[rwt_bkk]

This is a bit belated. I served with Buck at CCN. He was a fine warrior and the eternal optimist. I was there the day that Gen. Abrams gave Buck his the DSC.

Major Mark "Zippo" Smith wrote the poem below. (They served together in the 7th Gp after Vietnam). The poem was actually written before his death. Another Buchanan died and we thought it was Buck. So Mark wrote this poem for him. Later I saw him at SOAR and told him that Mark had written his obituary already, he thought that was really a hoot. and wanted a copy

So I mourned his loss twice but he deserved it both times.

Take the point buddy we're not far behind...Bru


MSG Michael D. Buchanan (Buck) US Army Special Forces (Ret.) entered into rest February 5, 2006 in San Antonio, Texas at the age of 59. He was born May 23, 1946 in Terre Haute, Indiana to the late James D. and Dorothy (Fields) Buchanan. MSG Buchanan had a distinguished military career where he received many citations and commendations to include Distinguished Service Cross, Silver Star, Bronze Stars with Oak leaf clusters, and two Purple Hearts. He will forever be remembered on the Wall of Heroes at Fort Bragg, North Carolina.



IN MEMORY OF "BUCK" BUCHANAN
(Who, we were told had died, when in fact they lied)

He'd been my friend for so damned long -
We'd chased the women and sung the song -
Together we'd knocked on Charlie's doors -
We'd made ladies cry and charmed the whores -
In the States we'd hunted and rode on bikes -
We had the same loves and same dislikes -
Seems to me he'd always be here -
That man of action who knew no fear -
We treated the wounded and got the orphan fed -
Then eased through the night and made men dead -
He was invincible, over six foot four -
At play or work he was no bore -
The other day the old "Drop" came -
My life will never be the same -
They listed his medals, his kids and wife -
The places he'd been in his Army life -
It didn't talk about Charlie or shooting in the night -
Didn't mention Hay Street or that bar room fight -
It was all nice and so refined -
He'd never eaten snake, he'd only dined -
They didn't talk about mud, blood and beer -
Only about the medals and the family dear -
So last night Bob Taylor and I got drunk -
We talked about the field and how he stunk -
How he'd walked on a dead Viet Cong's chest -
Just to prove he'd been killed by the best -
How he hated the Red and loved the Asian child -
About the night in Saigon when we went wild -
We laughed about him and the Fayetteville jail -
How a mission or friend he'd never fail -
What they wrote in the "Drop" wasn't wrong -
They just sang it with a gentle song -
But I had to do what he'd do for me -
I got drunk as a monkey and peed on a tree -
I made ladies cry and charmed a whore -
Here we ain't allowed to knock on doors -
But on the river bank at the highest tide -
I launched a bullet to the other side -
Now I probably didn't hit no Lao Red -
I just did it 'cause my friend was dead -
Now we hadn't seen him in a long, long while -
But I have to say we sent him out in style -

Copyright 1998, by Mark A. Smith, Major, USA, Retired