Where Were You on 9/11? From Memorial Service to War

Posted on September 11, 2015 by psessum
The author training at Graf before selfies were cool.

The author training at Graf before selfies were cool.

By: Forrest Parks

It was near the end of the day. We were all hanging out in the barracks waiting for the memorial service for one of our buddies that had been found dead in the barracks a few days earlier. Some guys were playing video games, most were just sitting around bs’ing. Around 1445, we started hearing rumors about a plane hitting one of the twin towers in New York City. People started turning on the TVs to watch AFN (Armed Forces Network). I think the show was Good Morning America or the Today show. At 1500, we all attended the memorial service still not knowing that we had been attacked.

When the service was over, we found out that a second plane had crashed into the other tower and we knew that this wasn’t an accident. As we we sitting there trying to figure out what all this meant, we watched the plane crash into the Pentagon. That’s when we knew we were at war.

Within 24 hours, we were pulling security at the housing areas which, up to that day, were open to anyone to drive through. We pulled duty for a week working 8 hours on guard, 8 hours off, and 8 hours on QRF (quick reaction force). We were then relieved for a week before doing it all again.

When our previously scheduled deployment to Grafenwohr and Hoehenfels for training came up that November, it took on a whole new meaning. Sure, all the previous times we were training for war, but this was the first time we were doing it while AT war.

9-11-never-forgetMany of us lost friends on September 11, 2001. For those of us in the Military, those losses didn’t stop on 9/11. We lost many more friends and buddies in the 14 years we have been at war fighting the Islamic terrorists that attacked us. Most people don’t know those names, and that’s okay. We never signed up for the recognition. Those that knew them will remember them in our own way and that’s how they would have wanted it.

What is troubling today, 14 years after the worse attack on the United States in its history, it that we seemed to have forgotten about that attack. I don’t have TV in my house any more so I don’t know if they are showing the photos or video from that day, but I am hearing the attack mentioned on the radio and I see the news on the internet so I know it is being covered. But other than today, do people still remember the attack? Do people still remember that they attacked us and we retaliated against them?

It appears today that we are afraid to call those that attacked us what they really are — Islamic terrorists. It appears that our Congress and our President are going out of their way to not upset those of the Islamic faith. This Iran deal, not calling them terrorists, not identifying them as Islamic, not supporting Israel because it will anger the Muslims in the area; they are all a crock of crap full of excuses.

I’m sorry, but radical Islamic terrorists of the Muslin faith attacked us on our soil and I will forever hold them responsible for their actions. Calling them something different will never change who they really were and are. If that means that the radical Muslims take offense to that well they can just suck it up. Police your own people and we will stop judging ALL of you by the actions of a few. But just as you can’t judge all police officers by the actions of a few, we can’t judge all Muslims by the actions of a few. But I can hold the radical faction of the Muslim faith responsible for the actions members of their faith took today 14 years ago. I can and will.

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AAR of the Seattle VA After a Five Day Stay

Posted on August 4, 2015 by psessum
Relaxing on my last day before being released. Being comfortable is key when staying at the VA.

Relaxing on my last day before being released. Being comfortable is key when staying at the VA.

By: Peter Sessum

The Department of Veterans Affairs, as an organization, gets a bad rap. Every time someone in their leadership does something stupid the entire organization gets attacked. As veteran I know what it is like to be punished for the actions of a random military member so I thought I would submit this as somewhat objective view of services I experienced at the Seattle VA hospital.

In the interest of full disclosure I am currently rated at 70 percent service connected disabled and have been dealing with the VAMC since 2000 when I went from being one of the youngest people there to being one of the old guys. I have seen how services and the building itself has changed when trying to deal with the tidal wave of new patients. One year I was a regular of six different specialty clinics so I have a decent view of the breadth of services.

For this I thought I would use the tree up and three down format (or sustain and improve) and some tips for surviving a stay at the VA hospital. Just to get the bad news out of the way, here are the tree areas of improvement.

  1. They thought this passed as Veal Parmesan with rotini and marinara sauce. But the sauce was sweet. Way to kick a man when he is own VA.

    They thought this passed as Veal Parmesan with rotini and marinara sauce. But the sauce was sweet. Way to kick a man when he is own VA.

    The food sucks. Oh my God it is so bad. And you know that is saying a lot because I was a grunt. I don’t know it they watch too much cooking shows on TV, but most of the meals were really just kicking a man when he is down. I had been stuck there for a few days on a food related illness and they were serving me that swill. To their credit breakfast was decent but you can’t really mess up pancakes and bacon. Trying to mass produce lasagna was a complete failure and at a time when I should be eating it was hard to choke some of that down. On the plus side, they let friends and family bring you food and getting a hot pizza on my last night there was a morale booster.

  2. There were a couple people that needed some improvement. I was at the emergency room and sent home before I was actually admitted a couple of days later with a temperature of 105. That ER doc could have been a little more attentive. She acted like I was an interruption. Not how a sick person wants to feel. On my first night being admitted one nurse seemed to miss a few things. I don’t remember what it was for, but you get your nostrils swabbed and those were left in my room and another nurse had to be called in to draw blood due to lack of skill on the first one. There were a couple other little things that were not life threatening but I really want to feel like my medical treatment was through.
  3. The lack of Wi-Fi. After a couple of days a person starts to get a little stir crazy. Now maybe they don’t need to connect the entire hospital but at least the areas with overnight visitors. They could even make it secure so only those patients had access. Granted, the first night and day I was there I could barely keep my eyes open and was pretty much useless. But after that I needed some entertainment. The TV worked in my first room but when the moved me the TV in the second room had some issues. It also would have been good to have a pamphlet of what the channels were like you get in a hotel. I know that keeping it sterile is an issue, but if it was on a sign fixed to the wall or disposable printed sheets it might have worked. Really anything is better than having to scroll through all the channels.

Overall the negative issues were pretty minimal and not enough to be a detriment to my care. Fortunately, I didn’t have a lot of data usage on my tablet so I could watch Netflix and I learned that it could be used as a Wi-Fi hot spot and I could get on the Internet with my computer. Unfortunately, I didn’t learn that until my third or fourth day.

Now for the good news

  1. The nurses were great. Overall the entire medical staff was pretty good but the nurses were stellar. While it can be said that all nurses have it rough, they are underpaid, overworked and under-appreciated, nurses at the VA have to deal with us. And vets are a pretty unruly bunch overall, imagine having to deal with a bunch of sick vets all the time. While most were female there were a couple dudes in there. All were really personable and treated me like a person and not a room number. When they would come on shift the nurse that was assigned to me would introduce her/himself and write their name on the board. Most would take a moment to talk and it felt genuine. Personality wise, there wasn’t a bad one in the bunch.
  2. The doctors were professional, competent and genuinely seemed to care. They listened to me and answered any questions I had. The only downside is that they kept telling me they were going to try and release me and kept me another day. After a few days of that I started threatening to make a break for it. Overall the care was good and they tried hard to get me out of there in a timely manner but they also wanted to make sure I was healthy enough to leave. It is a delicate balance but I think they achieved it.
  3. The facilities are actually pretty good. There was an effort made to make sure I had a private room. Once they were sure I was not contagious they didn’t try to move someone in. After my first couple of days a woman was admitted to my wing and I had to give up my room. They wanted to give the woman a room with her own bathroom and most of the single rooms shared a bathroom between them. It was a legit reason and I had no issues with moving. By that time I was moving around pretty well. The beds were comfy and except for the cable in one room (there were a lot of other channels that worked) everything worked as it should. I can’t speak for other facilities, but the VAMC in Seattle has been doing a lot of construction and updating their facilities. The physical therapy area is especially new looking.

