Reflections from the Youth Leadership Luncheon: Honoring Heroes, Forging Futures
- Ashley Walker
- Nov 17
- 9 min read
As a history major with a lifelong passion for the stories that bind us—those tales of courage, betrayal, and unyielding resolve—few invitations stir the soul quite like one from a true American legend. On Wednesday, November 5, 2025, I had the profound honor of attending the Youth Leadership Development Program Luncheon at the Birmingham Botanical Gardens in Mountain Brook, Alabama, as the guest of retired Major General David P. Burford—our 2023 Military Honoree from the One Yard at a Time Gala held February 3, 2023, at The Club Inc. in Birmingham.
That evening, under the soft glow of chandeliers and amid the clink of glasses, we celebrated General Burford’s 38 years of service, from Green Beret combat leader to Deputy Commander for Mobilization and Reserve Affairs at U.S. Special Operations Command. He stood tall that night alongside Auburn’s Ben Tamburello, NFL Eagles offensive lineman, and special guest Tony Richardson, the versatile fullback who powered the Chiefs, Vikings, Cowboys, and Jets. Sponsored by Alabama Power Foundation, Coca-Cola, Regions Bank, and others, the gala raised critical funds for veterans in need.
And yet, as General Burford reminded us then and now, every great movement begins small—ours did, with just ninety committed souls at the inaugural 2019 event at Birmingham’s Marriott Grand Bohemian. It brought to mind Zechariah 4:10: “Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.”
At 10:30 a.m. Central Standard Time, amid the lush, timeless grounds of the Gardens, this gathering wasn’t merely a meal; it was a living tapestry of American resilience, weaving together the threads of our past and the promise of our youth. The menu was simple—chicken breast, mashed potatoes, long-stem green beans, roll, and pound cake—but the company was extraordinary.
Entering the elegant hall, I found my table positioned to the far left of the podium—or the far right, depending on one’s vantage—tucked behind the main screen in a room brimming with round tables and eager faces. Seated next to the AV technician, whose laptop offered me an unobstructed view of the unfolding program, I felt like a backstage witness to history in the making.
To his right sat a figure straight out of the annals of revolution: a gentleman in full 18th-century regalia, embodying Thomas Paine, the fiery pamphleteer from the American Village in Montevallo, Alabama. This living history site, spanning 188 acres of pastoral splendor just 30 minutes south of Birmingham, brings the Founding era to life through immersive encounters with figures like Paine, George Washington, and Patrick Henry, all in meticulously recreated colonial settings.
As a history aficionado, I couldn’t resist diving in. We bantered about Paine’s timeless Common Sense, that 1776 clarion call that ignited the colonies’ fight for independence. But the conversation turned poignant when I pressed him on Paine’s infamous open letter to George Washington in 1796—a scathing missive born of betrayal. Imprisoned in France during the Reign of Terror, Paine felt abandoned by the man he once hailed as a liberator.
In the letter, he accused Washington of corruption, of enriching allies at veterans’ expense, of hypocrisy in leadership, and even of fostering monopolies that betrayed the Revolution’s ideals. Washington’s response? Silence. But the damage rippled, tarnishing his legacy as he exited office and branding Paine a pariah upon his return to America.
It was a rift that underscored the Revolution’s human frailties: heroes, after all, are mortal. As Ecclesiastes 7:20 reminds us, “There is not a righteous man on earth who does good and never sins.”Our Paine interpreter, a true revolutionary in spirit, leaned in with a wry smile, reminding me that even the architects of liberty grappled with ingratitude and the weight of forgotten oaths.
Yet Paine’s shadow was just the prelude. The luncheon pulsed with encounters that bridged eras, reminding us that leadership—youthful or battle-hardened—is about carrying forward the torch, one handoff at a time.
I met John Hamilton, co-founder of The 9:57 Project, a nonprofit born from the ashes of September 11, 2001. Named for the moment United Flight 93 plummeted in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, the organization honors the forty heroes aboard by pairing veterans with students to share stories of courage, resilience, and teamwork.
