Letters from Iraq

Living in Iraq While Our Life Is Back Home

Finding "Normal" In The Extradorinary

22 May 2004
FOB KMTB (Caldwell)
Diyala Province, Iraq

Greetings from Camp Happy! Today was another day. I convoyed to the outlying FOBs and a mysterious place called Magic Mountain. Along the way I saw a scene right out of the Bible. There was a woman in the front yard with something slightly resembling a pitchfork, actually it was a winnowing fork, and she slowly lifted it into the air filled with wheat and chaff. There was a slight breeze and I surmised that she was separating the wheat from the chaff. Her movements were controlled and even, indicating that she could make those same motions all day. The pile of wheat and chaff had been harvested by hand and was piled high in front of the simple abode that was her home. At first glance, nothing had changed in 2,000 years, except for an archaic TV antennae on the roof. So many times as we travel through the rural countryside, we get the feeling that we are in the land where time stood still.

It was just after lunchtime when we arrived at one of the FOBs. It is located in the vicinity of a Kurdish village. As we wandered about the FOB, it was obvious that there is a good relationship between the American soldiers and the locals. The locals who are authorized to be on the FOB freely walk around and engage in conversation with every soldier. The relationship though is restricted among the male species. There seems to be three distinct groups of locals: young boys, young men and older men. No baby boomers are in this mix. The young boys and young men carry digital cameras with which they constantly want pictures taken with American soldiers. I noticed an older man reading a paperback version of Webster's Dictionary of the English language. It is obvious their desire to learn our language and culture are great. One young boy was even wearing a warm-up suit with English writing on it.

The American soldier consistently spends cash received from the Finance Detachment or sent from home in business dealings with the locals. One young boy told one of our chaplains that he had saved $5,000 since our arrival selling clandestine DVD movies. You may have to wait for months before Blockbuster has a movie now playing in our cinemas. Within a week, it somehow shows up over here and usually sells for around $5.00. I don't know how they do it but these guys know how to market to the American soldier and they know how to get whatever he or she wants. The big item that sells for $650 on this FOB are motorcycles with a sidecar. There must be at least two-dozen on this FOB alone. I don't know what the soldiers are going to do with them when we leave, but it does look like a great way to get around the FOB. I did hear one soldier in conversation with a local where the local said that he had apple flavored cigarettes. The soldier quickly reached into his pocket and handed hajji (sometimes affectionate term for any local) a $10 bill. The local promised two cartons of the special flavored cigarettes by the afternoon. No sales receipt, no bartering, great trust. There must have been prior transactions between the two to garner this sense of trust.

I followed others to a very small building with a narrow opening. Standing in the small room was a local with a gas burner and a rather deep frying pan. There was a line of soldiers waiting for something, so since I was hungry, I got in line. All I knew was that they were out of chicken but still had french fries left. So I waited my turn while talking with soldiers and watching the interesting back and forth between local and soldier. I regret to say that the locals picked up on all the language of the American soldier. Words not spoken in polite company were freely exchanged without thought. My turn finally arrived as the chef handed me a cardboard plate with two slices of tomato, a generous helping of homemade french fries covered with a special sauce and some pita bread. The French fries were very hot and very greasy. No paper towels here or allowing the grease to drain. Straight out of the pan came my lunch. Two very cold can drinks and a plastic wrapper around the grease-laden delight and two one-dollar bills. McDonald's could learn a lot from these guys.

While walking through one of the outlying FOBs, a commander said that it was fortuitous that I was there. He really did use the word fortuitous. He began to tell me about one of his young soldiers and asked if I had time to talk with him. I made the time. Without going into his story, which would be a breach of confidence, suffice it to say that this young soldier had serious problems at home that he was trying to fix over the telephone from Iraq. This created an almost impossible scenario. Family problems are not uncommon to the deployed soldier and cause him or her to experience great stress and grief because they feel so hopeless being 6,000 miles away from the problem. They become desperate and despondent and cause all of us great concern because it is so hard for them to concentrate on the mission at hand when the family is in crisis back home. We, the chaplains, try desperately to counsel with our soldiers and use every skill we can think of to keep their spirits up and their minds focused on the military mission. It is for their safety and the safety of others around them that we try so hard. We give our lives to the institution of the family and will do all we can to keep it solvent as well. When the situation is desperate or seems to be falling apart, this is practically impossible. There are many hurting families on both sides of the Atlantic. We are at a place most of us have never been in our lives as we come to the end of our eighth month receiving family separation allowance. It has taken a toll on our marriages, our children and our morale. I am constantly amazed that our morale is not worse than it is. Somehow in the fog of war most of us keep our minds focused and our morale high. The chaplain's assessment of morale has essentially not changed since October of last year. It is sometimes better or worse than at other times, but for the most part our morale is good. We latch onto the smallest of things to say that today is a better day than yesterday. We hear of things that are going to occur, like more internet lines, and we hope. We talk about when we are going home and we assume the best. It is how we survive and it is how our loved ones survive. Our hope for a better tomorrow will bring us home and we will know deep down that we have made a difference by being in Iraq.