Overall my stay was good. I went in feeling like death warmed over and left feeling about 75 percent. It was a rough first couple of days but smooth sailing heath wise after that. I really liked the staff I interacted with and they were friendly and helpful. Once I was able to get up and move around they let me roam the halls. I am used too a pretty busy hospital but after hours is it like a ghost town. Kind of creepy.

20150709_105405

After five day, it was so nice getting this removed from my arm. No more IV meds.

If you ever find yourself stuck in an overnight stay at the VA here are a few tips to make things easier. Most of these are dependent on being strong enough to move around and not being contagious.

  1. Ask where the ice machine is. They had an area that had an ice machine, lemonade packets and crackers. Unfortunately, during my stay they were out of graham crackers but it is good to be able to grab something to nibble on and stay hydrated without having to bug the nurses. Plus it is a good excuse to get moving.
  2. Ask if there is anything you can do to save them time. I had an IV connected to me for the first couple of days and every time I would bend my arm too far it would interrupt the flow and the machine would shut off. Day One I was too far out of it to be much help, but Day Three a nurse told me what button to push to get it to stop. This way I didn’t have to keep calling them in to do something I could easily do. It wasn’t like I was going anywhere.
  3. Be nice to the staff. If you are rude to a nurse at the VA just know that you are a dick and every time you are uncool to a VA nurse a vet drops his beer. Seriously, their job sucks and having to put up with sick vet is a challenge.
  4. Find ways to amuse yourself. I asked everyone that came into my room what their pain level way. Aside from being amusing because I was asked it all the time, some people were surprised and reacted well. It is better when you treat your doctors and nurses like people and not the help.
  5. I would also gasp in pain every time they would use the alcohol pads before a needle stick. It is funny how much a nurse would jump because they weren’t expecting it. I thought it was funny and some would laugh. You can only do it up needles don’t bother you. If you are going to freak out during the stick, don’t mess with them.
  6. Be comfortable. I had my PJs and slippers so I could relax in style. They have robes and pants that go along with the backless gowns. No need to be mooning everyone when all you want to do is stretch your legs.
  7. Have people bring you food, something to drink, as in hydrate not intoxicate, and save the bottles. You can use them to mix up the lemonade packets they have. The food seriously sucks so having something to snack on is key.
  8. Get entertainment brought in. A computer, tablet, anything. Watch movies on your laptop, whatever you need to make it through the day. Charging cables are key, don’t forget those.

I have been admitted to the Seattle VAMC twice and both were this year. Once was just overnight but that last one was five days and it was a challenge. My care was very good and I have been dealing with a lot of doctors over the years so I know good care when I see it. It hasn’t always been this good, but the ones that have to deal with overnight guests seem to be pretty on the ball. Be cool to the people in charge of making you well and don’t take out your frustrations on the system on the people treating you. They have a tough job and their job is in service to those who served. There is no more honorable profession ad they deserve that respect.

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Random Memory: Sledding in Bosnia

Posted on July 16, 2015 by psessum
Not exactly the image of a trained killer that some civilians seem to think we are. This soldier spent more of the deployment playing in the snow than sighting down a rifle.

Not exactly the image of a trained killer that some civilians seem to think we are. This soldier spent more of the deployment playing in the snow than sighting down a rifle.

By: Peter Sessum

I started the Dogtag Chronicles because of experiences I had on campus at the University of Washington. Too many people seemed to think people in the military are a bunch of clone troopers waiting to be sent off to kill. In truth, the military is just a microcosm of the United States. There is a decent diversity in viewpoints but mostly there are a bunch of young men and women that act like young men and women and when they have too much time on their hands we act more like young people than killing machines. Here is one such story.

So there I was, in Bosnia, no shit. It was the winter of ’96 and we were a group of bored Infantrymen. We were part of the second rotation to deploy as part of the NATO force to enforce the Dayton Peace Accord and by that winter the country had settled into a routine. People liked the quiet of no more war and were benefiting from the reconstruction money flowing into the country.

Even one of the Intel kids got in on the sledding.

Even one of the Intel kids got in on the sledding.

Mount Vis was more of a foothill but was a former Serbian position and since it was the highest piece of ground in the area there was a signal retrains station and the air defense radar site. For grunts there was nothing to do but a lot of guard duty. On the hill was about 40-50 POGs, mostly Intel wienies and the nasty girl radar guys. Mechanized Infantry platoons were rotating every three weeks to pull guard duty. But there is a reason why mortars are called (or call ourselves) the smart Infantry because once we got a hold of this sweet gig we never let it go.

It did not take long to realize how good of duty it was. Small hill, no extra duty or patrols and most importantly, away from the flagpole. The battalion command was only a few kilometers away in the valley at Camp Dobol, but they only made one trip up and that was at the end of the deployment. It was not long into our Mount Vis rotation that one of our NCOs pointed out that we would be better served staying on the hilltop and being able to provide final protective fire for the basecamp if it was ever attacked. The command agreed and left us up there so a three week rotation turned into a five month stay. Of course they quickly forgot about is and we never received updated weather data which would have a huge impact on mortar fire so the plan of hasty accurate fire to protect the firebase was just a concept as soon as the weather changed.

At first, it was sweet. They housed the enlisted guys in our own tent, no one bothered us. Then the monotony settled in. We only went down to the PX once a week or so and there wasn’t much to do. Our NCOs also saw a good thing and let us set our own guard schedule so there really wasn’t any adult supervision. If it wasn’t for running into them in the chowhall, we might not have seen some of them for the rest of the deployment.

When the snow hit and buried us in a foot of white stuff that didn’t go away, the crazy started to creep in. Fortunately, we had some level headed guys and there was some maturity in the section. If we would have all been teenagers I think there could have been a Lord of the Flies situation. It was during this deployment that I made two deployment rules.

  1. Make friends outside your unit. No matter how close you are to the guys, you will hate them after a couple of month of close proximity and zero space.
  2. Do something every day that amuses you.

First came the snowball fights. Although something that one-sided should not be called a fight. It started with a squad of Infantry making snowballs for 30 minutes and loading them on a stretcher. Then throwing them at the doors and roofs of the other platoons until they came out. Anyone that did was subject to a barrage of snowballs by teams using fire and maneuver. That cook that rushed out and was trying to make ammunition as he went never stood a chance.