Hamilton, a retired Chief Warrant Officer 4 with twenty-four years in the Army—including deployments as an AH-64 Apache pilot in the 101st Airborne—spoke with quiet fire about transforming tragedy into purpose. Seated nearby was Gordon W. Felt, president of Families of Flight 93, whose brother Edward was among those passengers who thwarted the hijackers’ plot.
Felt, a tireless advocate who helped shepherd the Flight 93 National Memorial to completion, shared how that “field of honor” stands as a testament to ordinary Americans rising to extraordinary valor. Their presence, alongside Todd Beamer’s parents—familiar faces from 9/11 remembrances—infused the room with a sacred gravity, a reminder that the wounds of that day still shape our resolve.
I thought of John 15:13—“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”That love was written across the faces in that room.
Familiar heroes dotted the crowd, too, like retired Captain Gary Michael Rose, our 2020 Military Honoree for Lettermen of the USA and a recipient of the Medal of Honor. On February 21, 2020, at The Club Inc., we honored him—a man who, in 1970, under withering enemy fire in Laos, treated and carried sixty-six wounded comrades to safety while bleeding from multiple wounds.
That’s what the Medal is for—lives saved. Five years later, at the Botanical Gardens, the room fell silent as his name was called. Then—one by one, every person stood. No cue. No command. Just respect—rising on its own.
I seized the moment to introduce him to Buddy Aydelette—my A-Club brother from the Bear Bryant era, much older than me, part of that sacred Pallbearer Bryant Fraternity at Bryant Hall. Buddy was #78 on the turf in the 1980 Sugar Bowl—the man who held the line so Major Ogilvie could leap over the top for the game-winning TD against Arkansas. That play sealed Bear’s sixth national championship.
Buddy had never met a Medal of Honor recipient. His request was quiet: “Darryl, will you introduce us to Captain Rose?” I did. There we stood—Fuhrman, Aydelette, Rose—two men who wore the A, one who wore the Medal. No comparison. Just gratitude. “Give honor to whom honor is due.” (Romans 13:7)
Politics and philanthropy intertwined seamlessly. Jefferson County Commissioner Jimmie Stephens, our steadfast ally whose investments have launched transformative programs for Jefferson County’s veterans, held court with quiet authority. His vision—rooted in a lifetime of civic leadership from Bessemer City Council to the Birmingham Business Alliance—has amplified our flag football initiatives and beyond, touching lives across the county.
Other elected officials mingled, their presence underscoring the event’s bipartisan nod to service. I connected with survivors’ families from 9/11 and Flight 93, their grace a quiet rebuke to cynicism.
The keynote came from a Marine Corps Sergeant and his wife, their words a clarion call on resilience amid adversity. Laughter erupted when I met a Northport, Alabama native—an EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) specialist in a wheelchair—who quipped, “I guess I wasn’t very good at my job.” His humor masked the scars of service, and though his name eludes me now, his spirit lingers. “The joy of the Lord is your strength.” (Nehemiah 8:10)
And then, the room hushed for 105-year-old Private First Class Roy Drinkard, the oldest living United States Marine from World War II, mere months shy of the Corps’ 250th anniversary in November 2025. Born in 1920, Drinkard served under General Eisenhower, later building Cullman, Alabama, as a real estate pioneer and Troy University Trustee.
Onstage, flanked by Commissioner Stephens and Congressman Robert Aderholt, Roy received a framed poem: “A Marine’s Century: Ode to Roy Drinkard.” At 105, Roy didn’t speak. He embodied. Service. Endurance. Legacy. “They shall still bear fruit in old age; they shall be fresh and flourishing.”(Psalm 92:14)
His grandson—ever the entrepreneur—pressed a two-dollar bill into my hand, stamped with Marine insignia, Roy’s grinning portrait, and contact info: ph: 256-739-DRINK (Drinkard Development). “Never miss an opportunity,” he grinned.
