THE FACES ON THE PLAQUES: The fallen heroes of Charlotte High

Reader's note: This story originally appeared in the July 4, 2021 editions of The Daily Sun.

The Charlotte Tarpon wrestling team’s annual awards banquet has always been a raucous affair, but the 2021 edition had a particularly rowdy edge to it.

These Tarpons were state champions. Everyone in the room played a role in getting them to the mountaintop.

Tarpons coach Evan Robinson handed out the awards and accolades. Pictures were taken. Laughter was the evening’s soundtrack.

Throughout the celebration, in the heart of the room, two faces stared out from a pair of plaques known to all Charlotte wrestlers and their families. Nearby, a man stared back.

Before the night was over, he would have his say.

“Always, always, when you leave your parents, give them a hug,” the man said when his moment arrived. “Tell them you love them all the time because you just don’t know what’s going to happen.”

The Charlotte High community knows well the story behind the faces on those plaques.

For everyone else, this is the story of Brian Buesing and Michael Woodliff.

BRIAN BUESING

In the late summer of 1996, a wiry, 98-pound kid moved through the hallway of the old Charlotte High School until he was ambushed from behind.

Two older kids swept him up and carried him to an office where two men were sitting.

“Hey coach,” one of the kids said. “We found our 98-pounder.”

Bill Hoke and Ron Schuyler appraised the boy dropped before them. Hoke turned to Schuyler.

“There he is,” Hoke said. “There he is.”

Bill Buesing’s son was athletic but not into sports. He was a big fan of the WWE and no one could pull him away from the occasional superhero movie.

“I think it was that first Tuesday of school,” Bill said this week. “Brian had no idea what they were talking about but then he came home and said, ‘I’m on the wrestling team.’”

Bill had been an athlete throughout his school years but had given up on Brian ever joining in.

“Then two days later, he comes home and says, ‘I’m on the varsity wrestling team,’” he said. “Ho, ho, slow down, how’d you get to the varsity already? I know how hard that is. He says, ‘Well, they needed me to be on varsity so that’s what I’m doing.’”

Bill went to Charlotte High to figure out what was going on. He met Hoke and Schuyler and in short order liked everything he was hearing.

It was simple math, really. Hoke knew the team was good and potentially great, but there was a hole in the team at 103, the lightest weight. Not just any little kid would do. They needed someone with stamina, courage and a work ethic bordering on militaristic. The son and grandson of a Marine certainly fit that description.

With Brian’s help, the Tarpons would go on to win a state title that year. It would be Brian’s only year at Charlotte High, but it was a year he would talk about for the rest of his life.

It would be a short life.

Six years later, Brian Buesing was dead.

MICHAEL WOODLIFF

It was a love story.

She was a freshman, he was a senior. She rode at the front of the bus while he rode in the back. Their eyes met.

She tried to join him in the back, but the upperclassmen blocked her. He came to her defense.

“You can sit with me,” he said.

Michael Woodliff had no reason to be on the bus. He had a car. He had seen her, though, and bluffed his way onto the bus just to meet her.

He was in love. So was Crystal Steward.

In the days that followed, Crystal learned much about her new beau. His heart was uncommonly big, but came with a mile-wide streak of mischief.

His nickname was “Roof Boy” for a stunt in which he jumped to the roof of a moving car and steered it while lying on his belly. Part daredevil, part hold my beer, it brought cheers from all who saw it, save for two law enforcement officers.

He used his charm to talk his way out of tickets for improper use of a vehicle and driving without a seat belt.

The year before Michael met Crystal, he had met Hoke. Like Brian two years prior, Hoke plucked Michael out of the halls.

“He was strong and had the determination to be the best he could be,“ Hoke told The Sun in 2009. “Most of all, the team concept was what Mike was all about. He enjoyed belonging to a team, a family. I think that had a lot to do with how close he was to his family.”

The Tarpons would fall short of a state title in 2000, but Michael did his share of heavy lifting on a team that would win district and regional titles.

The love affair between Michael and Crystal continued after his 2000 graduation.

On Nov. 29, 2002, Michael proposed to Crystal in front of a German palace.

The plan was to get married in the summer of 2004. Crystal ordered a dress. The veil was on the way when the news arrived.

Michael Woodliff was dead.

AMBUSH ALLEY

The faces staring back from the plaques are of two servicemen who died in the earliest days of the Iraq War.

