Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Book Groups and the Education Center

A couple of weeks ago I was worried I was giving a Pollyanna impression of life in Iraq. During the last two weeks you could wonder if chicken shit and job confusion are the sum of my days. That would be just as wrong. Yesterday, after all the job drama was over, I finished my work in the motor pool, then spent a couple of hours before dinner transferring and shrinking photos for the company newsletter.

At dinner I saw a young woman in my squad eating dinner with two older female sergeants. This might be the third time I have seen them as a dinner group in the last week. The young sergeant-to-be is 23 and will be a lot better off with female mentors.

Next was the first meeting of "Beyond Narnia" as CS Lewis reading group I started. There were four soldiers at the first meeting and four more who should be coming next week. Three of the four people were from the Dante group, so the fourth, a chaplain with a unit that arrived recently, introduced himself, then I told the group about CS Lewis's life and work after which they asked questions for about 20 minutes. It was a lot of fun. One asked about Shadowlands (the CSL movie) and about his family. Another asked for more details about CSL's conversion.

We will be reading the book of essays titled The Weight of Glory and out first essay will be "Learning in War Time." Thanks go out again to the father of one of the lieutenants in our unit who sent us most of the books. Three more were sent by Brigitte Van Tiggelen, a historian who regularly visits the library/museum where I work.

Today I worked in the motor pool until 3pm then drove over to the repair hangards on the other side fo the base to shoot pictures of a CH-47 Chinook helicopter going through major maintenance. I got some good shots of a crew removing the rotor hubs from the top of the bird. Tomorrow I will get more shots of the overhaul work.

After the photos, I went to the education center. I helped a couple of soldiers with word problems then spoke to the woman who coordinates the tutoring sessions. Barring schedule changes, I should be able to volunteer an hour on Tuesday and two hours on Thursday.

At the Dante group tonight, the first order of business was voting on the next book. Aeneid won by one vote over Purgatorio. But everyone agreed we would go back to Purgatorio after Aeneid. We should be able to read Inferno, Aeneid, Purgatorio and start Paradiso before I rotate out, and maybe someone else can take over.

We got our first question for the translator tonight. Tony Esolen, who translated the version we are reading, agreed to take questions by email if I can't answer them. Tonight's question: Cleopatra and Dido are suicides, why are they in the higher part of Hell where Lust is punished (easier punishment) not five levels down with the suicides?

Life is mostly good.

Monday, August 3, 2009

My Job, or Jobs

With my squad leader getting knee surgery 6,000 miles away, I am in charge of the nine members of 4th squad. But with additional duties, leaves, and temporary assignments, my squad is usually three or four specialists, one of whom should make sergeant soon and maybe another before the tour is over.

So that is job one. Job two is being sergeant tool bitch which lately mostly means taking care of the operating system of the big tool box--the compressor, generator and such--and making up hand receipts to inventory all the special tools stuffed in Conex containers. But a big part of this job is actually being in the motor pool from 7am to 3pm every day except Thursday and every 4th Sunday.

Job three is where it gets messy. My company commander and first sergeant want me to do various extra duties within the company, first and foremost the next issue of the newsletter and also serve as Morale, Welfare and Recreation sergeant. The battalion commander wants me to do public affairs for the battalion. Although there are no official hours for the battalion job, it ends up conflicting with the motor pool.

I have a chain of command and for those of you who work in a modern multi-tasking office setting, I suppose you would assume I manage my own time and balance the needs of one job against the other and do the best I can at all of them.

I tried that.

The result was a rather loud discussion with the battalion motor officer last week about how much my presence was required in the motor pool.

My platoon sergeant regularly reminds me that my squad comes first.

The first sergeant is emphatic that the company comes first.

I spoke with the sergeant major at the battalion today about where I might be shooting photos for the battalion in the near future, taking for granted I would be working for the battalion.

My company commander told me how important it is for the team to stay together and he said my first priority is my duties as a leader in the motor pool and company welfare activities.

Today I walked into the DFAC at 1pm. The battalion commander was eating lunch with his assistant. The BC said, "Hey Goose, come over here." So he asked my about bicycling--he has a bike here also--then said "How come you don't want to work for me?" He had gotten the idea I did not want to work for the battalion. I told him otherwise but said I was expecting all of the "senior guys" (He's in his early 40s) to work out what I should be doing. I like my work for the battalion, but it is work. I can't do it as an et cetera that does not intrude on the motor pool schedule.

