Comments at Funeral Service for Robert L. Luttrell, Sr.
Arlington, Virginia
By Daniel R. Luttrell, December 16, 2010

Thank you for the opportunity to share some thoughts today.  I want to tell you about a special relationship I had with my Grandfather.  I use the word “special,” because he had a unique way with people, which at its foundation was an exceptional inner strength and ever-joyful outlook on life.   I will try to explain a little bit, I really received the best of him since I was in a special group of people, his grandkids all of whom he loved dearly.
  
Through his long later years in life, I spent many hours in his company. There are many memories to reflect over.  As I have done so in the past weeks I realized that what made every interaction with him special was he, all of him, was undivided and devoted every time.  I’ll spare you an exhaustive accounting of every memory today, as much as I would like. -- Probably the first and one of my earliest memories of my life was riding in that green Fiat as a 3 year old (in the front seat) going to the “Park City” which was just a minor park a few blocks from Glen Oak drive.  Just a few months ago he was ribbing me about how he could get me to get so excited about driving a few blocks down the street to “Park City.”  I don’t remember the park but I remember what it was like being with him, he was reflecting the joy of the moment back to me, and such moments were repeated again and again for years to come with me, his grandchildren, family and friends alike.  “Park City” is not a recollection, but a memory I’ve always had in my mind, part of me.
  
Through recent years, many extended family and friends came to know Granddad, commented to me about his characteristic warm demeanor and warm way of interacting.  He was at his best a one-on-one communicator.  He would without fail ask my wife, Karen, how her mother was doing.   He had a wry sense of humor that coupled with my Grandmother’s input would best display itself in story after story of their life together trying to raise a family while globetrotting with the Marine Corps.   These stories were a great comfort to Karen when I was sailing three or four of the seven seas and left her behind in Norfolk.
  
He could work a room- one person at a time.  I recall looking up toward the front of Larchmont United Methodist Church at my Eagle Scout ceremony in 1990 and seeing him and Dr. William Whitehurst sitting on the front row conversing like they had know each other for years, they had in a way.  Each was a WWII veteran of the Pacific.  Dr. Whitehurst returned to Norfolk to finish high school after the war.
  
As much as he could work a room, he could cause a “scene.”  If you’ve been to a restaurant with him, not merely witnessed, you’ve experienced the specifications for HOT coffee and crushed red pepper.  Or you’ve had your reality unfold like olive green underwear in front of what felt like your entire high school class.  [Routine about his visits to Norfolk was stops at Camp Elmore.  On one such visit Janna and I accompanied him to the Marine Corps uniform store one Saturday afternoon in early spring time in 1989 or 1990.  He was there looking for olive green boxer shorts.  They did not have any in stock, but only had olive drab.  Well…Granddad launched into a mini-tirade about why olive green boxer shorts and tee-shirts are preferred for Marines.  The olive drab is not acceptable, he explained, because they are a brown tone that the “other” Services wear with their camouflage utility uniforms.  I completely forgot this memory until Janna mentioned it last night.  The reason was one of the clerks working the store was a high school classmate of mine and needless to say I am not surprised that I locked this memory away somewhere in my mind.  I do recall that the numerous young Marines in the store who became the audience for Granddad seemed to not only totally understand where Granddad was coming from about olive green vs. olive drab but paid deference of their attention to a Marine of a previous era.  No matter where they are or the circumstances, no uniforms required, Marines know other Marines and their significance.]  I don’t know why he would get so worked up, but through little events where he would offer a glimpse into the man who was a 30-year Marine we began to get a better idea of what that was all about.  He did not put out a front that the Marine Corps was the best thing about himself to show.  He was always, himself to us first and foremost.   Not long ago, Grandma recalled to me what a Sergeant Major meant in the Marine Corps, especially one with the combat service as his, that senior officers would “pop tall” when he entered a room.   Having some insider knowledge of that culture by then, it was priceless to learn something about his former life, and priceless to hear my 80-year old grandma say “pop tall.”  [I was heartened by General Chadwick’s presence at the funeral and burial.  At Ft. Myer I told him that I heard his name and a related story often throughout my life, and I thanked him for attending and that it is evidence of a cherished friendship and mutual respect.  He remarked, “Your grandparents were both indelible people, anyone who know them was left with knowing they had known special people.”]
  