Brian was the 30th to die. Michael the 279th. More than 4,500 coalition members would follow.

Brian was already in ROTC by the time he joined the Tarpon wrestling team. His entry into the Marines was so little in doubt that Bill had a pen ready when a recruitment officer showed up at his home seeking his signature for Brian’s enlistment.

Bill served with the 2nd Marine Division as a radio operator during the Vietnam War. Bill Sr. was a mortar man in the 1st Marine Division during the Korean War, where he was awarded the Silver Star for saving the lives of eight in his company.

Brian passed through Parris Island and followed in his grandfather’s footsteps as a mortar man in the 1st Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment, 2nd Marine Expeditionary Brigade.

Originally thinking he would serve his four years then get on with his life, Brian returned home for Christmas in 2002 and told his father he was thinking of re-enlisting.

“He said, ‘I’m going to re-up’ because they made him some pretty good offers,” Bill said. “I said that’s good man, stay. What else is there to do? You’re enjoying it and you’re getting promoted, so just stay.”

Shortly thereafter, he was deployed overseas as part of the buildup to the Iraq War.

Brian’s final day — March 23, 2003 — began when a supply officer leading the Army 507th Maintenance Company convoy took a wrong turn and was pinned down by the enemy in the Euphrates River city of An Nasiriyah. Of the 18 vehicles, 15 were destroyed. Of the 33 soldiers, 11 were killed and six — including PFC Jessica Lynch — were captured.

In charged the 1st Battalion, 2nd Marines in companies Alpha, Bravo and Charlie with the objective of capturing the two bridges spanning the Euphrates and a third over Saddam Canal. Alpha took the first bridge, but Bravo became bogged down in thick mud and higher-than-expected water levels. Alpha moved in to aid Bravo, blocking the path forward for Charlie – Brian’s company.

Charlie detoured down a road known as Ambush Alley, taking heavy fire for four kilometers before reaching the bridge over Saddam Canal.

Brian, his 98-pound frame retrofitted with muscle bringing him to 165 pounds, did what he did best, cracking jokes and keeping morale high despite the fact everyone was seeing their first combat.

“From what we were told, he was running back and forth, joking and laughing and at one point he said, ‘Man, these guys can’t shoot us. We keep running right in front of them,’” Bill said. “Then it wasn’t a half-hour later they took that mortar.”

Brian had just delivered ammunition to a mortar nest when an enemy mortar landed between the four men.

He died instantly.

By the time the engagement was over, 11 of Charlie company’s 18 men were killed and four were injured.

In the days following the battle, the Buesings received conflicting accounts of what happened to their son. The story of Jessica Lynch was celebrated, then questioned. A friendly fire incident involving two A-10s later in the battle put a lid on all information.

Eventually, a lieutenant who was present at the battle arrived with notebooks and a full account of the day. The Buesings also received a letter from another lieutenant — a James “Ben” Reid — who wrote of Brian:

“Under relentless and withering enemy fire, Brian was laughing as he got his mortar system into action and quickly dropped mortar rounds on several key enemy positions. I want you to know that Brian died facing the enemy. I hope your heart swells with pride when you think of Brian. Mine does, for Brian did so much for so many and asked for nothing in return. He died a hero fighting for his brother Marines and that is something most men in this world do not have the courage to do.”

WHEN LUCK RAN OUT

One month after Brian’s death, Michael deployed to Iraq with the U.S. Army’s 1st Battalion, 37th Armor Regiment, 1st Armor Division.

Not long after his arrival, a man ran at Michael, ripping open his shirt to expose a bomb, but when the man pressed the plunger, the detonator malfunctioned. In February 2004, he narrowly escaped a building wired with explosives and “Roof Boy” thus became known as “Lucky.”

On March 2, 2004, his luck ran out when an improvised explosive device ripped through his convoy in Baghdad.

Michael had tricked his mother, Janine, into signing the waiver that got him into the Army, telling her it was a form for an athletic physical. Like Brian, he was the third generation of his family to serve. His father, Lee, was a sergeant during Operation Desert Storm. His grandfather served in the Navy during World War II.

The Woodliff family turned inward after the loss of their son and moved north upon Lee’s retirement where they remain intensely private to this day. The only outlet Janine permitted herself was the occasional correspondence with those who left messages for her son on his page at the Fallen Heroes Memorial web site.

On May 1, 2011, Navy Seal Team Six killed Osama bin Laden. The following day, Hoke — still a teacher at Charlotte High after stepping down as wrestling coach in 2004 — began each of his classes with a discussion.