Sometimes it's fun to be popular.

Lately it's not.

Did I mention that everyone in my chain of command is expecting me to be doing all of my assigned work. This is not a civilian job where I try to get the best results with limited resources and get rated as such. I am really expected to obey all of those guys. They all have said what they want. I think they have all been around enough to know what they are telling me is in direct conflict with what five other people are telling me. But each assumes because he said it, I am doing it.

Jobs one and two are a full-time job for the other three squad leaders. The BC asked me today if I was politicking. I could honestly answer I was not. I want someone to decide what I am supposed to be doing and what I am not supposed to be doing. And then I will do whatever they decide for just five and half more months.

Then we go home.

I'll let you know how things turn out.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Eviction Notice

Today my roommate and I returned to the CHU just a few minutes apart around 130pm. I was shooting pictures at the Softball Tournament, he was coming back from being in the motor pool since 7am. I was the first to see an all capital letters paper taped to our door that began:

IT HAS COME TO OUR ATTENTION THAT ONLY ONE SOLDIER IS LIVING IN THIS ROOM. THIS ROOM HAS BEEN DESIGNATED FOR IMMEDIATE OCCUPANCY BY A SECOND AUTHORIZED SOLDIER. IF AN UNAUTHORIZED SOLDIER OR CIVILIAN IS LIVING IN THIS ROOM HIS OR HER BELONGINGS WILL BE REMOVED. . .YOU HAVE 48 HOURS TO REPORT TO THE BILLETING OFFICE AND RESOLVE THIS MATTER.

"IT HAS COME TO OUR ATTENTION. . ." are they kidding? How? Do they have spies? "They" is, of course, the garrison, who you will remember from all my other posts about Chicken Shit are responsible for health and welfare issues and for security.

My roommate and I are each either side of six feet tall, either side of 200 pounds and come in two distinctly different colors. Any idiot who could tape a sign to a door on a Sunday morning could have visited us in the evening, knocked on the door and determined that there are, in fact, two armed maintenance sergeants from Echo Company living in this CHU and have been since May 3.



Why the accusation followed by threats? Well certainly our garrison is to effective communications as Richard Simmons is to masculinity. But the accusation that followed does have a practical advantage. While my roommate and I are clearly right, we both know that even if the garrison won't bother to contact us personally they will have no hesitation to fulfill the vague threat on the door.

Since I have a bike, I rode the half mile to the billeting office as instructed and let my roommate chill out. As it turns out, my roommates hand receipt (the piece of paper which says you are occupying the room) is missing, s he also needs to walk over to billeting within 48 hours or find himself evicted for no reason except that paperwork which is not his responsibility to maintain is missing.

When I asked billeting about the threats on the door, a civilian employee rolled her eyes and said, "Garrison" under her breath. I asked nothing else. She said my paperwork is in order and my roommate will have to walk over and straighten his paperwork out--within 48 hours.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

If You Love Kitties, Don't Read. . .

My wife sent me a lovely email about my son Nigel. He loves animals. My wife found a mouse nest in the garage and let Nigel care for a baby mouse. He spent much of today with the mouse, watching it in its new clear-plastic-container home. Nigel is a sweet kid. Luckily for him, his eyesight and hearing will not allow him to join the military when he gets older. Because animal lovers have a tough time in this crowd.

Now we switch to tonight's dinner. In the usual random way that dinner groups form by whoever recognizes each other siting together, I was sitting with two senior female sergeants: by senior I mean in rank, they are both in their mid-30s. We were joined by our commander and executive officer: two Penn State grads who are 25 and 24 respectively. One of the sergeants brought up our commander's age. I thought I was twice as old as he is, but it turns out I am three years older than twice as old as he is. So then everybody played a game of "What was Sergeant Gussman doing when I was born?" The youngest guy added "What was sergeant Gussman doing when my mother was born? I was four at the time."