On Mount Vis we were blowing off steam but the rule at Dobol was instant Article 15 for anyone caught making a snowball. So it felt like the Wild West up there. Then, while looking through a junk pile one of the guys slipped and busted his ass. Hidden under the snow was a piece of Plexiglas, most likely left over after building one of the bunkers, and we put it to good use.

Returning to the top after a run.

Returning to the top after a run.

The road from the top of hilltop to the gate was decently straight and it plateaued long before we hit the wire. Only two problems, there was no way to steer the makeshift toboggan and brakes was out of the question. Every run ended in a wipeout. It was one of the best experiences of the deployment.

Fortunately, this was a time before social media so our activities were not blasted all over the Internet. They did not go unnoticed. Some of the shenanigans were taped and compiled into a video that someone shared with a friend down the hill. I do not know how far it circulated, but when combined with the story the Avenger gunners that continued to rotate through it was enough to develop a reputation that we were a little crazy. Camp Visitors were told by the hill mayor to stay away from “his grunts” which was enough to discourage casual onlookers and the signs we put on our tent didn’t help.

Our Camp Dobol Institute for the Clinically Insane sign was an effective deterrent but I preferred the police sign. The person in charge of a camp was usually an officer and called the mayor with his or her senior NOC being the sheriff. Our mayor was a retiring Master Sergeant and since we were the hill security, we called ourselves the Sheriff’s Department. I liked that sign better but it did not assure anyone of our mental stability.

In the end we all survived despite Red Rob locking and loading in the tent and threatening to shoot Lance and were able to reintegrate into the unit when we finally came off the hill. After being around other people and access to other outlets we were all able to decompress and return to as close to normal as we were before. Overall the deployment turned out not too bad and was a good baby step to learning coping mechanisms before the real deployments started. I think people who went in without those lessons had a harder time being away and dealing with the boredom than those of us with some experience.

Then again, now troops have Xbox and the Internet so I think they might have it better. But a day of sledding before we totally trashed our makeshift toboggan was a great time and a good memory.

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When Hearts and Minds Fail: The Infamous Matchbooks

Posted on July 14, 2015 by psessum
If you didn't recognize the face, what would you think the message was?

If you didn’t recognize the face, what would you think the message was?

By: Peter Sessum

The hunt for Osama bin Laden took far longer than it should have. For years everyone was wondering how the most famous man in the world stayed hidden in Afghanistan with the might and resources of the most powerful and technological advanced nation in history looking for him. Honestly, one reason was because Afghans didn’t know what he looked like and we really should have known that.

So there I was, in a village in Kandahar Province, no shit. I was part of a team conducting village assessments and decided to do some Psychological Operations (PSYOP) product testing for the green matchbooks with Osama bin Laden’s face on them.

I had a large group of men in a circle and asked them what they thought the message was. I had to stress that no idea was stupid. The closest to “beard guy is a bad guy” was one man thought that the terrorist mastermind was an Afghan that planted mines. Some genius thought that gold coins would mean something to a bunch of tribal farmers. To their credit, they were trying, we just couldn’t get the message across.

One guy walked up, looked over my shoulder and said, “Osama bin Laden.” Immediately, the light went on in everyone’s eyes. The entire group said, “Ohhh, Osama.” Someone said, “That’s what he looks like?” All knew exactly who he was and then the message of the matchbook was clear. At that moment I realized that he could be the next village over claiming his name was Mohammed and request hospitality under Pashtunwali and, if granted, they would have had to defend him even if they learned his true identity.

Afghanistan is basically 1,000 years ago with AK-47s and Toyota Corollas. Most of the country lives in mud huts without power and running water. They don’t have the access to information that the western world has. There is also a distinct lack of literacy. If I was lucky a village had a 2 percent literacy rate. A great village had five. Pass out all the handbill and matchbooks you want and they don’t mean anything.

Afghans aren’t stupid, they are a hardy people, are able to survive in an unforgiving environment and are not to be trifled with. But after three decades of war coupled with the oppressive reign of the Taliban, learning your alif baas was not a priority. (That is ABC’s for the rest of you.)

They didn’t have access to 100s of daily news programs talking about the most notorious man in history. If they had TV or Internet they would have had visuals to go with all that information. What they did have was radios so they knew who he was, they knew what he did and they for sure knew why we were looking for him, but no one knew what he looked like.

To counter that, we put out visual products. We dropped leaflets, put out posters and created cool little matchbooks with his face all over them. Again, great American idea, catastrophic failure in Afghanistan. I could walk into any post office in the western world and even if I couldn’t read the language I could spot the difference between the posters for wanted criminals and the employee of the month because the wanted poster is a western concept. If a poster has any money amount then I know it is a wanted poster and how much that person is worth to the authorities.

What is the message here? Another product fail. It only works if the population can read and literacy is not high in rural Afghanistan.

What is the message here? Another product fail. It only works if the population can read and literacy is not high in rural Afghanistan.

When I got the reaction from the product testing I felt like a broke the code. As soon as I got back to base I wrote a report about the issue and the solution. We actually had all the tools to fix the problem in place. Just about everyone smokes in Afghanistan and they would hold onto the matchbooks for a few days. Once informed of who the image represented, they might keep the empty books in their pockets. All we had to do was create a radio message, a basic PSYOP tool, release it on radio stations, another asset we had, and say the green matchbooks the picture of bin Laden and two other a-holes and he is as good as caught. We could then make red matchbooks with another terrorist leader and then yellow and blue. We could do it until we ran through the entire Afghan color palette.

Unfortunately, the report fell on deaf ears. Typical Army BS, but what can you do? Later it became comical. In a very remote village that had not seen Coalition Forces in years there was a shop that sold candy wrapped with an image of bin Laden. The people must have thought this was the most loved guy on the planet. Both the Americans and Taliban had stuff with his face on it. We missed a shot at getting his face out there a decade before he was tracked down in a house in Pakistan. But at least it is an interesting souvenir. I see a government agency put out the matchbooks in Urdu at college and job fairs. They don’t seem to be amused about the story behind the matchbooks which just makes it even funnier to me.

The lesson to be learned is that all the messages in the world won’t matter if the person doesn’t understand what you are trying to say. We were like that American tourist asking where the train station is and when the person doesn’t understand yelling “WHERE. IS. THE. TRAIN. STATION?” as if louder and slower would spark comprehension. The sheer volume of product that was uselessly disseminated was embarrassing. Not being able to get the messages out was a serious hindrance to the reconstruction efforts, but unfortunately not the biggest obstacle. For that, like everything else, you need boots on the ground. And that is a story for another day.

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Random Memory: Shark Attack

Posted on July 10, 2015 by psessum
I don't know what you are doing Olvera, but you are fucking up.

I don’t know what you are doing Olvera, but you are doing it wrong.

By: Peter Sessum

This week is Shark Week on the Discovery Channel and what better way to celebrate than to talk about a real life shark attack. Unfortunately, I don’t have an underwater experience to share, but this should be one that most military people can relate to.

