January 18, 2018, will forever remain the worst day of my life. I was just getting up and around in my hotel room near Phoenix, Ariz., preparing for three days of golf in the morning and the Barrett Jackson Auto Auction in the evenings. At around 6 a.m. — 8 a.m. PA time — I saw a news flash about a U.S Marshal shot in Harrisburg, PA. My heart stopped, and I immediately texted my best friend Chris, “You OK Brother?” A reply never came. About 15 minutes later my phone rang, and it was my life long friend Justin, he asked, “Are you sitting down?”

My first response was, “Tell me it wasn’t Hilly.” He said, “It was.” It was at that moment I learned that my best friend of 40 years was shot and killed while serving a warrant. I would be lying to say that part of me didn’t die that morning in that hotel room in Scottsdale because it most certainly did. As quickly as I heard the dreaded news, I went into doing the only thing I knew how, I was trained to adapt and overcome at any cost but no matter what, never show weakness or emotion, so I set out doing just that. I started trying to contact my family, his family, and our friends — as I felt they should be the ones to hear it from me or I should be offering my condolences to them. I knew I had to call my mom, I knew my dad was tough and could handle anything if he saw it on the news but I knew this news would crush my mom, she had to hear it from me. She answered, expecting to hear how it was warm and sunny in Arizona on that January day but that all changed when I asked if she heard about the Marshal that was shot. She said she had not and I replied, “It was Hilly, and he’s gone.” At that moment she began to cry, but immediately her instinct to protect her “child” kicked in and she began to say, “It’s not true, it’s not him, I will find out, it will be OK.” My only reply was that “it was true, it was him.” It was after this call that I felt a sickening feeling, I had Chris’s number, but I did not have his wife’s, the thought of not being able to tell her how sorry I was and that I would be there for her and the kids haunted me for days until she called me.

Christopher David Hill or “Hilly” as his close friends called him was a true warrior and as said by many, probably one of the best, most highly trained special operators in the country. But for those of us that knew Hilly, he was much more than a true professional, instructor and a man that loved his country and man that knew the meaning of sacrifice. He was the most caring and loving husband, father, son, brother and friend anyone could ever ask for. Chris loved his family and friends and enjoyed playing tricks, pranks and telling jokes. Chris always wanted to know how you and your family were doing and never talked about himself. Chris and I met in 1977 at the now-closed Watsontown Elementary School; we were in the same kindergarten class. We became quick friends that first year and my mom even drove us to school at times. As we entered middle school at Warrior Run and then high school, we remained at each other’s side hunting, fishing and doing everything high school friends do. Hilly, myself, and Chris Frantz remained close friends since meeting in kindergarten, but our start in middle school brought four new life long friends into the group, Justin, Mike, Pete, and Buddy. The “7” of us continued to do things throughout our High school days and into our adulthood.

Chris and I attended Waynesburg College together in 1991 and in 1993 Chris went to see an Army Recruiter and told him he would join if he could be a Ranger. The recruiter’s reply was, “You will have to pass the course,” and in typical Hilly Fashion he said, “You get me in, I will pass it.” Sure enough, he did, and he served four years in the 75th Ranger Reg, 3rd Battalion. It was not long after Hilly signed up that it inspired Chris Frantz, Mike and I to join the Army together, on the same day. Years later the “7” would gather every February/March in Eagles Mere, PA and spend a long weekend together at a house rental. This all started almost ten years ago during the weekend of our 20th class reunion. I had insisted that the “7” be present at my house for a gathering, it was there I explained that none of us were getting younger and we needed to at least meet yearly if not more — it was agreed by all to do so. We would go to Pete’s and attend Kid Rock concerts together, had Lake parties and much more. Little did I know, looking back now, this would become one of the best ideas in my life. From there forward we gathered together with our families, and we shared our old stories and listened to new ones but most of all, for at least that weekend, we were all back together. The “7” of us remained as close brothers right up to, and after Hilly’s passing, in fact, I credit getting through the last year on the friendship of the remaining “6”.