With everybody laughing the topic switched to animals in Iraq. The commander had not seen any cats here, only insects and reptiles. One of the sergeants had been assigned to a remote fueling site early in the deployment. The site had a mascot, a small kitten. Fuelers work 24 hours filling helicopters with JP-8 fuel. Their primary vehicle is an 8-wheel-drive, all-terrain HEMMT fuel truck. During one of the night fuel missions the kitten was hiding under one of the HEMMT's six-foot high tires when the truck rolled out.

The next day a very sad sergeant announced with tears "We have lost one of our team." Soldiers started looking around to see who was missing. Then the sergeant said, "Fluffy got run over by a HEMMT last night." According to my witness everyone was relieved at first then started yelling at the sergeant for scaring them and saying, "IT'S ONLY A F#$KING CAT. . ." and other variants on that theme, before they started making jokes about him.

Which led to stories about other fuelers who captured a camel spider (the local scorpion) and how cool it is to watch when these scorpions catch a lizard and how the exactly scorpion eats the lizard.

I am glad my son the animal lover will be a civilian.

Friday, July 31, 2009

Extremes

Last night I spent the best two hours since I left America. I was at the Army Education Center which does not officially open for another month, but they are holding sessions to help soldiers study to improve their GT score--the overall score that determines whether you qualify for some of the really good jobs the Army offers.

Last night I spent two hours helping soldiers solve equations with parentheses, powers, roots, multiplication, division, addition and subtraction--which is the order they are solved. These equations included decimals and fractions so I also was helping with converting fractions, finding common denominators and so forth.

If that doesn't sound fun, then I have not done a good job telling you just how strange it is to move from the very quiet home I live in and the very cooperative place where I work to this Lead-Follow-or-Get-Out-of-the-Way environment I am in now. We hear every day we are all leaders. Many of us translate that into trying to dominate everything they are involved in. So last night I was in a room with a dozen men and women who simply wanted to learn something. Not one soldier said, "When I was in Afghanistan in 2004 we did powers before parentheses and our sergeant major said 'Only a one-handed piano player at a cheap whorehouse would solve the parentheses first.'"

And today is my 12th wedding anniversary. I won't be spending it with my wife--which I have known for a while now, but today, like all the other occasions I will miss this year, reminds me with particular clarity that I volunteered for this--for good and ill. Happy Anniversary Annalisa. I'll be home for the next one.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

No Bike Race


NOT HAPPENING AT TALLIL ALI AIR BASE

One of my big goals, hopes for this deployment was to organize a bike race in Iraq. In case you think this is indicative of severe mental defect or some history of intoxication, a race did not seem crazy to me. Until this month, I thought it was very possible.

First, I was initially supposed to go to a huge air base near Baghdad with paved roads, including a six-mile loop around the air field. At the last minute we were re-assigned to another huge base in the south. Here at Tallil Ali Air Base, there is a 15-kilometer perimeter road which is mostly paved. Some of it is bumpy, but a few miles are very smooth. I can ride the loop on a road bike slowing for the dirt stretches and the worst bumps. It's no problem on a mountain bike.

Speaking of bikes, I estimate there are about 300 to 400 soldiers, airmen and civilian workers with bikes. There could be more. But whenever I ride in the main area of post I see other people riding and bikes chained up at various buildings. Until mid-July there was a group of airmen that would ride together every week. So there were people riding around post and there are a few who ride with me for speed once or twice a week.

So I hoped to have a race/ride. I figured I could find 20 people who would want to race and maybe another 50 to 100 who would ride the perimeter of the post with Military Police at the intersections. I pitched the idea to the garrison MWR (Morale Welfare Recreation) people within a week of my arrival. They thought it was a great idea and encouraged me to get a proposal together, but the new garrison would be taking over while I was home on leave in June, so I would have to propose the idea to them.

After a few delays, I had the meeting two weeks ago. At the meeting I was asked about my strategic plans for perimeter security, about the number of soldiers I could guarantee would participate, and about safety. At one point in the discussion on perimeter security I looked down at the sergeant stripes on my chest and said, "I am a squad leader with five soldiers. What can I do abut perimeter security?" But they wanted food and a party at the end like the 15k running race that happened on July 11. The running race had 400+ participants and, for most people, running 15k is a big deal. Riding 15k is not a big deal. The slowest riders can do it in an hour. the winner of the race would have finished under 30 minutes.