So there I was, in the back of a cattle car on Fort Benning, no shit. I have no idea how long we were driving around after leaving reception battalion because in typical grunt fashion I was asleep. There was a lot of nervous energy and the constant jostling meant I wasn’t in deep sleep but it was good to power down. I was sure I would need it. Someone was saying something about how they planned to drive us around for hours to build up the anticipation. That made sense and despite now knowing former drill sergeants I never bothered to ask if it was true. Looking at the faces around me it would be a waste of gas. There was plenty of people freaking out all on their own.

At some point we slowed down to take a corner and the driver didn’t get back on the gas. Before the truck could stop the doors exploded open and there was a huge drill sergeant already at full volume screaming, “GET OFF MY TRUCK, GET OFF MY FUCKING TRUUUUUCK!” To say it was startling was an understatement. The suddenness volume of it was incredible.

Privates were tripping over themselves and their gear just trying to get out the narrow exits. If they weren’t in full intimidation mode I am sure the drill sergeants would have been laughing at us. I know I am seen as strong headed but I can follow an order like a champ. You want me to step out lively, I am moving with a purpose. So, with the mass of new soldiers I was trying to balance all my gear for a short dash to the grass outside the company area of the home of the Charlie Cobras, Charlie Company 1/50th Infantry Battalion.

If you haven't ever stared down the wrong end of a knifehand you have not been properly dressed down in your life.

If you haven’t ever stared down the wrong end of a knifehand you have not been properly dressed down in your life.

As I was running up the gentle incline the guy next to me dropped a gym bag with his civilian gear. I saw the look of horror on his face as he for the briefest of moments considered his options. Time slowed as he watched it fall on the ground while his feet kept moving. In that fraction of a second he did a mental inventory of the contents, if he had any identification in it, he determined it wasn’t worth the risk of stopping and moved out at full speed. We ended up in line next to each other, standing ramrod straight. I’ll never forget as Drill Sergeant Burrell was walking through a break in the formations with a blue and gray bag. Next to me Tromberg was whispering, “oh shit, oh shit.” He had not contemplated what they would do with a lonely bag on the sidewalk.

I will swear that Burrell was 6’20” that is how he is cemented in my memory to this very day. By chance I ran into him in Hohenfels, Germany a few years later and it was like he shrunk. As a drill sergeant he was larger than life, as a regular staff sergeant he was all of 5’10” which was somewhat of a letdown. But on that crisp January day in Georgia he was a giant holding a gym bag aloft and asking who lost it.

With some difficulty Tromberg raised his hand afraid for what was going to come next. The bag was dropped at his feet without ceremony and Burell said something like, what did you think I was going to do, keep it? We had been off the truck for less than a minute and one of us had already fucked up and lived. It was not a bad start all things considered.

Next we were “invited” into the company area and lined up. Honestly it gets a little fuzzy from here. I know we had to give our names, a lot of “Yes drill sergeant!” and in groups doing 20 pushups in front of the instructors before moving on and then I was sitting on my duffel bag with no real recollection of how I got exactly there. It was a nice line of brand new privates sitting on green duffels. Looking up the neat rows was kind of a surreal experience.

I would love to say that I was calm because I am so tough, but that would be a lie. I know people way more bad ass than me to stroke my own ego like that. Honestly, it was just what I expected. It seemed like par for the course. I kept telling my recruiter that I knew I would love the Army but that Basic Training would be the worst time of my life. He kept telling me that I might have fun but I thought he was blowing smoke just trying to get me to sign. I think going in with low expectations helped. Plus I had joined a peacetime Army with the intent on going Infantry to test myself so I expected it to be difficult from the start. That served me more than the guys that thought it would be a piece of cake and were startled by how extreme it was in the first few minutes. Like the guy crying on top his duffel bag a few rows down.

That first day is a really emotional time for some people. Even back then it was the worst way some entitled brat had ever been treated. The kid that had been an athlete in high school and one of the cool kids was now bottom of a very tall totem pole. Just one of a hundred privates with a freshly shaved head and if he didn’t get his mind right he might not be one of the 90 or so that graduated in eight weeks.

Even wearing cammo someone didn't blend in very well.

Even wearing cammo someone didn’t blend in very well.

If anyone needed a reminder to keep their head in the game it was the sudden barking of a drill sergeant yelling at some kid that fucked up enough to warrant individual attention. There was blood in the water and as he sweated on the ground trying to push the earth farther from the sun there were a circle of brown rounds telling him exactly what they thought of him.

His original tormentor asked his name and said “You are in my platoon now. I don’t care what platoon you are supposed to go to, you are mine now!”

In his first hour he had violated the cardinal rule of privates, don’t stand out. He stood out so much the first day that he became a drill sergeant’s personal pet project for the entire cycle. It broke his heart. It was already the worst day of his life and now all he could see in his future was hell on earth.

Everyone was silently happy not to be him and at the same time kind of wishing they would go to that platoon so there would be a built in scapegoat. Not long after they started calling out names and which platoon each new trooper would go to. Too his credit he stepped out when he heard his name and ran for that line but the drill sergeant was sharp and stopped him in his tracks. “Aren’t you the kid I said was mine?” It was more of an order than a question. With defeat he admitted he was and stepped out of line. If he pushed it he might have gotten away with it but I respect his moxie for trying.

When this is what you are expecting some mild yelling is not that big of a deal.

When this is what you are expecting some mild yelling is not that big of a deal.

With the rest of the Second Platoon Pathfinders (later changed to Black Knights) I headed to our bay with the roster number of 222. We were out of the water and had all survived the dreaded shark attack. We stood at attention while Drill Sergeant Wadsworth explained how our worlds would work now. My friend Neil had rented Full Metal Jacket a few days before I shipped out and since no one was ordered to “choke yourself” it was not as intense as I thought it would be. In the end, my recruiter was right, the cycle ended up being a little fun.

Posted in Commentary, Random Memories, So There I Was | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

The Vet Fireworks Courtesy Compromise

Posted on July 3, 2015 by psessum
The sign that started it all.

The sign that started it all.

This comes up every year, but since 2015 seems to be the year of the butthurt it has blown way out of proportion. Some people are complaining that they are asked to not be American on the most American day of the year and others think that people are being insensitive to veterans with Post Traumatic Stress (PTS). Neither are really the case but no one is listening to the other side, they are all just whining online. It is time for a compromise, and maybe some tough love.

There is a reason why veterans have to ask people to be courteous, it is because some of you are such dickheads that asking you to be courteous to your neighbors isn’t working. The courteous compromise is pretty much the same thing one should do for their civilian neighbors.

Save the fireworks for the Fourth

I know, this seems like a no brainer, but there are still some ass clowns that are lighting them off as soon as the fireworks stands start selling them. I get it, you are young and can’t wait to shoot your load, but if you save it up for the fourth it will be more satisfying. And to the people that were setting off fireworks June 26, you suck.

