Please help me celebrate the life of ‘07 Dickinson runner and Army veteran, Matt Liebal

As it surely has for everybody who knew him, Matt’s passing has brought an unexpected dose of sadness into my life. We hadn’t spoken much since college, but for a while there, over countless hours spent covering hundreds and hundreds of miles together by foot, he may have been the single person with whom I spent the most time. Back then he wasn’t known widely as Matt. Everybody called him Liebal— sometimes Liebs. He was lovable yet prickly. He had a winning smile, which isn’t surprising because he won quite often. He was my friend, my foil, and my athletic rival. Though we weren’t really part of each other’s lives for the last decade or so, I now realize how much happiness I derived from knowing that Liebal was out there doing Liebal-esque things. I’m going to miss him, as I know the rest of you will.

Below you will find some memories of Matt that make me smile. They are in no particular order. I hope they bring joy to you too, even as we mourn losing him:

In spring of 2006 Liebal portrayed WWE heel Kurt Angle at the wrestling party, entering the “arena” to a chorus of boos. He loved every second of it.

Liebal was a Connecticut native, but he was all Texas.

Liebal was known to ride a collapsible scooter around campus. He was also somewhat of a teetotaler when he first arrived at college. When he started drinking though, he decided—for whatever godforsaken reason—that Woodchuck Hard Cider was his libation of choice. The first time he mixed the two activities, he crashed headlong into the retractable metal door near the HUB mailroom loading dock.

On my wedding day Liebal was one of the last people I talked with. He told me then, having assessed my registry and determining that there was nothing on there just for me, that he had not brought a gift. He added that he would send one when he found something suitable. I can’t remember ever getting a gift from him, but the story is gift enough.

Liebal was purportedly fond of out-and-backs between campus and North Mountain at odd times of the day and night.

Liebal proudly wore a black, screen printed t-shirt bearing the message “Rule Number One. I’m Number One” in six-inch white letters. I believe it was custom-made.

Before I went away to school, my dad gave me a burnt orange corduroy suit from the ‘70s. I wore the thing in jest to campus get-togethers. One night Liebal purloined the suit from my closet, and, informing me that it “looked better on him anyway,” had it professionally tailored to fit his frame. He had 6-7 inches on me, but we did weight about the same. When I graduated, he had the suit refitted and returned it to me as a gift. I don’t remember sharing my measurements with him, but the suit does fit.

Whether ironically or otherwise, Liebal described himself using the phrase “110 lbs. of twisted steel and sex appeal.”

Liebal was known for his distinct sartorial flair, often donning a pair of stolen bowling shoes and a gaudy University of Texas Hook ‘em Horns belt buckle.

With Love,

Tom Rhodes

*weigh

Matt's funeral was today in Fort Smith, Arkansas. He was surrounded by those who loved him. The family relayed to me that they are incredibly grateful to read these stories about Matt on LetsRun. They really are. I am as well.

What's interesting is that most of what I know about Matt has been through stories. Although I ran against him in high school, I didn't have the privilege of being Matt's college teammate or running against him when he was at his best. I also didn't serve with him in the Army. So, in our time together, I learned about his running and his service through the stories he would share with me.

He would write long, articulate, witty emails, texts, or messages to me and others about his latest exploits in college, or the Army. I always thought he should get into some form of writing, if even as a hobby. He really had a way with words. And, though he could, at first glance, come off as a narcissist, he was very aware and caring about the people in his life. The truth is that Matt lived his life in service of others.

And there was always a girl that he was in love with. The best one being his wife, Jill. They were such a team together and were incredibly in love. Matt took his time courting her--too long. As Jill's brother pointed out during a eulogy today, Jill got to the point where Matt needed to make a decision or risk forever being in the friend-zone. So he made his decision, and they, together, never looked back.

The bravado of Matt was a performance--sometimes a pain the ass one, sometimes an endearing on. Once you got to know him, you saw how loyal, loving, and vulnerable he could be.

I've learned so much more about him through this thread, and we all appreciate you taking the time and energy to share your experiences about Matt. It's not a disservice to his memory to share the more prickly side of Matt Liebal. Because that's where the life was. That's where the fire and the passion was. I learned more about him today when listening to the other eulogies.

The following is the eulogy that I gave about Matt Liebal on January 24, 2020:

I first met Matt when we were both runners in high school track. At first, we were not friends. Matt was the kind of runner who would go up to you at the starting line and tell you that all you would see during the race was the back of his shorts. This was kind of annoying, but even at the time, there was something about it and about Matt that you couldn’t help but like.