As we approach a year since Chris’s passing, I also wanted to pass on some events that unfolded during the two days last January at his viewing and funeral. Several days after his death his wife contacted me and asked if I would be a pallbearer, all I could say was that I would be honored. I flew back into Williamsport from Arizona at 11 p.m. the Sunday before the funeral and was surprised to see two “members of the 6,” Justin and Pete, they were there to pick me up. We went back to my house, had a few beers, and I think around 3 a.m. we finally went to bed after I had ransacked my home office and garage for all the pictures of Hilly I could muster. That Tuesday Chris Frantz flew in from North Carolina, and I had already booked rooms in Hershey for the “6” — Frantz, Mike, Justin, Pete, Buddy and myself along with our wives would all be together to send off our brother to Valhalla. After we all attended the viewing around 9 p.m. we all arrived at our hotel in Hershey where after checking in I asked the front desk attendant if we could use the hotel lobby/breakfast dining area to gather and remember our fallen friend, she was so nice to comply. For over six hours and past 3 a.m. we told every story we could think of about Hilly over a few cases of beer, take out pizza, bologna and cheese and a mountain of Middleswarth BBQ Chips. We offered anyone and everyone who passed by to stop and listen for a minute and partake in our memorial feast and learn about our friend. We had some pictures of Chris (growing up in an age without cell phones/cameras there was not as many as would be today), and at times there was hardly a dry eye in the room. By 2 a.m. I had to retire in order to be at the Funeral home by 8 a.m.

I arrived at 8 a.m. sharp as instructed and sat in the lobby of the funeral home for about 30 minutes. It was then I realized after noticing at the viewing the night before that the members of Chris’s Special Operations Group (SOG) had not left his casket. I later found out that they all stayed with him, 24/7 from the time he died until after the funeral, almost a week. As I sat on the bench wondering what the day would bring a female Marshal noticed me, her name was Sue. She sat down and asked what office I was from; I explained that I was not a Marshal and that I was Chris’s friend since kindergarten. She hugged me and said she was sorry for my loss, I then showed her, and some others, pictures of Chris from kindergarten till recently I had stored on my phone. I told her I was a pallbearer and she said she would “put me” with a Marshal that will ensure I get everywhere I need to be that day. It was then that I met Jason, another pallbearer. Upon meeting Jason during and the 45-minute car ride on the funeral route, we exchanged how we each knew Chris and most importantly our phone numbers. I would have never imagined that our meeting that day would turn into a friendship and in several ways help each of us deal with the loss of our friend.

Chris’s casket was loaded into the SOG team Bearcat and along with his Team members led the funeral behind a motorcade of motorcycles. We followed behind as did hundreds of Deputy U.S. Marshals, all the city streets and highways were blocked off, and citizens lined the route. As we passed an elementary school, all the children stood outside holding hand made signs thanking their “Hero” and honoring Chris Hill for his sacrifice. Fire trucks and police cars lined the route as police and firefighters stood at attention. I was in awe of the turnout as thousands lined the route. I began to think that Chris was probably thinking, “All this for me?” But in fact, Chris was an American Hero. His service to his country was lifelong as a Ranger, a Sergeant for the Florida Department of Corrections and a Deputy U.S. Marshal. Chris spent 25 years of dedicated service protecting those here and abroad. Upon arrival at the Giant Center, we drove into a rear loading area with access to the arena floor via a tunnel. After everything was in place, the eight pallbearers (his son, father, brother, Jason, myself and two other Marshals were escorted into the arena by the U.S. Marshal Pipe and Drum band. The stadium floor was packed with Deputy U.S. Marshals and law enforcement officers from every state. The Arena’s seats were filled on all the lower levels and from what I was told over 5,000 people were in attendance. Members of the 75th Ranger Regiment and the Florida Dept. of Corrections were also there. There was also a huge presence of members of the Warrior Run Class of 1990 as well as classes before and after. As I looked up, I could see the members of the “6” and their families as well. After an impressive ceremony, everyone moved outside for the “last call,” and the helicopter fly-over on that frigid day.

That day Jason and I had exchanged some stories about Chris. Over the weeks and months that followed I sent photos, newspaper clippings, and stories about Chris, and he did the same. He shared how he and Chris met when they both started and went to Marshal school together, and they became close friends. It was during this time that I found out that Chris was the class leader and held everyone to a higher standard at the Marshal school — go figure! This year Jason came back to this area be a guest speaker at Chris’s #32 Warrior Run jersey retirement ceremony this past August. This past June I sent Jason a text asking if he knew of a town where one of the “6” lives in North Carolina. At first, he thought I was joking, and then replied he grew up there and lived close! So in July and November on our visits to North Carolina, three members of the “6” met with Jason and that was how the “6” came full circle and with the addition of Jason is now back to the “7”. No one will ever replace Chris, but I am positive that Hilly would be proud to have Jason holding down his “spot.” RIP Brother.