RTB: Gordon “Bos” Boswell: A Tribute to a True Marine and Friend

I first met Gordon “Bos” Boswell back in the pioneer days of the internet, around 1996, when I was running a website called The Marine Guest Book. It was a virtual watering hole where Marines from all eras could re-connect with long-lost buddies, share stories, and find camaraderie. Among the usernames that popped up in our chat room, one stood out — Bos. We all quickly became friends, bonded by our shared experiences and deep love for the Marine Corps Brotherhood.

Bos wasn’t merely a digital presence; he transcended the screen. His character radiated resilience, and his unwavering commitment to the Marine Corps Brotherhood left an indelible mark. We, the 20-30 Marines who gathered in that chat room, looked up to him. His experiences in Vietnam—first as a demolition expert and later as a 1st Force Recon Scout Sniper—shaped him into the inspiring figure we knew.

Our friendship grew even stronger when we both joined POPASMOKE, the USMC/Combat Helicopter Association. The reunions were always a blast, but the 1998 reunion holds a special place in my heart. Bos and I had the incredible opportunity to fly in Jim Moriarty’s restored UH-34D helicopter, reliving the glory days and creating new memories. In Vietnam, Bos was MEDEVAC’d several times in a helicopter from wounds while on missions and patrols. Those harrowing evacuations, with his life hanging in the balance, were nothing like the carefree, reflective journey we took in that helicopter that day. That flight was a day filled with reflection, camaraderie, laughter, and the kind of joy that only comes from shared experiences in the Corps. We did a flyover of the Reunion being held on the beach below and all those Marines waving at us from the sand, they too were so excited to see an H-34 in the air. We felt an unspoken bond, not just with each other, but with every Marine who had ever flown in or supported the “Dog”. Bos was more than an honorary “grunt” member; he embodied the spirit of service, honor, and courage. He was 1st Force Recon, by God! Bos was larger than life.

I’d like to share a short post from Bos, reflecting on one of his tours in Vietnam:

Every time we went on an operation in to the Bo Bans, we would lose at least a dozen legs and arms to mines. When word came down that we were going in to the Bo Bans, grunts would get a sick feeling in their gut, and corpsmen would double-up on their medical supplies. The Bo Bans was a bad place, a very spooky place–a place I don’t like to remember. In one week, on an operation there, one of my good friends lost an arm, and another lost his leg. That same week on the same operation, my best friend was killed. I received multiple wounds to my legs. It was my last trip to the Bo Bans. I then made my third and final trip to 1st Med EVAC Hospital, DaNang. Sometimes, I awake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, and I know I’ve been walking through the Bo Bans again; the place continues to haunt me. I wonder if some present-day Vietnamese ever sees the ghost of the young man I once was, wandering through the Bo Bans.

Fast-forward to 2014. I’m cruising from Houston to New England, Bos and Cheryl’s home in Louisiana becomes an exciting pit stop. It’s a true memory forge. Bos and I sat around their back patio table, enjoying the time together. Bos has stories — oh, the kind that make you lean in, eyes wide, forgetting the world outside. And some? Well, those are reserved for the inner circle — the ones who’ve earned their stripes in life.

In 2017, Bos, our best buddy “J.D.” Barber (JD was a helicopter crew chief in Vietnam. Bos claimed it was JD who saved his life during a hot extract. But that’s a story for another time), and I embarked on a pilgrimage to Washington D.C. Our mission? Roger Herman’s HMM-361 Reunion (Roger Herman RTB May 2022). But this wasn’t your average reunion. We found ourselves at Arlington National Cemetery, where rows of pristine white headstones stretched like a silent symphony of sacrifice.

And there, in the hallowed quiet, we stood before the Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers. Sentinels — sharp as their creased uniforms—guarded this sacred ground. But here’s the kicker: we got the VIP tour. Down we went, beneath the surface, into the room where these sentinels prepared for their solemn duty. They shared stories—the kind that stick to your soul — and answered our questions. It was a rare glimpse into their world, a behind-the-scenes of the epitome of honor and duty. Where do we find such young men?

Words? Nah, they fell short. What we felt was a cocktail of reverence, pride, and the weight of history. A moment etched in memory, where we stood shoulder to shoulder with those who guard the legacy of heroes.

Bos passed away peacefully at his home this week (070824), leaving a void that cannot be filled. His departure has been felt deeply by all who knew him, but his legacy and spirit lives on in the stories we share and the memories we cherish. He often called me to chat and always ended the call with “Love you little brother!”. Bos was more than just a friend; he was a mentor, a confidant, and a true American hero. His life is a testament to the values of the Marine Corps — honor, courage, and commitment.

General MacArthur’s words resonate deeply: “I have walked with giants. Men by whose side I am privileged to have lived and worked.” Bos, our beloved giant, embodied those very qualities—strength, kindness, and unwavering loyalty.

His legacy is etched in the hearts of all who knew him. Bos’s warmth, humor, and genuine spirit left an indelible mark. We find solace in knowing that he is now reunited with his son, Brett, his in-country best buddy LCpl Christoper Six (KIA FEBRUARY 27, 1971), Roger Herman, and others who preceded him on this new journey.

Cheryl, his devoted wife, and Fara, his cherished daughter, carry forward his memory. May their hearts be comforted by the love and memories they shared with this remarkable man, Marine, and American Patriot.

Semper Fi, Bos. Your giant footsteps echo in our souls, guiding us toward honor, courage, and compassion. Farewell, big brother. Until we meet again.