Gary Martin Fahl was born in Clintonville, WI to his mother, Mary Dolores (nee Fontana), and his father, Martin. Three years later, the family welcomed Gary’s sister, Pamela, into the fold. The two children bonded quickly: Gary the solicitous older brother, Pam the adoring little sister. Their dad, an Army officer, was gone a great deal of the time, yet loomed large in Gary’s eyes. He admired the uniform, imagining all the great deeds his father must be doing. Pam was of the same mind, but she would rather have had her father home with them. Their mother was loving, but mercurial in her behavior. Pam had noticed and later wrote a book about it. She titled it Living with Mount Vesuvius. Gary had probably noticed it as well but kept it to himself. After an accompanied tour in Japan, the family moved to Lacrosse, WI, where their parents eventually divorced.
Gary was nine and Pam was six. Their mother, despite having bad feet and psychological issues that were poorly understood at the time, took work as a cook to support the family. Pam fantasized that one day their father would return. Gary, a realist at a young age, was more definitive. “He’s not coming back,” he told her. Gary was right. Poverty and the stigma of being a divorced Catholic mother of two did not help Mary Delores’ physical and mental conditions. The family struggled.
But Gary continued to admire the uniform his father had worn and, once he heard about the place, wanted to go to West Point. He set his goals high, studied hard, and excelled in academics at Lacrosse Central High. He lettered in both football and wrestling. His teachers and, especially, his coaches became his mentors. His effervescence, quick wit, and ready humor made him much admired. And, in 1965, against all odds and borrowing money from an aunt to make the trip, he entered USMA with the Class of 1969.
Gary blossomed at West Point. Described in the Howitzer as a “timid” new cadet, he soon “roared” in Company F-2 (the “Zoo”) as a popular, fun-loving classmate, unintimidated by the plebe system and the rigors of the years that followed. His deep, sonorous voice landed him a berth in the Glee Club for all four years; that same voice brought him a position on KDET, the cadet radio station. Combined with his rugged handsomeness and engaging personality, it also landed him a bevy of dates that made him the envy of his classmates. One of the dates was with Judy O’Toole in January 1968, who stole his heart before he knew it. Despite the trepidations of Judy’s family—her brother, George (USMA ’65) had been killed in action in Vietnam in 1967—they were married a week after Gary completed Ranger School and only a month before he left for Vietnam in May 1970.
His service there with the 101st was eventful. As an artillery officer with the 1st Battalion, 320th Field Artillery Regiment, he saw duty as a forward observer with a rifle company and later became the fire support coordinator for its parent unit (2nd Battalion, 327th Infantry), a job usually filled by a captain. A strong performance landed him a job as aide to the deputy division commander in the latter part of his Vietnam tour. He returned home for a three-year tour at Fort Riley, KS with the 1st Division’s 1st Battalion, 5th Artillery. He resigned his commission in September of 1975.
With a son (Andy) and daughter (Cassie) by that time and with a third child (Liz) to come later, Gary set out to make his way in business. Successes followed quickly with Schneider Transport, reinforced later by a degree from the Wharton School of Business (with Gary working nights while getting his MBA). The big jobs followed (e.g., General Mills, Chicago Pacific) and all the recognition and rewards that came with them. By all accounts he was a “fun Dad” then. Life was good.
Success at work continued for a stretch of years, but economic hard times, mergers, and buyouts caused jobs and places of work to change increasingly rapidly. Gary rose to high executive positions in a succession of companies, even as signs of personal troubles began to emerge. A bonfire by the edge of a woods triggered an inconsolable night of sadness as early as 1979. More erratic behavior followed, intermittently at first, then with increasing frequency. Nevertheless, by 1990 he was a Vice President of Dominion Textiles. But by the late ’90s, the jobs ceased and, some time thereafter, he left home—never to return. For a time, he lived with his sister, Pam, but that too did not last. Despite the urgings of others (family, classmates, and friends), he refrained from seeking any help from the demons affecting him. It was as if a life of accomplishments built by sheer grit and determination, once cracked, came tumbling down.
Yet he never lost his love for his family, nor they for him. Nor did he forget West Point. It loomed large in his memory, the “pinnacle of his life” as his loved ones remembered. In the closing months of his life, a classmate asked him, “What is it, Gary, that you want?” His answer, “All I want is a normal life, getting up in the morning, having a cup of coffee, taking a walk, meeting with friends, reading the paper, and enjoying a quiet day that ends with a peaceful night’s sleep.”
Gary died in Westlake, OH of acute respiratory failure. His ashes were interred at West Point, where his family felt he had enjoyed his happiest days.