So I was looking at a small, first-time event that would bring out the bicyclists on our big air base and help to form a cycling community. They were looking for an event that is way beyond my resources. There was a follow-up email asking me to provide all the things I could not provide: guaranteed participation, perimeter security strategic plans, etc. I answered the memo then the next day sent another memo withdrawing my offer to organize the race.

When you answer a question and the same person comes back asking again all the questions for which they did not get the answer they want, then the choice is give in to the demands or fight. I chose to walk away. It was awkward, but I have other things going on with MWR that are going well and I don't want to get in pissing contest over a single event. The MWR sergeant who manages most of the programs has given me a room for a Dante book group and a CS Lewis book group (starting Monday) and set me up with the new Education Center (opening soon) to possibly serve as a writing tutor one night per week. They also got lights for the softball field which is what the soldiers in my company cared about more than anything else, and they may let one of our sergeants be the "Commissioner of the Softball League."

So given all that I don't want to fight over the bike race. And I got to do three races while I was home on leave and one in Oklahoma, so I have already done four races despite the deployment. Not such a bad year.

(And for those who know something of my riding history, the garrison also wanted me to guarantee that an event with most of the participants on Wal-Mart-quality, sand-coated Huffys would be safe. All I could do was smile.)

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Semester Break Blues

Before we left Pennsylvania the guys who had been deployed before warned us people would start to fall apart at six months. My wife wrote today to remind me of the parallels between how here students feel after parents weekend--missing there family with a long semester ahead--and how I have been feeling lately.

Well here we are at six month and the predictions are, unfortunately, coming true. Two mechanics are home in the USA getting knee operations, one from a touch football game and another from a sports injury that was not healing. There have been a lot of jokes about "When's the next football game?" and "Do you need anybody to work on a roof, sarge?"

And we are getting lectures on getting slack--except we report for work at 0700 and many of us do PT before work. Some soldiers are getting vehicles. The vehicles are restored wrecks that are less than perfect and an average of 15 years old. And at the same time, the rules about driving them are tightening up. Any traffic ticket is a visit to the Sergeant Major for the first offense and an article 15 (loss of pay and/or rank)for the second offense. So having a vehicle is not such a great thing that way.

The weather is following the generally declining mood. Usually we wake up to a blue sky and 84 degrees at 0500. The weather becomes hot, windy and dusty by 0700, but the beginning is nice.

Today at 0530 the temp was 94, the wind was up and dust filled the air. It just keeps getting worse. The motor sergeant released the mechanics at noon today because the conditions were so bad outside.


THE FREAKY ORANGE COLOR OF SUNLIGHT DIFFUSED THROUGH DUST



DUST STORM ON THE AIRFIELD

The running race was canceled this morning and it was so dusty I did not ride. I am not riding at 6pm either so this will be the first day since I got back from leave that I have not made at least one circuit of the post on the bike. But the weather is so far beyond foul I will ride in the gym.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

More from the Back End of the Chicken

Today we had an NCO meeting to get the latest changes in work-area uniforms. We work in a motor pool consisting of a plywood building, a couple of maintenance tents and conex boxes mostly at one end of a field of gravel and dirt. Next to the rock-strewn work area is a headquarters building and a parking lot. The building and the parking lot are about to be turned over to an active-Army unit. We have two latrines located on the east and west ends of the parking lot. On the east end are two outhouses. On the west end are two latrines--one male, one female--each in a trailer like ones we live in. These deluxe latrines have stalls with doors, sinks and air conditioning--very posh.

Now to get into either latrine, a soldier has to step on the parking lot pavement. As of today, we have to be in uniform to step on the pavement. So if someone is changing the oil in a 5-ton truck and needs to use the latrine, that soldier has to put on his uniform jacket and hat and eye protection before walking the 20 feet from the gravel motor pool to the paved parking lot.

Did I mention the soldiers who are dressing up to walk to the latrine are working in midday temperatures in the high 120s? The soldiers who conceive of the regulations work in air-conditioning.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Hell Boy at the Chapel

Yesterday as I was leaving the 9am traditional Protestant service, the choir for the 11 am service was starting to arrive. I remembered the very enthusiastic young captain from Tennessee who jumps when he sings. When I was about to walk through the door, in walks the subject of my June 8 post, the silent guitar player on the bridge. The guy who wants to make a comeback with a metal band when deployment is over. He told me that evening last month he had a home in Hell. and there he was walking in the door with his enormous 12-string electric bass.