Because there was a glimmer in his eye when he said it. And because, during the race, he meant what he had said. Maybe you would beat Matt in the race, but you wouldn’t break his spirit—he would come right back the next time. And it wasn’t personal. Matt was a fierce competitor because he cared about competing and because he cared about the competition--because he cared about you.

Matt grew fiercer and faster as the years progressed. In college we stayed in touch over long chats on AOL Instant Messenger. Matt was at Dickinson College, thriving on the running team and in Army ROTC, while I was struggling to run for the Naval Academy. I would tell him how I was doing and he would share with me stories about his exploits at Dickinson, about his workouts and his teammates and about how he would talk trash to the other teams before the races.

Because I wasn’t at Dickinson myself, sometimes I wondered if Matt exaggerated when he shared these stories with me. Then, the summer before my senior year, I was a backcountry ranger at a boy scout ranch in New Mexico. I met another backcountry ranger who ran in the same collegiate division as Matt. I asked him, if by chance, he knew who Matt Liebal was.

He responded, “Oh, I know Matt Liebal. We ALL know Matt Liebal.”

If the stories about Matt and that Matt told about himself seemed larger than life, it’s because Matt was larger than life. But his intensity was always in service to others. He was intense because he cared.

After college, I was stationed in Oklahoma City and Matt was in Fort Hood, Texas. And that’s when we became real friends. He would come up to Oklahoma or I would go down to Texas and we would share war stories about deployment or internet dating. When we were apart, we would often text or instant messenger until it was time to fall asleep.

For my next tour, when I was studying Japanese in Washington DC, and having a hard time with it, Matt checked in on me, and he visited me. After I left Japan and active duty, I drove from the east coast to Colorado to start grad school. I drove south through Fort Smith, Arkansas. I was tired from the trip and anxious about my new chapter in life. Matt took the wheel and drove the 12 hours from Arkansas to Colorado. He made fun of my Ford Escape the entire way.

That first thanksgiving in grad school, Matt drove back up to Colorado to spend it with me.

A year later, the morning after the most recent presidential election, Matt called me. He knew that we had each voted differently, but he didn’t call to talk politics. He just wanted to know how I was doing.

Because above all else, Matt cared about people. That’s who Matt was. He was there for you, no matter what. Sometimes you wanted to punch him, but he was there for you. And once you got to know him, he was a hard man not to love.

Matt, when I see you at the starting line again, I’ll be sure to give you a big hug.

TO THE GUN SHOW

I've known Matt since he was a young kid. I saw him start his running career in middle school with my son who was a yr older and daughter who was a year younger. In middle school I saw this scrawny kid running the cross country courses and he didn't do so well. That poor kid had big feet and they just seemed to get in his way, not a fluid runner at all but I remember thinking that man this kid has got some determination. My daughter continued her running cross country and track in high school with Matt where all of a sudden he came into his stride or grew into those feet or a little of both but he became a contender. He had a team mate named Anson, both in the same grade and for while both were equals but by senior year Matt became the dominant one but boy did those two guys have a competitive spirit between the two of them, neither one was going to let the other have an inch. One day the coach had enough of the two of them and was trying to encourage them to work together. Not happening. The coach stopped the practice for everyone except Matt and Anson. They were going to run 800's I believe it was together in attempt to get them to work with each other. They didn't get too far around the track before one was trying to dust the other until it was an all out sprint. The coach responded with do it again, and then do it again and again until the coach gave up. Then for those that know Matt well there was several track meets I am watching this kid run his traces and he is running to the outside of lane 1 constantly on the curves. After several meets I can't take this any longer and I pull him aside and say hey Matt, you gotta ride the inside of the lane and save some time. The reply I got was Mr. Deal, I can't I am going to fast to hold the curve. What do you say to that other than oh! okay Matt and walk away shaking your head. That was Matt, a really great kid in part because he came from a really great family all of them. I will miss you Matt and the updates I used to get on you from your Dad. You are truly loved.

What did he die from?

Matt took his own life.

This is such sad news. I can't imagine what his family and friends are going through right now. I had not spoken to him since a few years after college, but have great memories of Matt. I went to Dickinson with Matt. I also went to HS in southeastern CT , but we did not know each other then. I think we met during orientation. The memory that sticks out to me the most is Matt helping me complete a timed run for basketball. I played basketball at Dickinson. While I could play an entire game not needing a sub, I could never pass the timed 1.5 mile test we had to do on the first day of every season. If we did not make the run in the set time, we had to run it every day until we did. One year, I had to run it seven times. Matt ran most of them with me, and if he did not run the whole thing, he was right there cheering me on the entire time. I remember being in the Kline, running in circles, with him there for me. I could not have done it without him.

