of an unsafe act and someone later dies because you didn’t bother to intervene, you will regret it for the rest of your life.
I Chose to Look the Other Way
by DON MERRELL
I could have saved a life that day,
But I chose to look the other way.
It wasn’t that I didn’t care,
I had the time, and I was there.
But I didn’t want to seem a fool,
Or argue over a safety rule.
I knew he’d done the job before,
If I spoke up, he might get sore.
The chances didn’t seem that bad,
I’d done the same, he knew I had.
So I shook my head and walked on by,
He knew the risks as well as I.
He took the chance, I closed an eye,
And with that act, I let him die.
I could have saved a life that day,
But I chose to look the other way.
Now every time I see his wife,
I’ll know I should have saved his life.
That guilt is something I must bear,
But it isn’t something you need share.
If you see a risk that others take,
That puts their health or life at stake.
The question asked, or thing you say,
Could help them live another day.
If you see a risk and walk away,
Then hope you never have to say,
I could have saved a life that day,
But I chose to look the other way.