I guess the Chapel band gives him a chance to play.


Who the Wannabe Wants to Be

The Catholic Chaplain from NYC is on the way to a base up north, so my pastor can quit worrying that I will become a Catholic simply to hang around with former Fordham philosophy professor who loves New York.

A week from tonight I will be starting a CS Lewis reading group. The first book is "The Weight of Glory." One of the chaplains said he would attend. This book group will also be in the library in the recreation center. I can't lead a book discussion like this inside the Chapel because official religious activities have to be led by a Chaplain. I'll start out with one essay per week and see how that goes. I can either start with "The Inner Ring" CSL's advice on how to navigate the murky waters of cliques or "Why I am not a Pacifist." CSL's reasons for disdaining pacifism are very similar to George Orwell's. They are contemporaries, but certainly different on philosophy and religion. I am planning on saving the title essay for last. If the group decides to continue, we can move to the Screwtape Letters or some other book they would choose.

Today's picture is from my leave. They are of the doctor who fixed my broken neck and I at his office. The practice he works for hired a writer to do a freelance article on him and I am his success story.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Today the Temp was 133 Before Lunch

I skipped lunch today and rode to the PX to buy new sunglasses. I lost a pair of Army Oakleys two weeks ago then today I lost my backup Army pair at breakfast. They were on my tray and when we leave the DFAC we dump the tray into one of 10 trash cans in rows of five on either side of the exit hallway. I started to ride away, realized where my glasses were then went back. But I could not remember which trash can I had dumped my tray in. I tried to remember, but as I stood there another soldier dumped his tray about every five seconds. I gave up and bought new ones.

Anyway, on the ride over to the PX the bike thermometer said 133 degrees. The air was very still just before I left, which may be why the temp was so high. As I left the motor pool, a wind kicked up and in a mile the temp reading had dropped to 127, a nice cooling breeze--from a blow dryer.

And here are photos of me with a gun on my GT Peace 9R bike. It's not easy to read the logo, but it is the word Peace with an anarchist A--just the thing for a war!




Saturday, July 25, 2009

Awards

For the last two weeks, along with my other duties, I have become the squad leader for 4th squad and have been writing awards. Earlier this month I was writing achievement awards for several soldiers who were exceptional in the first month after we arrived in Iraq. Now I am writing what are called service awards--awards for the entire deployment. "But wait!" One might say, "Aren't you just half way through your deployment? How can you write an award for the period from now until when you leave?"

That's easy. I project. I assume that the best conduct and performance I have seen over the first six months will continue and write the award accordingly. The more specific and fact based the award justification is, the better the chance it will go through. Many of the soldiers in my unit have already done some very good things and achieved some of their goals, so there is a lot to write about. And for the rest of the deployment, if I am wrong and the soldier in question were to become "Low Speed and High Drag" (Here and in NASCAR High Speed and Low Drag describes the top performers.) then the award could be withdrawn before it is given. It is much easier to cut an award at the last minute than create one.

And if you ask, "What if one of our soldiers rescues three babies and five kittens from a burning building?" or a similar act of gallantry. Before the kittens can lick the soot from their fur, someone can write an achievement award for a specific act of bravery that can be given in addition to the service award.

So most, if not all, soldiers are at least recommended for a service award. My wife and other professors could explain why. It's a lot like grade inflation. If someone serves a whole year on deployment and does not get an award, there is some reason for a future promotion or evaluation board to believe that soldier is below standard. As with Lake Woebegone Minnesota, all the soldiers are above average, so nearly everyone gets a service award.

If you think that is bad, consider the situation on my deployment back in the 1970s. Back then combat soldiers who were simply doing their jobs watching the border got no awards. But the higher headquarters staff all got awards. I know this because I got a couple of certificates for distinguished tank gunnery while serving as a tank commander for nearly two of my three years in Germany. But at the end of my deployment, I worked in public affairs full time and got soldiers in our brigade in the Stars and Stripes newspaper and all over the post newspaper. For that I got an Army Commendation Medal. I think it's better now that nearly everyone gets a medal than the situation before when mostly the rear-area guys got the medals.