Explosions might remind be the closest you ever get to a release with a women, but for some vets it is a reminder of the worst day of their life. They can be prepared for a lot of explosions on actual Independence Day but a week or so early will come as a surprise. It is also a surprise for your civilian neighbor who has to get up early the next morning so a loud boom at 10:30 p.m. is disruptive.

Start shooting the off early, end early

Other vets posted that they don''t mind the booms.

Other vets posted that they don”t mind the booms.

The colorful fireworks really need it to be dark for best effect. Everyone knows that. So some of the biggest ones can be saved for later but you can start lighting stuff off at dusk. Or a little after in the time photographers call the “blue hour.” Start blowing shit up then and by the time you get to the good stuff, it will be dark enough to appreciate them.

The benefit of this will be that no one has to hear explosions until 3 a.m. No one wants that. People want to get home after fireworks shows without having to dodge amateur fireworks a block from their house. And after a day of celebrating ‘Merica, people want to get some sleep. There is always someone still lighting them off in the early morning hours, don’t be that guy.

Shoot off all fireworks on the fourth

Going to bed on the fifth is a comforting experience, for veterans and civilians alike. An unexpected loud explosion in the middle of the night is annoying no matter who you are. When there is already a full day of revelry who was holding a stash for the next 48 hours? It is just a needless annoyance and the person who does it is kind of a jackhole.

You have the full day, go nuts, blow your wad and then let the rest of us get some sleep. The person holding out for a couple of days deserves whatever they get. You had your chance to be a decent person, if you get smacked by a triggered vet you had it coming.

These rules of being courteous to vets are also the rules for being courteous to your neighbors, but too many people couldn’t be trusted with that so now it has to be a plea by vets. If you are the reason we have to ask that means you are the reason we can’t have nice things. Good job.

And some have taken it too the other extreme. It shows the wide diversity of the veteran experience but it can also show a lack of respect for the suffering of our brothers and sister.

And some have taken it too the other extreme. It shows the wide diversity of the veteran experience but it can also show a lack of respect for the suffering of our brothers and sister.

Vet must compromise too

I am one of the lucky ones, explosions on the Fourth don’t bother me anymore. When I first returned I still had a reaction but after a few years of unwinding it has less effect. I did have a bad experience in the states. My idiot brother bought some multiple launcher thing and couldn’t be bothered with safety. The first shot knocked it over and the subsequent shots made it rotate and fire in random directions. One shot passed within a couple of meters of us.

The whoosh of it speeding past my head freaked me out more than actual rocket attacks in Afghanistan. It was that nightmare every military person has of surviving a deployment only to get killed at home. Needless to say it was my last fireworks show with him.

To my fellow vets, I understand the struggle. Well at least for some of you. But the people want to celebrate the freedoms that we defended. Most of those people want to celebrate in a way that we used to enjoy before we put on dogtags. Having one day a year to go nuts really isn’t too much to ask.

I will be the first to say that I am sorry you have to deal with it. It sucks to have to put on noise canceling headphones and blast music or go out of town for a couple of days knowing that even camping in the middle of nowhere there will be some ass clown that will bring bangs. But we put up with a lot of crap for entire years, we can try and embrace the suck for the hours of darkness one day a year.

Don’t be angry at civilians for trying to be Americans. For the love of God they all know that they were not over there. The “you don’t know, you weren’t there” is literally a cliché and we need to stop it. Until these signs came out there was no way to know how close a person lived to a vet. Now that they know, can we really ask a person to not celebrate America? Isn’t telling people how to freely express themselves one of the things we fought against? Instead of getting angry, reach out to any vets you know and talk about how to deal with the day. Who knows, that person might be struggling too.

To be honest, I don’t know of any vet that wants to ban all fireworks, they just want a little common courtesy. Your neighbors want that too. Why not give it to them? Yes, you have the right to light fireworks in any legal way you choose, but that doesn’t mean you have to go overboard. Give your neighbors a break. It will be polite to the civilians and greatly appreciated by some vets.

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The flag is more than piece of cloth whether you like it or not

Posted on April 23, 2015 by psessum
Because of this image, Hicks, a Navy vet received threats.

Because of this image Vanessa Hicks, a Navy vet, received threats.

By Peter Sessum

The American flag has been in the news a lot lately. Last month, a photographer took a picture of a baby being cradled in an American flag being held by a person in a Navy uniform and caused quite a stir, especially among the veteran community. Most recently, a video of Michele Manhart being arrested after trying to take a flag that was being walked on went viral and sparked a number of conversations about the First Amendment, the meaning of the flag and what it means to be patriotic.

A violation of Flag Code and legally a reason to take the flag and dispose of it properly. This is what prompted Manhart to take the flag.

A violation of Flag Code and legally a reason to take the flag and dispose of it properly. This is what prompted Manhart to take the flag.

According to flag code she was right to take the flag and properly dispose of it as she said was her intentions in the video. The actions of the protesters were actually illegal and just as an unfit parent can have a child taken away, so can the legal owner of a flag have it taken away for purposefully desecrating it. Since the focus of the video and all the media attention has been on Manhart we don’t know what the purpose of walking on the flag was but it must have been some form of protest for some social justice issue happening in the United States.

Ultimately, no matter what anyone thinks, the flag is more than just a piece of cloth. It represents something but it also doesn’t have a singular meaning for everyone. Even for me, as a veteran, the meaning of the flag is not the same as all other vets and service members. There are as many different meanings for the flag as there are strands and stitches on the flag flying outside my office window. It is the plural view that make up the fabric of our nation that makes this country great.

When the flag means the most.

When the flag means the most.

For me, the flag represents the freedoms I enjoy as an American and defended as a soldier and it will be the final honor bestowed on me as they put me in the ground. By contrast, flags are burned in other countries to represent their hatred for the U.S. and what they perceive as American imperialism or our government’s intervention in sovereign nations. Even within our own borders some people think the flag represents institutionalized racism or oppression of some sort. At University of California Irvine students voted to remove the flag from a common area because they felt the lounge is supposed to be “culturally inclusive” and while hanging the flag might be seen as free speech, “freedom of speech in a space that aims to be as inclusive as possible can be interpreted as hate speech.” To me, this is a typical college student thing but it ignited a firestorm online and a lot of back and forth on the campus including a legislator trying to make a bill outlawing banning flags on college campuses.

While the flag represents many things, it is not a magical piece of cloth that oppresses all under it or protects us from evil. I was on an extended mission in the middle of nowhere Afghanistan and while I did not have a flagpole nearby I never questioned my loyalty or where I came from. Some college kids rebel, it is what they do. They did something that has no impact on the world as a whole and got a lot of attention doing it. And yet, we remain strong. ISIS did not start beheading people in Times Square because of UC Irvine.

The stars are wrong but few people noticed when it was posted on tumblr. Used as promotion by clothing line.

The stars are wrong but few people noticed when it was posted on tumblr. Used as promotion by clothing line.

The flag and baby image was accused of being a violation of flag code. Which it was not. However, an improperly displayed flag is. The flag being used for promotional purposes is a violation of flag code. Yet, no one seems to question those. We overlook when a flag is used improperly to support the military and that is when special care should be made to properly display it. Google “unfuck your flag” and you will find posts on the DTC Tumblr telling people they blogged an improper flag. Apparently that is going to be my Tumblr legacy.