Granddad had true joy.  He cherished relationships.  On visits to Norfolk when I was a kid, he would take regular visits to the places he was stationed as an 18, 19, 20 year old Marine in 1940-41 before WWII.  During the days when I was in school, he would go various places to visit dear friends there until they passed away.  There was an older couple he spoke of…I don’t remember their names.   We would take regular drives around the Norfolk Naval Station and he would point to buildings and recall there used to be parade field where he instructed Navy recruits in the ‘40s.  [He spoke fondly of a “mustang” (former enlisted) Navy lieutenant he worked for there, who issued him a motorcycle for local transportation, replacing walking or running from place-to-place.]  [I tried relentlessly on one visit to the Naval Station to get him to take me to lunch at the MAR BAR; this is a bar atop the Marine Barracks.  He would not, irritated and explained that I could not get in there, and besides they had sand floors.  We went to Burger King instead, which was just as much fun. (I still cannot get into the MAR BAR).]  Other places I would accompany him, narrated by the same less than favorable stories about the Navy repeated again and again, such as St. Julien’s Creek weapons station.  The corpsman from the Portsmouth Naval Hospital would come in a shiny new ambulance to deliver movie reels to the Marine barracks but on the occasion to retrieve an injured or sick Marine, would come in an old flat-bed pick-up truck.  There were other stories he would give cursory mention, usually Grandma would have to provide the insight.  One such was Guadalcanal, we tried to get him to talk about it, and he would not.  He did remark to Karen and I that not a day went by he did not think of the friends lost.  I tell these here because I want you to know his strength of character, he probably started in the Marine Corps with it, resilience, dealt with the trauma and he was able to function and give us the lives we have.   In instances in my career I’ve recalled many of these stories to senior leaders to make a point when necessary and usually achieved the desired effect.  I’ve never felt like the new kid on the block.

I could share an accounting again of many more stories, like of the summers in Kentucky between their Norfolk visits.  I enjoyed swimming, fishing, inadvertently stealing Fuzzy Zoeller’s practice balls from the 18th fairway, so much that I asked if a school bus came by the house.  Soon after, I reacquainted with flying the friendly skies.   

To wrap up:  He was great joy, joyful appreciation of life, achieved through great adversity, it was in every interaction, it was him, and he gave himself to us every time.
    
My grieving process is different, somewhat over time, so I can’t quite say how I feel today.  [The grief did not hit me emotionally until later at the gravesite when all honors were rendered and everyone was walking away.  I could not turn away to leave as I realized it would be for the last time.  I lingered there for a few difficult moments; General Chadwick walked up to me, tapped me on the shoulder and directed my attention to the sun starting to peek through the clouds.]  We took many drives around Norfolk, like living there recently, I began to realize that I may be experiencing “the last time” moments like driving to church all in the same car, 25 in a 55 or 55 in a 25, which could have become last time moments of themselves.  Finally, to his children, your grief is greatest of all today, and you are in my prayers.
 
I would like to lead a prayer for the family now.

A TRIBUTE TO MY FATHER, ROBERT L. LUTTRELL, SR.
By Bill Luttrell
December 16, 2010

     I and my brother, Rob, and our sister, Susan, have been so blessed to have a father like Bob Luttrell.  Each of us has gone through this life everyday knowing we have a father to talk to and to know as a friend.  It is hard to say in just a few words what he has meant to me, but I have asked myself the question “What has my father taught me about life?” and “What has my father given me?”   “What kind of person was my father?”    Almost everything that comes to mind is about his love for his family and friends, his love of his country, and his love of God.