“The first thing I thought of was the Woodliffs and the Buesings. I rejoiced in my heart for those families,” Hoke told The Sun that day. “I remember Bill Buesing telling me, ‘I just hope they don’t stop and forget about getting (bin Laden). Don’t let my son die in vain.’

“I hope they are at least at some peace, knowing they caught the culprit,” Hoke added. “It won’t bring their boys back but at least it’s a mission accomplished. Bin Laden had a lot of blood on his hands, but at least he’s not breathing anymore.”

Bin Laden’s death came exactly two months after the seventh anniversary of Michael’s passing. On that day, a message had been left on his Fallen Heroes page:

“After 7 years, it’s still a harsh reality that I can’t reach out and hold you.

Since the time you’ve gone to live with the Lord, it seems like my life has spun out of control. I yearn to hear you laugh and to see your smile. I miss the love your family and I shared for you and the acceptance from your Mom and Dad to become part of it all-it all felt so right.

“Every now and then a glimmer of hope flashes through my mind in consideration of some wacky conspiracy theory that you went on another secret mission and were never taken away from us. I know this can’t be true though. Thankfully, in my dreams it seems like you come to visit and if for only a moment, everything is ok. You’ve touched so many people’s lives and impacted them in many, many positive ways. You were such an influential person, I’m sure you had no idea just how special you were. You were a rock, a confidant, an unwavering friend, a caretaker, mentor, lover and just plain-out good lookin’. :)

“I still look at our pictures and videos, especially from the last visit to Germany, meeting your friends and from the one time you snuck me into your barracks late at night. It was so much fun hanging out with the guys and getting a taste of the brotherhood that you’d formed with so many there. It’s absolutely amazing how many lives you touched and how many of your friends have come on here to leave the wonderful sentiments.

“In my heart, we are together...and always will be my love.”

Crystal

THE PLAQUES

The last time the Tarpons won a state wrestling title, a future war hero was in their midst. He can still be seen, staring out from a plaque that hangs alongside a plaque of another war hero gone too soon.

Shortly following Brian’s death, the family began receiving money from well-meaning strangers. They didn’t know what to do with it, so they decided to establish a scholarship in his name at Charlotte High.

For its part, the school decided it would honor two deserving wrestlers each year with the Brian Rory Buesing and Michael Woodliff Awards.

“Brian Buesing is the Outstanding Wrestler and Michael Woodliff is the Coaches’ Award,” Robinson said. “This year, we actually gave Brian’s award to the whole team. It was really cool. We couldn’t have won a state title without any of them.”

Andrew Austin, who won his second state title, was awarded the Woodliff.

“I had never actually met the two boys, but then I got to meet both of their families,” Robinson said. “You talk about a tough situation. … I got to know the families very well over the years and now I think I know both of the boys just through the stories over the years.

“That’s 17 years of giving out these awards and the Buesings have been here just about every year except last year because of the virus,” Robinson added.

Attending the annual banquet has been cathartic for Bill. The fact that there are now kids graduating who were born after his son’s death is not lost on him.

“That time went by so fast and now I realize it when talking to the guys, but they’re so respectful,” he said. “They see the pictures up there on the wall all the time, him and Mike, so they know what happened. And the coaches drill it into them, too, that these guys were part of our team.”

The scholarship fund continues to receive money in trickles, but nothing like the flood of the early days, when celebrities like George Steinbrenner and Oprah Winfrey donated. The Marines used to pitch in $500 annually before a budget cut ended their participation.

Bill’s mother — Brian’s grandmother — handled the account until recently and he is hoping to transition it into the care of Charlotte High. Though his son attended the school for just his freshman year, Bill said it was the highlight of his son’s life and it was one of the last things they talked about before his death.

The banquet following Brian’s championship year is a memory Bill holds dear.

“The kids all wore suits and ties back in the day and you should have seen him,” he said. “Brian was 90-something pounds and they put all those medals and plaques on him and they were so heavy the guy next to him had to hold him up.”

With a new generation of wrestlers passing through Charlotte High, Bill joked that he can now start recycling his stories.

“They’re so attentive that sometimes it scares me when they’re staring back at me. They’re just taking it all in,” he said. “It’s amazing how they do it. But we have no problem going back every year because that was Brian’s favorite place.

“And those plaques, they’ll always be there.”