My thoughts are with you, Matt...

-Piper Etess Deltenre '08

Last week I had coffee with an Army Colonel who was Matt's Battalion Commander, and Matt his adjutant, of the 5th Cavalry Regiment in Fort Hood, Texas. Together, we recounted stories of Matt.

The Colonel shared with me stories that I had never heard, and the type of stories Matt wouldn't normally share himself. Matt liked to either pretend to be cocky, or actually be cocky, so he wasn't the type to share how much the men of his regiment loved him, or how he loved them in return. He was the type to be blunt too, even for Army types, and the Colonel didn't know, at first, if Matt as his adjutant would work out. But once they ironed out their differences, Matt was loyal, caring, and thorough.

The Colonel once asked Matt to find a memorial video of a particular soldier who was Killed in Action. Matt went to Fort Hood Public Affairs and relayed the request, one they said was impossible--they had dozens of memorial videos in their possession and no way to know which was which. They told him to get lost.

Many officers would say "Roger," leave, and relay that information back to Command. Not Matt. He said he wasn't leaving until he found the video he needed. He wasn't messing around. He would go through every video himself with them in order to find it. Whatever it took. So that's what he did. He went through every video until he found the one of the soldier in question. And when he reported back to the Colonel's office, it was with the video in hand.

Mission Accomplished.

Share any stories you have of Matt here

Memorial Day is for remembering and honoring the fallen. Please help me remember and honor Major Matt Liebal, who was an all-American distance runner while at Dickinson College (‘07).

I have written and shared a public Facebook post

And will share the contents of the post here:

Memorial Day is for commemorating the fallen. Memorial Day is for honoring and remembering my best friend, Matt Liebal.

Matt was a friend, teammate, husband, father, brother, son. Matt was a combat veteran, Bronze Star recipient, and Major in the United States Army. Matt was an Eagle Scout and all-American collegiate runner at Dickinson College.

This is a picture of Matt and I at Colorado State University in 2015, directly after I left active duty and was about to begin my MFA in fiction writing.

My last tour was in Japan, and I had left my car with my parents near Philly. I drove from Philly to Fort Smith, Arkansas, where Matt was an Army ROTC instructor at a University of Arkansas satellite campus.

Matt drove my car the 12 hours from Arkansas to Colorado with me and stayed for a couple days to help me settle in. Granted, he made fun of my car and gave me sh*t the entire time, but that’s how we did.

That’s how we met. In high school, we ran track and cross country in the same eastern Connecticut conference for competing schools. I ran for New London High School and Matt ran for Montville High School.

Matt’s reputation preceded him. Before races, at the starting line, he would point to the back of his shorts and tell his competitors, including me, get used to seeing that.

There was something equally off putting and intriguing about the guy.

Over the years, we became friends. We spoke and supported each other more and more throughout high school, especially as we both sought to become military officers. In college, we chatted over AOL instant messenger and traded stories, running and otherwise.

After our respective graduations, we chatted as we both went through our respective military training, before I was stationed in Oklahoma City, and Matt was in Fort Hood,Texas. We met up either in Texas or Oklahoma to talk and hang out.

Over time it was clear we were more than just friends. We were brothers. I was Matt’s best man at his wedding in May 2018.
After Matt helped me move to Colorado in 2015, he then rented a car and drove the twelve hours back.

That Thanksgiving, Matt drove the twelve hours to Colorado, and we shared Thanksgiving with my MFA cohort. He understood that my military path was different from his, and that we were different from each other.

But even though he liked to poke and prod, he always supported me every step of the way. He’d read my stories. He’d listen to me as I explained what I was going through. He’d listen each of the dozens of times I told him I was going to quit the program and shouldn’t have left active duty. Then he’d tell me that I had made the right decision and that I needed to stick it out. He was there for me.

Matt died by suicide in January 2020. I had no idea what he was going through.
He wasn’t the type to talk about that sort of thing. He had been deployed to Iraq twice, but didn’t talk a lot about it, except to share his exploits in dressing down officers who outranked him. Stuff like that. Matt stuff.

When he was in Iraq, we’d talk online or over email, but mostly about women Matt was chatting with on Match.com, with the prospect of meeting them when he returned. Then he’d ask me what was going on with me and I would tell him.

Memories like that make me smile. Those are the memories I want to hold onto, because Matt made it his mission in life to help others and help make them smile. I’ll never forget that.

At the same time, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what I could have done for him that I didn’t, how he was there for me in ways that I wasn’t for him.