     My father was a part of the “The Greatest Generation”.  He grew up in the 20’s and 30’s during the Great Depression and joined the Marine Corps when he was a teenager.  Most of his adult life was involved in serving in the military.  He loved the Marine Corps and constantly tried to influence young marines to be devoted and loyal.  It is an honor to have General Robert Chadwick here, who served with Dad many years ago.  It is also a pleasure to see SGT Curtis Smith, who Dad came to know and influence in recent years.  Dad had planned to attend Curtis’s upcoming commissioning ceremony.  We grew up being so proud of his accomplishments in the Marine Corps.  The first song I ever learned to sing was the “Marine Corps Hymn”.  He instilled in me a great love for America and serving our country and was really pleased when I decided to make a career in the U. S. Navy.  During the seven years Mom and Dad lived with Sarah and I in Norfolk, Virginia, he greatly enjoyed going to the Naval Base and Marine Corps facilities as often as possible, if just to visit the commissary and PX.  Although Dad was a Marine, he never brought his work home.  Our mother made sure that he was not a drill sergeant or Sergeant Major when he was at home.  But, he did teach us to work hard and not expect anything to be simply handed to us.  He taught us by example to recognize authority and to respect those older and wiser than ourselves.  He believed in getting to the point when talking with people, but to treat everyone with respect.  He never knew a stranger and loved just talking with anyone.  He often had a special generosity for people and had a gift that allowed him to connect with everyone.  He taught us to have goals and to stick with them; keep our word; and to always be on time.  By example, he encouraged us to be ambitious and to do well in all aspects of life.  He taught us to be proud of who we were.  Because of him, I love a good challenge in life.  Because of his positive attitude about serving our country in the military, it was natural for me to pursue a career in the U.S. Navy, enjoying almost every day I served on active duty.  This spirit of government service has also been handed down to our son, Dan, who has also served in the U.S. Navy and is now working for the Veterans’ Administration here in D.C.
      
     My father loved his family.  We grew up watching him adore our mother.  He always wanted to please her.  By example, he showed me how to be a good husband.  He has missed our mother so much since she passed away almost two years ago.  I am sure that he was looking forward to being with her again.  He would readily say to her, “I love you.”  As he grew in years, he also would readily say to me, “I love you, son.”
 
     At this time, memories flood my mind.  The time he brought our mother home with our new born sister, Susan.  The time he nailed boards across the front door to keep the hurricane from blowing it in.  The time he walked into the house in the middle of the night, just returning from being in Okinawa for thirteen months.  The time he played a game of tennis with my brother and I at the same time when we were teenagers and won the game.  It was okay to not always win as long as we tried our very best.  The many hours we spent in the car driving cross-country as he would transfer to a new duty station at least every three years.  I remember the many days he would leave home to go to work in his Marine Corps uniform.  The many times he seemed to be so lucky at whatever he did.  The many times he was able to help me with my homework, being a very intelligent person.  The time he visited his first grandchild, our son, Dan, in the hospital at least three times in one day.  The times he spent hours polishing his shoes and brass, preparing for the next day.  The nights we played rook.  In his later years, the many times we went out to dinner with him insisting that the coffee be hot (I mean really hot!)

     Dad, I will always miss you.  It will be hard getting used to not being able to hear your voice.  I know you are in a better place now and with Mom, the love of your life.  I look forward to being there with you someday.  I will always cherish the memories of you as my father—the start you gave me in life, the guiding hand you gave me as a child, and the wonderful experiences of a happy childhood.  I could not have been blessed with a better father.

     Sarah and Kathy, I want to thank you for the many hours you both have spent taking care of both Dad and Mom during their declining years.
  
     I could say so much more.  I am so thankful that we had him in our lives as long as we did.  I am so thankful that he gave his life to the Lord and became a devoted Christian later in his life.  He is gone from this Earth now, but his legacy lives on and his memory is still vivid in the minds of his children and grandchildren.  I will always be proud to be his son.

Dear Susan, Bob, Bill and Families,
 We are so sorry to hear of your Father's passing. Bob was a kind, gentle man and a good friend and neighbor. We know he will be missed by many. We hope your many precious family memories will sustain you through this time. Thank you for letting us know. 
Fondly,
Sherry and Buddy Kaufman

Uncle Landon,

My mom (Ann Luttrell) was so proud to call you her brother. She loved you very much. Thank you so much for all you have done for our country and for my mom. Love you uncle Landon.

Debbie Staton McCrickard
Ann's baby girl

I was saddened to hear of your father's loss.  It was a great privilege to get to know your dad during his last years. I enjoyed seeing your family photos of many times shared with him.  May God give you peace and comfort during this time. Love, Neal and Connie

I feel privileged to have known this
good man, and to have Robert Jr. and
wife Kathy as friends.

               Dayton B.

Thank you for your service to our country.

Praying for your family during this difficult time.

OBITUARIO

Sgt Maj MC Robert Bob Luttrell Sr.

30 noviembre, 1921 – 16 octubre, 2010

Arlington Funeral Home

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