Opinion Pieces

Originally published in the Cincinnati Enquirer on May 25, 2020.

It was his smile.

Almost everyone who knew him would mention it. It was one of those infectious, light-up-a-room smiles that people remember long after he had walked away.

Sergeant Brent “Hoss” Allen Hendrix had a presence about him – and it wasn’t just because he stood 6-foot-7. He genuinely loved people in a way that made him magnetic, especially when coupled with his prankster sense of humor.

Ever since he was a kid growing up in a small town in western North Carolina, Hoss knew he wanted to be a soldier. Watching the Twin Towers crumble on Sept. 11, 2001 as a sophomore in high school only solidified his dedication to serving on the frontlines. He joined the U.S. Army as an Infantryman at 19, and eventually deployed to Iraq in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. It was there that 21-year-old Hoss was wounded in a blast that resulted in the loss of his right leg, injury to his left leg, abdominal injuries, a traumatic brain injury, and subsequent post-traumatic stress. Hoss was awarded the Purple Heart, the Army Commendation Medal, and the Combat Infantryman Badge for his service.

He would spend the next three years in rehabilitation at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. It was during that time that our lives intersected. I had just arrived home from serving in Iraq myself on Memorial Day weekend in 2006. We met later that year, when Hoss was honored alongside other service members at a USO event here in Cincinnati.

We stayed in touch and crossed paths many times. Three years ago, we met again when the Cincinnati Bearcats squared off against the Virginia Tech Hokies at the Military Bowl in Annapolis, Maryland. On display in my home is a photo from that day of Hoss and me at midfield for the coin toss.

By this point, Hoss was a beloved member of the Cincinnati community. Years earlier, when he was released from Walter Reed, he called my friend Steve Lee, civilian aid to the Secretary of the Army, who had become a stand-in father to him.

“Steve, it’s Hoss,” he said. “I’ve got some great news. I’m getting out of Walter Reed on Friday. There’s just one problem: I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t know what I want to do yet.”

“Come stay with me,” said Steve, “until we can get you settled here.”

Our community embraced Hoss from the beginning. He stayed with Steve for several months before moving to Oakley and enrolling at Cincinnati State to study communications. There, they even gave him his own special parking spot. Later, he continued his studies at Xavier University and found support in the veterans program there. Everyone took a special interest in Hoss – that was simply who he was.

It seemed like there wasn’t a day in his life that he wasn’t out making friends and talking to people. He was known for coming alongside fellow service members, using his own story of recovering from nearly 100 different surgeries to encourage them to persevere despite the odds. Hoss loved visiting elementary schools, as well as collegiate and professional sports teams, to talk about what it was like serving as a soldier. He would tell them that if he had the choice, he’d leave right now and go back to Iraq to be with his unit and defend this country.

While all have been impacted by the coronavirus-induced isolation, it hit Hoss especially hard.

Staying in his one-bedroom apartment, confined to his wheelchair and unable to attend physical therapy for his leg, Hoss was separated from the activities, people and community that meant so much to him. He was unable to get to the grocery store. His last Facebook post shows a photo of his fridge containing only a pizza box and a few water bottles. Essentially in solitary confinement, the activities that helped him cope were missing, and the cumulative pain of everything he had experienced became too great. On April 23, Hoss left us. Another casualty of war.

In the days that followed, Steve received hundreds of text messages, emails, and phone calls from soldiers and individuals from all over the community.

Hoss contributed so much to our community in Cincinnati, to his fellow service members and to everyone who had the privilege of knowing him. I know he did for me. I’ll never forget his smile, his sense of humor, his courage in overcoming the odds he faced.

When we think of Memorial Day, we tend to think of those killed in action. For many, the ultimate sacrifice comes later, in other forms. It is a casualty of war nonetheless. Many who have served us face different types of lifelong battles – battles that transcend and outlast the frontlines. When the larger battlefield includes isolation, the challenges can become seemingly insurmountable.

On Memorial Day, we open our hearts in gratitude for all those that never returned from theaters of war. For some, the suffering and sacrifices made in defense of freedom do not result in loss of life immediately. Thus is Hoss. Sergeant Brent Allen Hendrix will rightfully be interned at Arlington National Cemetery in June. Remember him.

If you are a service member or veteran in need, please call the VA Crisis Line at 1-800-273-8255.

U.S. Rep. Brad Wenstrup, R-Columbia Tusculum, is a doctor and a colonel in the U.S. Army Reserve, serving since 1998.