As a veteran, I take the flag seriously, and I am sure Vanessa Hicks, the photographer behind the baby flag picture, does too. She is, after all, a Navy veteran. She has earned her First Amendment right, it wasn’t given to her like everyone else while they are within our borders. She paid her dues and I respect her for that.

Long before she picked up a flag for being on the ground, Manhart posed with a flag touching the ground.

Long before she picked up a flag for being on the ground, Manhart posed with a flag touching the ground.

Manhart also served. She spent 13 years in the Air Force and values the flag. Or at least that is what she says now. If a picture is worth 1,000 words, flash back, pun intended, a few years and Manhart is holding a flag that is clearly touching the ground. At the time, for her the flag was representing her service and her commitment to her country but it was also being used as for promotional purposes since the photo shoot was for PETA and the campaign to go naked rather than wear fur. The case can be made for at least two Flag Code violations but she is unapologetic about it. I will be the first to concede that there is a large difference between a draped flag touching the ground and deliberately walking on it but they both have one thing in common.

The second the flag is used improperly, whether in accidental flag code violation or purposeful protest, the flag no longer has one of thousands of meanings. At that second it represents the individual’s freedom of speech and expression. Holding a flag to covers tits or lighting it on fire are both acts protected by the First Amendment.

Violation of flag code? You decide.

Violation of flag code? You decide.

An argument could be made that Hicks’ use of the flag might violate the spirit, but not the letter of the law of Flag Code while walking on it is a clear violation. In addition, her artistic use of the flag is a representation of what all warriors feel. The flag protects and defends the ones we love. It is a better meaning than a flag made of bullets or wrenches. I will say that her one time use of the flag was more patriotic than the hateful responses she received. Freedom means being able to say what you want, even if it is not popular. The greatest thing about this country is that speech and expression is protected. Threats are not protected speech, they are a violation of the law.

As a veteran I believe that everyone should have the freedom to say or do what they want as long as it isn’t a violation of the law and doesn’t hurt anyone. Trying to tell someone, especially a veteran, how to express him or herself is actually un-American. It violates the First Amendment and in the case of some of the comments are a violation of law. There is something seriously wrong when a violation of flag code is reblogged hundreds of thousands of times and an artistic use of the flag that is actually military supportive is considered an offense beyond measure. I didn’t hear a single veteran speak up when Gabby Douglas’ dad wrote all over an American flag at the 2012 Olympics.

Staff Sergeant Douglas should have known that this was defacing a flag but no one during the 2012 Olympics seemed to mind.

Air Force Staff Sergeant Douglas should have known that this was defacing a flag but no one during the Olympics seemed to mind.

I would also like to point out the hypocrisy of a group or website that prides itself on being offensive being butthurt over an image of a baby and a flag. Harden the fuck up princess, there are real things going on in the world. I do agree with Manhart’s intent, but her past flag violations hurt her credibility as a spokeswoman for flag respect.

In the end, while I do not agree with many uses of the flag, I will defend someone’s right to express themselves freely. What the flag represents is as individual as the person, until it is misused, then it only represents the First Amendment and the freedom of expression they have in this country that is unparalleled in the rest of the world. So stop disrespecting it unless your intent is to celebrate this great nation and the freedoms you enjoy.

 

 

Editor Note: We at DTC are fully aware of Michelle Manhart posing for Playboy and being discharged from the Air Force because of it but it is not relevant to the topic at hand. Her life choices are her own business and she has the freedom to legally do as she pleases so no need to comment about it.

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Up The Hill

Posted on April 8, 2015 by scowilso

marine marchBy: Scott Wilson

If you are under the persuasion to join the US Marines, have a pair of testicles and live west of the Mississippi then you will have the privilege of going to boot camp in California. Colloquially you will be called a Hollywood Marine. Marines are made, but we make this look good. Everybody else goes to Parris Island, NC. Besides having females in the same training environment, Parris Island has sand fleas. Fleas that give them itches and rashes and whole other slew of other things to gripe about. The Island is also two years older than Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego. This causes a long winded rant about who has the pedigree of a real Marine. On and on they go. Being a Hollywood you have to defend why your version of boot camp is harder, even if only slightly. In response you will usually hear one thing, “The hills.”

When I speak of the Hills in relation to California I am not speaking of the shitty TV series. What I am referring to is those actual hills that the Hollywood sign is on. More importantly taking a seventy plus pound pack on your back and going on what the Corps lovingly refers to as humps or hikes for all you others. Most of the guys from back east will reply with that trademark blow hardiness that only exists on their side of the creek, well it’s just a hill. Well one man’s hill is another’s Appalachian Mountain.

These hills are seared into your brain with every painstaking step. Sweat and some bastard’s idea camouflage face paint slowly drip into your eyes. But you better not get fucking pink eye. Under these conditions the Marines come up names like Old Smokey, The Microwave, The Ankle Breaker and Mount Motherfucker. Each aptly named. Another tradition of going on humps is some will yell a phrase that tries to act like rallying cry of old. That if the men hear it they will suddenly be overcome with the passion for more misery. At some point in the past some man who fancied himself as a new Theodore leading these very Rough Pedestrians came up with, “Up the Hill!” Surely he thought that this was so simple and powerful that it would cause a Hazah as his men rallied to the top. At some point one of my counterparts came up with a witty retort, “Fuck the Hill!” That phrase is simple and powerful. Fuck this hump, fuck this hill and get the fuck out of my way. In the military they own you. Insubordination of individual is swiftly dealt with. Insubordination of the mass is a respite. Since the enlisted are in charge of training their own they have made a tradition of this. For generations a drill instructor will call out in mocking remembrance, “Up the Hill!” to a deafening “Fuck the Hill!”

In this economy with a liberal arts degree finding work in an architecturally unremarkable building is a must. To commute from the suburbs to Seattle becomes a routine. Fortunately the town that public transportation forget has played a good amount of catch up in the last decade. Unfortunately they put their train station at the bottom of hill. If you get a job at the shapeless building at the top of the hill have fun walking. But it gives you a good reason to pay attention in math class. If the train drops you off at the bottom of the hill with fifteen minutes to get to work and the connecting bus takes 25 minutes and walking 12 minutes, how much will you reek of sweat with you get to the top of the hill? Arriving at work like you just ran from a car wreck is gets old extremely fast. Even worse is that work requires dress slacks and button up shirts.

Few cities in the world have a similar topography to Seattle. The closest would be San Francisco which is a city on a hill. Seattle is a city on hills. The workplace is adjacent to a neighborhood known as Yesler Terrace, also synonymous with the projects. Also what would come out of a drunk’s mouth when attempting to say, “Yes sir.”   With sounding racist this means that a white kid has to make his way a black neighborhood, but during daylight to limit my own paranoia. Yet others still react as though I have just turned water into wine.