Seizing the cue, I extended an invitation to our 2026 One Yard at a Time Gala, where we’ll honor Marine Corps Staff Sergeant Alan Cook—an embodiment of modern Marine valor—and athletic legend Steadman Shealy, the University of Alabama quarterback who led the 1979 national champions.
This annual fundraiser, now in its seventh year, gathers lettermen, coaches, and heroes to raise vital funds for veterans in need—beginning with just ninety committed souls at the inaugural 2019 event, and growing into a signature celebration like the 2023 gala at The Club Inc., where General Burford stood as our honored guest.
Amid it all, I reconnected with dear friend Janice Rodgers of WBRC Fox 6, whose station has championed our flag football games since day one, amplifying voices often left on the sidelines.
As the program wrapped and chairs began to scrape against the floor, one final, serendipitous connection brought the day full circle. Just as the crowd thinned and the Botanical Gardens’ afternoon light slanted through the windows, I spotted Ferris Stevens—a name I hadn’t spoken aloud in over a decade.
Ferris was a Delta Chi brother of my older brother, David Fuhrman, from the 1970s at The University of Alabama. I knew the house well—I’d gone through the early stages of initiation myself, right up to the edge of Hell Week. But I walked away. Not out of fear, but principle.
A young man from Northport named Stephen, who’d tried out for the Crimson Tide football team and become a friend in the locker room, had been blackballed by the chapter. I couldn’t stomach it. My brother was furious—I never told him why. Forty years later, I see it clearer: some gates are meant to be closed, and some doors you choose not to walk through.
“What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?”(Matthew 16:26).
I traded that fraternity pin for a different brotherhood—one forged in the sweat of Bryant-Denny Stadium, under the shadow of Coach Paul “Bear” Bryant. My real pledge class? The Pallbearer Bryant Fraternity at Bryant Hall—where the only hazing was two-a-days, and the only bond that mattered was the one between teammates who’d carry each other, win or lose.
Ferris, though, had stayed the course. A graduate of Cumberland School of Law, he served as an Assistant Attorney General in the Alabama Attorney General’s Office before building a distinguished private practice as an attorney-at-law. A quiet force in legal and civic circles, he’d driven up from Mobile after hearing about the luncheon through the Crimson Tide network.
We stood near the exit—no speeches, no podium—just two men shaped by the same era, trading updates on kids, careers, and brothers gone too soon.
In that hallway moment, Ferris reminded me that brotherhood isn’t just about who wears the same letters—it’s about who stands by their convictions, even when no one’s watching. Some of us wear pins. Some wear scars. Some carry both. “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” (Proverbs 17:17)
Roll Tide, brother. See you at the next one.
As the luncheon drew to a close, I stepped back into the Botanical Gardens’ verdant embrace, the air crisp with autumn’s promise. This wasn’t just an event; it was a microcosm of America—flawed founders like Paine clashing with giants like Washington, 9/11 families turning grief into guardianship, centenarian Marines mentoring the next guard.
In a world quick to divide, gatherings like this reaffirm our shared yardage: one deliberate advance at a time. For the youth in that room, absorbing these legacies, the charge is clear—lead with Paine’s fire, Washington’s duty, Drinkard’s endurance, and the quiet courage to walk away when the cost of belonging is your soul.
At Lettermen of the USA, we’re proud to quarterback these plays, tackling tomorrow’s challenges with yesterday’s heart. From ninety souls in 2019 to black-tie galas at The Club, from Captain Rose in 2020 to General Burford in 2023, and onward to Staff Sergeant Cook and Steadman Shealy in 2026—we grow, one yard at a time.
On behalf of my father, a United States Marine—Semper Fi.
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.” (Matthew 5:9)
Roll Tide, and God bless the heroes among us—on the field, in the courtroom, and in the quiet choices that define a life.
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