A couple of days ago I received this long, thin box in the mail from a Mr. and Mrs. James Kennedy in Connecticut. I do not know them personally, and if I do, then I apologize for being so forgetful. Inside this straight, triangulated box was one genuine wiffle ball and wiffle bat. I first thought, now what in the world am I going to do with this thing! Later that same afternoon I invited a few of the General's Personal Security Detail (PSD) or the same ones you know as the CRF (Comedy Relief Force) to join me. I thought it might be fun for about five minutes. We started out with just three of us, one pitching, one in the outfield and one batting. Home plate was right in front of the door to the Brigade Headquarters. One by one men and women would walk by and join us. Pretty soon everyone was taking a turn at bat and either pitching, fielding or catching. The audience began to grow after someone retrieved some old folded newspapers and placed them around as bases with rocks to hold them down. Now we are playing a game, but no one is keeping score and it is all in fun. BG Hickman took his turn as catcher. The Deputy Commander, Colonel Hal Davis even joined the fun. Our only real injury was incurred by COL Davis as he tried to stretch a single into a double and promptly turned his ankle. He was last seen in his room whining how he felt such a serious injury certainly deserved a trip to Germany. His roommate, LTC Tim Mauldin, the Brigade Surgeon, showed great compassion on the only 0-6 in the Brigade by telling him to "suck it up." There has been some conversation throughout the Brigade Headquarters that a certain chaplain is a cheater when it comes to wiffle ball. Don't you believe it! It is all rumors! I will admit that I showed initiative on one occasion when I hit a grounder to the left side of the field that appeared to be a certain out. Assessing the situation, I ascertained that the best course of action was to run as fast toward first as my elderly legs would carry me while carrying the wiffle bat. Just because I energetically swung said bat at the first baseman upon my approach, he is accusing me of cheating. My lightning fast speed then secured my spot at second base when a pop fly in my general vicinity was swatted away by my left hand so that it could not be caught, whereupon I ran to third. The infamous fielders called "foul" but I was only trying to protect the feelings of my comrade at bat. I knew his self-esteem would be damaged if he hit out, so I did what every good chaplain should do and took care of one of my soldiers. Any rumors otherwise are totally unfounded.

On Tuesday or this week from 1100 to 1200 hours Armed Forces Entertainment provided a comedy show for the 150 or so soldiers gathered in the shaded location that will soon be the maintenance area for the 230th FSB (Forward Support Battalion). It was a BYOC (Bring your own chair) affair. CSM (Command Sergeant Major) Larry Morgan and I were seated in a roped off area on the front row. This is a dangerous place to be during a comedy show and may I suggest to the uninitiated that you sit several rows from the front. It was suggested by one of the comedians that this was the geriatric area and that he fully expected to see wheels under our chairs so that we could more easily maneuver into the area. Upon asking CSM Morgan his rank, he proudly sounded off, "Sergeant Major," whereupon the comedian accuses him of not being able to make up his mind whether he was enlisted or an officer. Then he noticed my branch insignia (a cross) on my left lapel and wanted to know who put the chaplain on the front row. After the show this same comedian came up to me and asked me if I was all right. I should have said, "No, I think I will be forever scarred for life." Their intention was all good and it provided a nice interlude for those able to attend. Laughing is probably the best therapy our men and women could have in this searing heat. Thank you Armed Forces Entertainment for caring enough to visit the soldiers of the 30th!

The "Not for Prime Time A Team" recently made a trip to one of our outlying FOBs. They were trying to get there and back in one day, which would have been a new Diyala Province record. They traveled at speeds previously unknown in these parts in order to make the 336-mile journey. It was looking like they had the record in hand until one of the gun trucks ran over a sharp object and had a flat tire on the less than high quality Iraqi highway. Assessing the situation and realizing that the A Team, like the Boy Scouts, are always prepared, CSM (Command Sergeant Major) Larry Morgan had a brilliant revelation for a man of his mental aptitude. He did not have a spare tire (remember, "Be Prepared) and decided to drive said gun truck into the back of a flat bed 5-ton truck. His fellow members of the "Not for Prime Time A Team" initially thought the heat had damaged what little was left of his gray matter. The large truck was backed into a ravine so as to allow the HUMMWV gun truck to be driven into the bed of this large truck. Miracle of miracles, CSM Morgan's assessment was a good one. The gun truck barely fit into the bed of the 5-ton truck with an inch and a half to spare on each side. He then called ahead to the next FOB where they held up the dinner meal and proceeded to replace the flat tire. The Diyala Province record was in hand. Wow!

CH (LTC) Dennis Goodwin
30th Brigade Combat Team (BCT)

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