Although Richard Allan Carnaghi would eventually become my father-in-law, I always thought of Dick Carnaghi as “The Old Grad.” We met during his 20th Reunion Weekend in September 1980 after a surprising Army victory over the California Golden Bears at Michie Stadium. The “Gay Caballeros” half-time performance was a treat, and my friend John and I, Cows in the Class of 1982, were celebrating with a beer (or three) near the corner of Howze Field across from Lusk Reservoir.
To me, Old Grads were quite ominous, and I silently cowered as they approached, saluted, and hoped they would pass before I could do anything to disappoint. I knew they thought the “Corps had” a long time ago, and I didn’t want to add to their ever-lengthening tales of West Points depreciation.
As for the eventual father-in-law part, I met Dick's daughter at that Howze Field where John and I were standing after the game. Cara was chauffeuring a friend of hers around post, driving Dick’s car; John and I were dutifully waving at girls in cars. After a 30-second conversation on their third pass by our location, we had dates for Autumn Weekend. We briefly dated others before Cara and I fell deeply in love; 26 years later we still are.
Dick Carnaghi and I shook hands later that day near the Hotel Thayer as Cara introduced John and me. He and Jean, his four-year college sweetheart, immediately made us feel part of the family. In the months to come, Dick would spend dozens of Friday afternoons and Sunday evenings toting his daughter and me back and forth between Sandy Hook, Connecticut and West Point so that we could spend the weekends together. I don’t recall a single complaint.
Dick tortured me through the process of asking for permission to marry his daughter. When the time was right, he helped me buy the diamond for her engagement ring (a West Point miniature, of course) and generously supported our wedding. The Old Grad was certainly still there, but he was far less imposing or ominous. Later, Dick and Jean would visit us in Kentucky, Alabama, Germany, New York and other Army postings, checking in on their little girl, her Army husband, and their two grandchildren. He was Papa to Cara and “Opa” to the kids.
He is most responsible for passing along the notion of the “Long Gray Line” to me. Despite my concerns about senior, long-graduated classes, he never judged, never offered unwanted advice, and never bemoaned the contemporary processes at West Point. He was as proud of my military successes as my own father was and probably understood them even more. Dick worked hard to include me in some of the most relished Old Grad pastimes: we critiqued the Supe for the football weekend parking plan while cursing and admiring the Military Police for the order they provide on those chaotic weekends (one kicked the door of his car when he failed to turn the way they directed). He hosted cadets at their tailgates and supported Army athletics whatever the sport. Dick was most passionate about lacrosse and football, including 150-lb sprint football. Football weekends with Dick Carnaghi were especially memorable.
Several years into my new Army career, we would visit the Carnaghis in the fall so that we could catch a game together. Saturday mornings in Sandy Hook came early those weekends, and the predictable spat over packing the car quickly subsided as the excitement of the day overtook us. Being an “Old Grad” has its perks. Arriving on the Plain around 9:30 or 10:00 A.M., he would be directed to park near Doubleday Field so we could tailgate in the small practice field behind the Plain’s grandstand. We always tailgated with the Marmons (USMA ’60). After eating and drinking more than we needed, we would watch the crowds gather for the parade. As the lines began to form for the shuttle to the game, I knew “the trek” was next. Dick Carnaghi didn’t take shuttle buses. He walked that damned hill every weekend, and if The Old Grad walked it, I had to walk it too.
Dick was a fine engineer, went to jump school, was awarded two Bronze Stars in Viet Nam, and earned the Joint Service Commendation Medal and Army Staff Identification Badge in two tours at the Pentagon. He applied his civil engineering degree from Ohio State to a career in the private sector and continued his excellence in engineering and architecture with Heritage Development Group. He loved Bally shoes. He bought thousands of Legos for his grandchildren and helped them build with them. He sipped hot coffee through a straw. Through two careers and a life full of family, Dick maintained his love for the Military Academy. The Old Grad wore his West Point ring every day I knew him.
I can’t know directly, but I always sensed that West Point was difficult for him. Yes, it’s supposed to be difficult, but there are hundreds of cadets who are academically or athletically gifted, and I didn’t sense that about Dick Carnaghi. He had worked hard at West Point, suffered his share of disappointments and setbacks, but persevered, and I admired him for that. I think the extra effort it took to get through made him love the place and its people all the more.
Our family was in Korea when he died. It all seemed to come on so suddenly, but the brain tumors had come and gone before, and we all prayed and expected they would do so again. This time, however, complications from the surgeries prevailed. We could not attend the funeral but have visited him at West Point several times since. I can’t know directly, but united on the bluff overlooking the Hudson with others from the Long Gray Line, I get the sense that whatever struggles Dick experienced at West Point, they are long over. He loved us...and West Point. Embraced by the hallowed ground at the cemetery, West Point is loving “The Old Grad” back...
Dick is survived by his wife Jean; his children: Cara and Andrew; their spouses, Stephen and Roberta; his grandchildren: Zachary, Andrew, and Hayden; his mother Gertrude; and his sister Joan and her family. We love him, too.