Friday, July 24, 2009

TV in the Chapel Annex

I mentioned in a previous post that one of the marriage conversations took place in God's Grounds--the free coffee shop in the Adder Chapel annex. It is run by chaplain's assistants and other volunteers. The other place to get coffee is and actual coffee shop called Green Beans about a mile away.

I go to Green Beans every day for a half hour between work and the evening ride to read a book and drink a latte. I could go to God's Grounds and drink espresso for free, but if I did, I would have to sit near a big-screen TV with 24/7 Simpsons and animated movies. At Green Beans, they play music on the side of the shop where the coffee is made, but the side with the couches is for reading and conversation.

The conversation I had with guy telling me his wife was his best friend and they share no interests took place with me sitting with my back to the TV and us talking over the TV. There are books in the room where the TV is, but no one picks them up. The TV is loud.

So I go to the commercial coffee place because it is quiet and avoid God's Grounds in the Chapel because of the noise. I would think it odd, except Green beans is run by young Indian men with university education who value conversation. God's Grounds is run by Americans who value cartoons.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Argument Update and Marriage Conversations

Later, after the tax argument, Sergeant Arch Conservative came to me to ask if we we could set up one of the standard gym exercise bikes that reads watts generated to Army PT test standard which requires setting a special bike to 20 Newtons of resistance. It is not a straight conversion. He did not want to deal with that calculation. A few minutes later, we were outside and I asked Sergeant AC if he has this much trouble with math, how can he be absolutely sure (he has loudly told me this on another occasion) the earth is 10,000 years old, evolution never happened and every scientist from Darwin and Einstein to the present is wrong--while he and the Creation Museum are right.

His answer: "Paper birch trees are growing wild in Pennsylvania Sergeant Gussman. They are a northern tree. The earth is not getting warmer. Global warming is wrong. Those scientists don't know everything."

And now to marriage. I was sitting in God's Grounds--a free cafe in the chapel annex. I get coffee there in the mornings. I would stay there more than a minute or two, but being a Godly place in the Army, the Simpsons and other animated movies play 24/7.
So one of the chaplain's assistants, an older guy, is looking at a National Geographic. He says he is going to take his wife on an adventure tour of Peru when he gets back from deployment. "It costs $2000 per person, but it will be worth. The experience of a lifetime. I have always wanted to do it."
I said, "Wow. That sounds great. Are you making plans now? Is she excited?"
He answers, "No. She hates stuff like this. But I go shopping with her, so she can go. It's only two weeks."
He went on to explain how he and his wife are best friends.

A guy I ride with a couple of days a week borrows one of my bikes to ride with me. He got her just before I went on leave and decided last week to ask his wife to send a mountain bike he has at home here to Iraq. She refused. She said he should buy a bike there and not ship a bike to Iraq--he'll just have to ship it back. The two-way mailing cost will be $150 plus whatever the bike shop charges to pack the bike in a box. Chances are they will do it for free for a soldier in Iraq.

Anyway, he does not want to argue with his wife and he recently got a $1000 through an error in a travel voucher, so he is probably going to buy a new bike and have it shipped directly here rather than argue. "She'll never know," he said.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Arguing in the Motor Pool

Earlier I had an argument that would only happen here, at least in my life. I was walking out the latrine near our motor pool and an old sergeant in third platoon was walking in. I said hello and he launched into the latest government ripoff.
"Sergeant Gussman, your buddy Ed Rendell just raised my taxes 16% in Pennsylvania."
He stopped at the urinal and began to multitask. I was glad to be near the door.
"That means he's taking 16 dollars out of every hundred I make. What do you think of that?"
I exited fearing he would lose concentration and some problem would ensue.
When he came outside I said, "Take it easy Sergeant (Arch Conservative) a 16% tax increase on a 2.65% tax is an increase of about 40 CENTS per hundred dollars."
He sputtered, "CNN said 16% and that means $16 per hundred." Then he calmed down and blamed CNN for misleading him.
He is still upset at Ed Rendell and at CNN and I suppose at me for ruining his perfectly good attack on "those damned Liberals."

