THE LONG WALK OF LIFE

WWII Veteran and OSU Grad Phillip E. Leveque Was Drafted Before He Got to
Walk. Now, He Wants to Try Again With the Class of 05

World War II veteran Phillip E. Leveque wants to walk during this year's
commencement ceremony, an opportunity he did not get when he was drafted
into the military while attending OSU in 1944.

Phillip E. Leveque gazes through his thick-rimmed glasses. He sports an
olive shirt with slacks and the demeanor of a man who's seen and
experienced more than a lifetime's filling. At 82, he smiles easily from
behind his white mustache and tells stories using wry impersonations like a
grandfather boasting to enraptured grandchildren.

But he has no fairytales to tell. He has stories of life, war, of nights
filled with fire, boy warriors fighting without armor, and terror, a
monster that still tears rampant through his dreams.

Leveque says his story is not unique, but his experiences have given him a
kindred feeling toward any veteran.

The Past

In 1944, OSU was Oregon State College, with a student body of 3,500.

Leveque chuckled at this. He recently spoke with a school administrator who
joked that OSU probably has 3,500 parking spots.

As a 21-year-old chemistry major, Leveque's workload was unforgiving.

"You could study, you could work, or you could have a girlfriend," he said.
"You could do two -- maybe -- but not all of them."

Life was small and slower paced, back when Leveque called Hood River home.

"I'm a country boy," Leveque said.

A country boy whose eighth-grade class had only eight students.

In The Daily Barometer office last Thursday, Leveque leafed through a
turquoise copy of the 1944 Beaver yearbook. As he searched for his senior
portrait, he casually pointed out students he once knew.

He found his picture on pages 108 and 264; he grinned, commenting on his
"handsome good looks," a hint at the times he enjoyed at Oregon State
College before he was drafted.

But war would grab hold of Leveque and take him far from Oregon, across an
ocean and halfway around the world.

At the Point

Leveque was drafted in May 1944 into the 89th Infantry Division. But
Leveque had a problem. He didn't have a trigger finger. He had lost the tip
of his right index finger at age 4 while chopping wood.

"I was holding, [someone] was chopping," he said. "I failed my first
intelligence test."

Leveque had to use his middle finger to fire his weapon.

"I couldn't be an officer because I didn't have a full trigger finger,"
Leveque said. "[But] I had quick reflexes."

Because of his time as a squad leader in basic training and his background
in chemistry, Leveque said he was on track to be a noncommissioned officer
in chemical warfare.

But when he arrived on base in Europe, the officer positions had already
been assigned. Leveque was tasked as attack point man and forward observer,
a dangerous position that involved scouting ahead for the main group.

Despite the dangerous role he played during the war, Leveque credits his
missing finger with saving his life. He said officer casualty rates were worse.

"I'm not afraid to dive in the mud," Leveque said. "Especially when people
are shooting at me."

Leveque said he and other forward observers moved ahead of the main
company, a dozen men walking 10 yards apart in arrow or straight-line
formation.

"Like a goat in a tiger trap," he said.

Forward observers were forbidden, by court marshal order, to keep personal
diaries due to the risk of divulging critical intelligence knowledge.

This order, Leveque says, came to haunt him in later years after the war
because he had no guide to organize the chaos of his experiences in
fighting; forcing him to rely only on flashbacks.

The River

"When you start in a battle zone, you find someone is shooting at you 24
hours a day, seven days a week," Leveque said. "And you have to shoot back
24 hours a day, seven days a week."

It was March 26, 1945.

The war would end just 42 days later, but from the ground, Leveque said,
looking that far ahead would get you killed.

The crossing by American GIs and 168th Combat Engineers of the Rhine River
to St. Goarshausen left about 250 dead of a force of more than 400.

Leveque said U.S. forces crossed the river in small boats under a strong
current, with German defenses firing from the opposite bank.

More than 125 men were killed within the first hour of the pre-dawn
"surprise attack."

Using his thumbs and pinky fingers, Leveque described four-barreled
anti-aircraft guns trained on the river to fire at U.S. forces paddling across.