Most of the people that you pass on your way up Yesler in the morning are headed downtown but they don’t appear to be wearing professional attire. They wear jackets with sports teams, have large head phones on and dress in the same fashion as most young black men of their age and neighborhood. Normally this is what the suburban paranoia would react to. But a simple head nod and peace symbol and we pass each other with very little interaction. It’s not exactly a dream fulfilled but it is acknowledgement of each other and our space.

If you have to walk up a hill for a view you get a reward. When you walk up a hill for work your relief from physical exertion is only met by more work. So when the start of this daily Himalayan pilgrimage began I fell back on my old habits saying, “Fuck the Hill!” Not yelling as I used to but a simple under my breath venting of frustration. When this was heard in passing by an elderly black woman and greeted with a look of disgust I can only imagine what she thought I was saying.

This elderly black woman did not look like the rest of the younger kids that come down Yesler in the morning. Dressed professionally with a determined look and ambitions for the day, she wasn’t just headed downtown for the day. Leaving from the Terrace at such an early hour can only imply that she was headed to a job. She made something up herself but stayed in the Terrace as way of keeping herself grounded. To hear some commuting yuppy moaning a fuck upon entering her neighborhood is an insult. The insult is unfounded if you are only passing through for your own convenience. Without context to the expletive will continue to spur hate in her.

On the first day she heard it she met me with a glare of disgust. Then scorn for everything that followed. A simple head nod did not suffice as a greeting for her. This woman would accept nothing but respect to repair the offense done to her and her neighborhood. The first morning a simple gesture was put forth to make amends. “Good Morning Ma’am,” as simply as it could be put. The expression which it was received with was neutral. A few more mornings of this and response even became warranted.  Even if this wasn’t a friendship it was a mutual understanding on a daily basis.

If you ride a train you are stuck to that trains schedule. If it is late then you are late. Even worse is if you have to walk from your train to your final destination the distance you have to walk doesn’t get any shorter. Just as you press on the gas pedal in a car, you must also do with your feet. Running up a hill though is excruciating. It is especially not recommended in business casual. If you pass that familiar face you may let an old expletive or two slip. That is when you are met with the scowl that cuts through you. If she can walk this every day with a smile you can to. That’s when you can only shake your head as to what this daily incline has done to you. When you reach the peak you sigh, “Fuck the hill.” Not in a moment of contemptuous victory, just contempt.

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Be Grateful for the Support or it Will Go Away

Posted on February 26, 2015 by psessum
I guess we should take down the Medal of Honor memorial. We wouldn't want anyone to be bothered by this display of appreciation.

I guess we should take down the Medal of Honor memorial. We wouldn’t want anyone to be bothered by this display of appreciation.

By Peter Sessum
In a recent New York Times (NYT) article veterans weighed in on how they felt about civilians thanking them for their service. I have talked to a number of vets about this and while we all agreed, myself included, that the thanks is not needed, I will say that is no reason to be a dick about it.

Don’t be that guy

The soldiers interviewed are, quite simply, Blue Falcons. They do not speak for all vets and their perspectives in such a major publication might be mistaken for how every vet feel. The last thing that should happen is that civilians think that the remarks of a few represent disrespect from the many. Instead of being polite or admit it is their own hang-up, they turn it back on the civilian and I hope there is no backlash.

“I pulled the trigger,” one vet said. “You didn’t. Don’t take that away from me.”

He for real is pulling the “You don’t know, you weren’t there” on civilians being supportive of our service. Of course civilians know they weren’t there, that is why they are thanking us for our service. They are thanking us for doing what we do so they don’t have to. Our country was attacked and most people got to go on with their life with little interruption. A very small percentage of Americans went to pound sand. Some civilians, especially those that were adults on 9/11 will remember how they felt when the country was attacked and are thankful that there, as Orwell puts it “rough men ready to do violence on their behalf.” They don’t fear ISIS because they know we are here to deal with that threat.

Some don’t like to be thanked

Most vets that I talked to don’t feel right about being thanked. In fact, I don’t trust anyone that is too happy to be thanked for their service like they deserve special treatment. Those are the exception, most don’t want to be thanked and there are a number of reason why. Some associate their service with negative events, like losing a close friend. They do not want to be thanked for that. Some don’t feel like they should be thanked for killing people.

Some vets don’t want to be thanked because they feel that their service doesn’t compare to the service of other vets. The person that never left the wire might not feel that his or her service was the same as the grunts that went on daily patrols. I know a sailor that by luck of the draw was never called up so he spent his entire five years in the states. Some Navy folks never got off a ship. Their service to their country is still honorable but some might feel like they didn’t do their part in the war on terror. That is silly, but you can’t tell people what to feel.

One vet that commented on social media said that he joined to get out of his hometown and to get money for college. Because his reasons are selfish he thinks that he shouldn’t be thanked. I think that means he doesn’t understand what honorable service is. It doesn’t matter if you joined for reasons that are self-serving, you still sacrificed and had to put up with things that most civilians will never understand. Serving your country, even if it is just for the college money, is one of those things that is not easy and should be respected.

I understand his thought process because I had some of the same reasons for joining. I enlisted in the Army in the early ‘90s. I purposefully chose Infantry to test myself. I had reclassed to Psychological Operations and was at the Defense Language Institute learning Thai when the Twin Towers came down. People thanking me for my service was weird since I felt I hadn’t really done anything. By 2003, the biggest sacrifice I had made as going on an NTC rotation. It wasn’t until late 2003 that I headed to Fort Bragg to MOB for Afghanistan.

I feel like my service in Afghanistan was honorable and I believe I did some good. But I knew people that went through a lot more than I did. We lost one solider from the PSYOP Company I was attached to, but as an attachment I didn’t know him. I actually replaced him on the team he was on and saw how his death impacted other people. I know soldiers that did or experienced more so it is weird to be thanked for my service.

I think of it like running a marathon. Running a marathon is hard and some people will be impressed by it. But if you are one of the last to finish you might not think it is all that big of a deal. Someone that ran a 5K tough mudder that is friends with someone that has completed the Ironman won’t think his race is anything to be impressed by.

You never know who is thanking you or why

The article assumes that people thanking a soldier or vet is doing so out of obligation or as an insincere, automatic response. But I think that is quite a leap. I know this because I thank other people for their service. The guy that lost his son might be thanking a vet because he knows the sacrifice that service members make. His intentions are good. The Vietnam vet is not just thanking the vet in front of him, but is able to give the response that he never got. How can you fault him for that? The woman thanking you for your service might be a fellow vet and knows that she doesn’t get that respect so is happy to pass it on to her fellow vets

Or it could be me, I have met four Medal of Honor recipients. You can bet I thanked them for their service. One does not exist in the presence of Leroy Petry and not give him the respect he is due. When I thank someone that is a hero in the military community, it is for the things they have done and how they have inspired us. When I thank a vet that is not famous it is because I thank them as a brother in arms, warrior to fellow warrior. We all say we deploy for the person on our left and our right and I appreciate anyone that has served that under different circumstances could have been that person on my left or right. And I don’t care if you ever deployed into harm’s way. If you stood watch on the wall, I respect your service.

