Gary O’Neal must’ve lived at least nine lives. Like an alley cat living in a New York subway, he should’ve been killed at least that many times. With ghostwriter David Fisher’s help, in this autobiography, O’Neal catalogues his jungle warfare in Vietnam, the bar fights, the near fatal traffic accidents, etc., that sum up his life in and out of the military.
On the jacket cover and in the forward, several fellow warriors sing O’Neal’s praises, describing him as a “super soldier.” But, I’m not so sure. Yes, O’Neal may have been the template for any wanna be John Wayne, but, is it okay to steal your cousin’s identity just so you can enlist and fight in the Vietnam conflict at the age of fifteen? Yes, when O’Neal’s cousin Butch was later drafted, the fraud was finally discovered, but only after Gary had served more than two years in the 173rd Airborne Infantry. Did the end, an exemplary military combat record, justify the means, stealing your relative’s Social Security number? Did O’Neal’s self-admitted fraud warrant an honorable discharge? I’ll let you be the judge.
Years later, with O’Neal now in Central America, was it morally right for him to systematically hunt down and assassinate four “targets” who had allegedly been involved in the murder of his adopted family? O’Neal’s cold-blooded response to the killing of his Nicaraguan family as well as his own capture and torture was done without any proof of his victims’ involvement in either crime. O’Neal admits this on page 187. “The intelligence people in the government gave me five names and told me these were the people involved. . . . I didn’t know any of the names . . . I didn’t recognize any of them. . . . Whether this intelligence was accurate or not I didn’t know and at that time I didn’t care. It’s possible these were just people the government knew were working with the enemy and needed to be gone. None of that mattered to me.”
There’s no question that as an extremely creative instructor of survival techniques in escape and evasion, O’Neal has no peers. But, in teaching others how to overcome painful, enhanced interrogation techniques, was it necessary to pierce ice picks through your throat or arm and carry around fifty pound buckets of water suspended from those picks, or to drive a Jeep over your stomach, in order to teach mental discipline?
Being the son of a Sioux woman, it came as no surprise to read O’Neal’s doctrine of North American “Indianology.” But, his discussion of the sun dance, prayer fires and vision quests, not to mention mental projection, was a huge turn-off. His justification for literally tearing the head off an attacker in an El Salvador back alley with his bare hands left me speechless. O’Neal writes, “That was not my intent. It just happened. I just grabbed him, put my arm around his head and twisted, threw his body and his head snapped and ripped. Taking somebody’s head off is not as difficult as people imagine. You just need enough torque and anger. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw somebody else coming toward me, so I flipped the (severed) head and hit him right in the chest.”
The jacket cover calls O’Neal “a legendary Ranger.” He professes his “love for this country,” his “loyalty to its military.” After reading “American Warrior,” I was left with just one impression. Here’s a man who just loved to dispatch people. A one man killing machine.