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Ran Out of Books Tonight

Tonight was week two of the Tallil Dead Poet's Society and I ran out of the free copies of Inferno (translated by Tony Esolen) and supplied by Nick Jost and by the father of one of the lieutenants in our unit. For this evening's session everyone read the first five cantos. For the most part the dozen people in the room believe in Hell as a literal place, but there were fewer who believed it is like Dante's Hell in the sense of all torment all the time. And no one believed in Limbo--the people who did neither good not evil. We are all too much Americans and have enough of the Protestant thought pattern that no one can conceive of a life apart from good and evil.

Many of the group did not like "Abandon All Hope You Who Enter Here" on the arch of the entrance to Hell. They want an escape route.

Less than half the group have read any of Dante in the past, but I already have four people who expressed a strong wish that Virgil get reprieve. They hope that at some point his good deed as guide will get him a pass out of Hell. Among the group are skeptics, Bible students, a chaplain and some soldiers trying to deal with issues relating to the religion they were brought up with.

One woman asked when I mentioned evil who gets to decide what is evil. I answered "Dante. We are in his universe." This actually lead to a discussion of the poets art and creating universes. This evening was a lot of fun.

Monday, July 20, 2009

More Chicken Shit

I was going to let this subject go, but today I was talking with another soldier about the latest rule and remembered that as Chicken Shit takes over, the divide between higher and lower ranks becomes more obvious.

The latest rule says No Tactical Vehicles are allowed to park next to Living Areas. The reason given is that there have been minor collisions between tactical and Non Tactical Vehicles (NTVs). Tactical vehicles are Humvees and the bigger trucks soldiers ride in to go to work, especially when several soldiers work the same hours in a remote area. NTVs are the air-conditioned SUVs and Crew-Cab pickup trucks used by first sergeants, sergeant majors and higher-ranking officers. So when I ride back to my living area, I pass through two rows of gray and white SUVs on the way to my room. So those who drive NTVs walk out of their rooms and drive to work. Those who live in an area without tactical vehicle parking walk to the bus stop.

Whether the intent of the rule is to inconvenience soldiers and benefit officers, the result is just that. Of course, this is nothing new. Again quoting my uncle Jack:

"I don't want to overplay this old soldier bit but the CS entry hit home. When I attended Squadron Officers' School (SOS) in 1966 it was a hotbed of daily CS. They valued themselves very highly. Something I've never forgotten was a loooonng wall of shelves in the Air University library filled end to end with looseleaf notebooks, to a height of 7 or 8 feet. The notebooks contained all the regs and policies of the Air Force from HQ at the Pentagon down through Major Command, numbered Air Force, Air Division. Below that Wing and base level stuff was not on file.
The Air Force at all levels tried to have a reg or policy for every possible situation. Of course they failed, but they never stopped trying so far as I know."

In French the expression that corresponds with CS is enculage de mouche . Literally it means the person in question is having a very unhealthy relationship with a housefly, but the common meaning is giving too much importance to small details. I suppose every country with a military has an equivalent expression to CS.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

The Loaves and the Fishes

At Chapel this morning the Gospel reading was Mark Chapter 6, the story of the loaves and the fishes. The chaplain said this was an example of good leadership on the part of the Lord, but not the disciples. The Lord looked on the multitude with compassion. The disciples said "How are we going to feed all of them?" The chaplain said the disciples were like a group of sergeants who look out at a crowd of soldiers who did not bring enough MREs and grumble about having to share their field rations with unprepared troops.

He converted the metaphor to military. "We are all leaders." Localizing this story reminded me of a retelling of the parable of the Good Samaritan I heard at an inner city Church. The African-American pastor retold the story with the victim from the neighborhood being pistol whipped and left for dead on the street in front of the Church. Those who passed by were a local pastor and a football player from the neighborhood with an NFL Contract. The Good Samaritan was a Man from the whitest, richest local suburb.

At the end of the story, the pastor, in a resounding voice, asked the children assembled at the front of the congregation, "Who is this man's neighbor?" The reply came from a smiling little girl who said, "The Football Player!" The congregation broke up with laughter. But the real point had been made. The pastor put most unlikely man in the role of the Samaritan.

The parables and stories, retold in this way, are delightful.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Writing About Soldiers

For the last week I have been splitting my time between resuming my duties as Sergeant Tool Bitch in Echo Company (issuing high value tools from a central tool area) and writing brief vignettes about some of the soldiers in the battalion. Since the higher headquarters (brigade) wants photos also, they gave me a motor-drive NIKON SLR camera with an 18 to 200mm telephoto lens to do take pictures. I don't know much about current camera, but one of my buddies who saw the camera said it costs $3500 new and is "Awesome."