What to say

I freely admit I feel uncomfortable when someone thanks me for my service and part of that is I didn’t know how to respond. “You’re welcome” didn’t feel right. “It was my honor” felt too formal. It took me a while to think of “Thank you for your support.” That has been the best response I could come up with. To me, it feels like I am returning the appreciation. I do appreciate the support that people have form the military because when I was in college I know that many people do not feel like they need to express any form of support for the military. In fact, there are times on campus when vets were targeted for negative attention.

One of the people in the article was a former Special Forces soldier. I am sure that walking around Fayetteville wearing a shirt with his SF group or ODA on it he gets a lot of attention. But try being in a classroom in this decade and being called a babykiller and then tell me how much you hate the military support.

Personally, I don’t like brownies with walnuts in it. But if you make a batch special just for me I am going to thank you with a smile. Not because it is my favorite but because I appreciate the gesture. I don’t want to be unappreciative of the effort. If we make civilians think that we don’t want their appreciation then they will stop giving it. Yes, that will mean that it will easier to get through the airport wearing an Army hat, but it also might mean that politicians are going to stop caring and the last thing we need is less legislative support.

I will say this. One vet gives a very detailed account of something that happened on his deployment. He tells a story that most civilians can’t relate to and then wants to tell them to not respond? Kind of a douche move if you ask me. He is the guy that shows up at Applebee’s on Veterans Day with a unit hat and Army sweatshirt and then acts like being thanked is an imposition.

So thanks for nothing Blue Falcons quoted in the NYT article, you aren’t doing anyone any favors. Thank you for your support for those civilians out there that freely and sincerely give it and to my fellow vets and anyone still serving, thank you for your service.

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Profile in Service: Warren Eddy

Posted on January 5, 2015 by psessum

A Boy Lands on Normandy and Becomes a Man

Warren Eddy 2By: Fred M. Apgar

Warren Eddy was the youngest of six children who were raised in a rural part of northern Minnesota. Shortly after he graduated from high school, his family moved to California. Eventually, Eddy moved to Washington, D. C. to live with a sister. Soon after his arrival in 1940, Eddy joined the Coastal Defense National Guard Unit, which had its roots in the Civil War. Eddy was assigned to an automatic weapons battalion. Once Pearl Harbor had been attacked, the status of the National Guard Regiment in which he was serving was changed to permanent active duty.

His Regiment trained at Fort Bliss, Texas, and when Pearl Harbor was attacked the Regiment of over 1800 men and officers boarded a train, headed for the Pacific Northwest. Due to a lack of space at Army bases, the Regiment was housed on the fairgrounds at Puyallup. Even though their weapons and equipment had not yet arrived, the Regiment trained, nevertheless. The Regiment’s anti-aircraft defense assignments involved the protection of strategic locations such as the McChord Air Force Base, Naval Base at Bremerton and the Boeing Manufacturing Company at Paine Field.

While serving with the Regiment, Eddy was selected to attend Officer Candidate School at a base in North Carolina. He was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in November of 1942. He was assigned to an automatic weapons battalion that was composed of 40 MM Bofors, fast firing anti-aircraft guns, and half-tracks with four .50 caliber machine guns. In addition to the half-tracks, the battalion, which was composed of 800 + men and officers, had numerous trucks and jeeps and was a completely mobile unit.

Following 3rd Army maneuvers in Louisiana, Eddy’s battalion boarded ships on the east coast for the two week cruise to England. Once they landed in Liverpool, the battalion was sent to Aintree Racecourse where they lived and trained. Eddy’s battalion was attached to the 29th Infantry Division, and once their weapons and vehicles arrived, they trained on the Moors in South Devon, practicing beach landings.

As D-Day approached, all Allied forces were placed at a heightened level of readiness. On D-Day -1, Eddy’s battalion made their way to the docks. His battalion was back loaded onto LST’s; Omaha Beach was their destination. On the morning of June 6, 1944, the armada of all sorts of naval vessels departed the shores of England. The battalion would wait on the LST’s for three days until a road leading from the beach had been cleared. It was Eddy’s duty to read letters from Gen. Dwight Eisenhower, Supreme Commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force and British General Montgomery to the men on his LST. The same letters were read to all forces participating in Operation Overlord, the invasion of Normandy.

A 40mm Bofors like the ones Eddy's unit unsed in WWII.

A 40mm Bofors like the ones Eddy’s unit unsed in WWII.

On D-Day + 4, Eddy’s automatic weapons battalion dry-landed on the beaches of Normandy, and immediately made their way inland. On the way, his battalion suffered casualties from sniper fire and land mines. When his unit’s Executive Officer was killed, Eddy was given a battlefield promotion to First Lieutenant and became second in command of his unit. While their mission was that of air defense, one of the commanding generals on the scene took advantage of the battalion’s fast firing guns to provide ground support for the infantry troops who were engaging the enemy in the infamous hedgerows of Normandy. During the day, Eddy’s unit moved from field to field, clearing hedgerows and battling the Germans for control of the inland. At night, they slept in foxholes.

On one occasion, Eddy was ordered to reconnoiter a road in an effort to assess the enemy’s location and strength. He and two other troops proceeded down a road into a German controlled area when they were subjected to heavy mortar and machine gun fire. They fought their way out of the ambush, safely returned to their unit, and provided information regarding the enemy presence. For his action, Eddy was awarded a Bronze Star with a “V” device for Valor. Approximately six weeks after landing in Normandy, the Allied forces were able to seize total control of Normandy and begin its break out. In August of 1944, Eddy participated in the liberation of Paris, and the 60 vehicles in his battalion transported U.S. troops through the streets of Paris to the wild cheering of the newly liberated Parisians.

Eddy’s battalion was ordered to Holland for air defense duty, which was short lived when they were then ordered to support Allied efforts during the Battle of the Bulge. After reaching the Elbe River in German, all units were ordered to stop and let the Russians meet them there. While waiting, they were informed about a German POW camp filled with Americans. Control of the camp had been seized by the Russians, and Eddy’s unit organized a convoy of 60 vehicles to free the prisoners. With the assistance of an Army Lt. Col. from Headquarters, who had maps of the area, the battalion successfully rescued the prisoners.

After the war ended, Eddy performed occupation duty for six small villages near Frankfurt. When he returned home, he was discharged from the Army, but remained in the Army Reserve from which he retired as a Major.

Eddy received a B.S. degree from Michigan State University and then moved to California where he became an executive for a gas company. He attended the University of Southern California and earned a Master’s degree. For several years, he taught management courses at the graduate level. It was while he was living in California that he met his wife Sandra. They have been married for over 50 years and reside, now, in Edmonds. Eddy and Sandra have two children, Rudi and Carla, six grandchildren and two great grandchildren. He is the Past Commander of American Legion Post # 43 in Hollywood, California and a Life Member of VFW Post #8870 in Edmonds.

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