"I made a dash for the first house I could see," Leveque said of reaching
the far bank of the river. "I expected to have guys behind me."

But there were none.

Inside the home, Leveque saw signs that German officers had been there only
minutes earlier. He picked a dark area, hid and waited.

After several hours, Leveque crept out of the house and began to make his
way down the bank to where the main group of U.S. forces was.

Leveque moved from house to house, rifle at the ready and nose searching
for the hint of German cigarettes in the air.

"Germans smoked real strong tobacco," Leveque said. "You could smell them
half a mile away."

Six hours after crossing the river, Leveque met up with the rest of his troops.

"Leveque!" his sergeant shouted. "Where the hell have you been? I've
already reported you MIA."

The After

For Leveque, fighting in World War II spawned nightmares and mental scars.
But his leave in England yielded a woman Leveque would later marry and
remain with for 52 years until her death in 2004.

Leveque said he picked England for leave because his grandfather was
English and he was curious to learn about his past.

One night in a pub, Leveque met his future wife, Eva. She was Jewish and
had fled from Germany with her father, a decorated WWI veteran, as the
Nazis took power.

Having first escaped to Russia, she and her father were expelled,
ironically, because they were German. From there, they made their way to
Britain, where they remained, but they faced further persecution because
their German origins got them labeled "enemy aliens."

As a Holocaust survivor, Leveque said his wife was terrified of authority
figures.

"In Portland, she'd see a police officer and grab my arm," Leveque said.

Leveque said his war experiences had a damaging impact on himself, as well.

"You don't have any control over your dreams," he said.

Walking the streets of Portland after the war, Leveque said terror
flashbacks of firefights and combat made him paranoid in the city.

"I knew some of those bastards in cars would kill me," he said. "Once
you've gone through battle, it never escapes you."

The Walk

Today, Leveque lives in Molalla and has a double doctorate of philosophy in
pharmacology and osteopathy.

Since he was drafted near the end of his senior year at Oregon State, he
was unable to walk with his class of 1944.

He now wishes to take the walk 60 years later with the class of 2005.

Leveque has received media attention from CNN, The New York Times and Fox
News for his stories as both a soldier and as a prominent advocate of
medical marijuana.

But Leveque said his activism on behalf of medical marijuana is not the
issue at hand and that he is focused on walking. He describes it as a
"symbolic business."

Barbara Balz, registrar, said records show Leveque received two diplomas
from OSU for science degrees.

Balz said the main focus at this stage would be for administrators to talk
with Leveque and discuss his interests in walking this year.

According to Balz, Leveque had opportunities to walk in 1947 and 1951.

"We want to talk about his interests at this time," Balz said. "We want to
see why he's interested now."

In an April 21 letter to OSU President Ed Ray, Leveque requested he be
allowed a symbolic graduation with the class of 2005.

"It would mean very much to me to be allowed this privilege and honor,"
Leveque wrote.

In his letter, Leveque also requested he be allowed to walk in his uniform
as a tribute to veterans.

Maj. Michael Meredith, professor of military science, said Tuesday that he
was not aware of Leveque's request to graduate and expressed his respect
for Leveque's efforts during the war.

"Personally, I don't see a problem with him walking," Meredith said.

But Meredith explained that, since Leveque was not affiliated with AROTC
during his time at OSU, he would not walk with members of ROTC.

Steve Smith, associate director of the OSU Alumni Association and member of
the Commencement Committee, said many veterans in the Oregon State classes
of 1942 through 1945 returned after the war to walk with graduating classes
through the early '50s.

"There are a lot of them like that," Smith said. "They've got stories to tell."

Smith said he was not aware of someone walking with a graduating class in
recent memory but the final decision would likely rest with the Office of
the Registrar.

"This is a right of passage -- and by God, I've earned it," Leveque said.

Back in the Barometer office, Leveque holds a recent portrait of himself in
uniform. In the picture, he wears the same shirt he was discharged in after
WWII.

He can no longer button the top button, but the uniform, he says, still fits.