In the course of these brief interviews I have learned a lot more about the soldiers in Echo Company and as I move to other companies, about their soldiers. One of the helicopter mechanics I spoke with got fishing gear shipped from the states. One his day off, he fishes on one of the two ponds on Water Street where the water storage and water treatment plants are located. So far he has caught a catfish more than three feet long. He threw it back but it is strange to think someone is fishing in this dust bowl.

Returning to the chicken shit theme from earlier this week, I took off my Livestrong bracelet yesterday. The directive I spoke about does not allow cancer survivor bracelets, only MIA and KIA bracelets. I have worn that yellow polymer bracelet since 2001. Actually the original one broke in 2003 but the current one, though thin, is still in one circular piece and in a drawer until we go to a less chicken shit command. Although I will be putting it back on in a week if Lance wins his eighth tour. Just for the day.

A first sergeant in one of the communications units who is on his sixth deployment including the Gulf War was talking about how the uniform is the way we show we are soldiers. By complying with the current uniform SOP we show that we are ready to do whatever is necessary when the time comes. He is also taking an on-line college course in writing and is one of the few senior NCOs I have met who really wants to learn to write. He is not taking the course just to meet a requirement for his next promotion.

Friday, July 17, 2009

All the Way Across Iowa and other Blogs

If you down my blog roll you will see blogs I follow for various reasons, but mostly for their odd perspective on some part of life that I care about. For the next couple of weeks, the blog posts I most anticipate enjoying will be on Adventure Across Iowa in which my friend Kristine Chin, a New York editor and event manager, will write about she and her husband Rick riding a tandem across Iowa in July with 15,000 other people.


Thunder Run
is another excellent site. It's the only military blog I have on my blog roll because it brings together many other good milblogs, so it is one-stop shopping for interesting perspectives on the wars we fight and the warriors who fight them.

On a completely different note, if you have ever doubted, suffered, or torn your whole life up by the roots and started over, you will probably enjoy Meredith Gould, a Jewish sociologist who took a tortuous path to becoming a Catholic author. Her most recent post, the link above, may be one of the best things she has written about the paradox of living faith.

For weirdness by people who publish in scientific journals, the Annals of Improbable Research blog will introduce you the people who study the medical side-effects of sword-swallowing, who electronically modified the sound of a potato chip to make the person chewing the chip believe it to be crisper and fresher than it really is, who demonstrated that high-priced fake medicine is more effective than low-priced fake medicine, and who discovered that professional lap dancers earn higher tips when they are ovulating.

More later. . .

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Calling Home During Viet Nam

My Uncle Jack who served in Viet Nam and other parts of South East Asia for several years between 1965 and 1974, had this response to my post on stress:

I was intrigued by your blog about stress. This is completely opposite my experience during remote interludes in the years 1965 to 1974. As late as 1974 calling home from Thailand was impossible. When if you got to the Philippines you had an opportunity. Even then it was a hassle: Go to a special location, file a request with a clerk to call a certain stateside number, then wait. When the call went through you'd be summoned and directed to a booth to which the call would be connected. Then for, as I recall, a dollar a minute you could talk for a limited time, say ten minutes. Pretty much things were even worse in Greenland and other garden spots SAC (Strategi Air Command) populated. There was no internet/email.

In those circumstances it was impossible to be involved in the daily life of your family at home. They had to solve their own problems--or, more likely, create them. As a junior officer of modest means writing a check from the joint account you shared with your wife took two weeks or more of coordination via snail mail. This was in an era when bouncing a check was a serious offense. Of course, trusting your spouse to actually balance the checkbook and keep you from doing that was a stressful gamble. On-line checking didn't exist.

I never considered the circumstances families now face: more or less instant communication and the blessing or burden of participating from a distance. I imagine there is lots of real-time involvement, "Where did you put the vacuum cleaner bags? I can't find them anywhere!" "Do you know what your son did now?!"

Not So Supreme: A Conference about the Constitution, the Courts and Justice

Hannah Arendt At the end of the first week in March, I went to a conference at Bard College titled: Between Power and Authority: Arendt on t...