Planning for Wildly Different Futures

In my mind, the time has passed to prepare for Afghanistan.  If I get the waiver I will go, but somewhere in the events of the last week, I now am planning for a future with no deployment.  It is  definite in my mind that I am not deploying.

Time to move on.  The first thing I did was sign up for the qualifying races for the National Senior Games in 2013 in Cleveland, July 20 - August 1.

Tomorrow Nigel and I will leave Lancaster by 9am and drive to Pittsburgh for the qualifying races.  There will be two races tomorrow and two Sunday.  I have to finish 1st - 4th place in just one of the races to qualify for Cleveland.  It would be easiest if I qualify tomorrow, but if not we can stay over and I can try again Sunday.

At work, I stopped making plans to transfer what I do to my co-workers.  I am now planning on being at work in 2013--and racing in Cleveland in July.

AOL Video--Intro by Marlo Thomas

And if you do not know who Marlo Thomas is, you are too young for this blog !!
Watch it here.

Packing Bags for Another Person

Last night I took three of the kids out for dinner.  While we were gone, we got a message asking us to get some of our son's clothes packed up.  We decided to pack everything.  Three black trash bags, a backpack and a lot of clothes on hangers wait by the door for someone to come and pick them up.

While we packed I did three loads of laundry to be sure everything was out of the laundry room.  As we cleaned out the drawers, one of my daughters found cell phone chargers and other things she was missing during the past few months.  We thought stealing was a bigger problem before the violence.  Now it seems very small by comparison.

It is always sad to pack for someone else.  In Germany in the 70s I helped to pack up the gear and personal effects of a soldier who went home in a hospital plane.  We were starting an M60A1 tank with slave cables (REALLY heavy duty jumper cables).  To slave start a tank, you either pull the tanks close side by side or nose to nose.  The slave cables drop into the drivers hatch in the hull and plug into a connector just below the hatch.

The second tank approached the first straight on from a slight.  The young soldier--I'll call him Ed--was up on the hull of the dead tank next to the driver's hatch.  As the second tank approached he dropped the cable--and decided to pick it.  He jumped off the side of the tank out of the way, but then went between the tanks to retrieve the cable rather than just pulling it up.  He did not know why.  No one else did.  In a confusing moment he stood up and got caught between the tanks.

His pelvis was broken.  He screamed.

A week later, several of us packed his things.

I thought of Ed when I was packing last night.

My wife and I insist our kids pack their own bags for trips--especially the trip home.  I just thought it was a good skill for them to have.  It was pretty clear last night I do not have good memories of packing for someone else.

My wife Annalisa wrote very well about the sad last day our foster son spent in our home.  http://miser-mom.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-child-who-left-our-home.html

Failure is an Option

I am waiting for a waiver to serve in a combat zone over 60.  This waiver, unlike the one to extend my enlistment, must be approved in Washington.  It could fail.

But as of last night my wife is more at peace about the deployment--whichever way the waiver  decision goes.  

Last night her biggest worry for the deployment left our house in handcuffs.  The 15-year-old boy we took in our house in April became more and more angry over the last two weeks and finally became so enraged over being caught in a lie that he had a fit that included breaking things with a hammer and threatening himself and the rest of our family.

He had a troubled past, but we were assured by his social worker in Lehigh Valley that he simply had bad breaks.  My wife and I thought we would try to give him the "forever home" he said he wanted.  

But a forever home has rules and it is tough to give up what we know for something else--even if it is better.  C.S. Lewis says that after a religious conversion the convert will often find his former desires fill his mind.  And even if the convert manages to keep the desires from taking over, the voice of desire inside "will be up on an elbow. . .whining."  

Failure is an option in taking a child into a family--whether by adoption or birth.  C.S. Lewis writes in another place (in the 1940s before TV) about how difficult it is to convince a child in poverty in the city to give up playing in a puddle in the slums to travel to the sea shore.  We were not able to convince our new son that living as part of a family was actually better than the life he left in foster care--20 different foster homes.

Failure is an option in the military.  Not all military missions succeed.  

Failure is an option in bicycle racing.  Over the last decade I have lost 20 bicycle races for each victory.  

Failure is an option in running races.  I won just one running race in my life and in that I won my age group.  

Today we will receive a stack of paperwork that must be resubmitted to the Haitian embassy for another child we are hoping to adopt.  We are very sure he will do well in America, but we have much less confidence in our ability to navigate the paperwork through the Haitian system.  Failure is an option here also.

Tonight my wife and I are going out to dinner to celebrate our 15th anniversary.  We have three grown daughters who are doing very well and three more kids at home who seem on track to do well also.  We both know that risk can mean reward and that risk can mean failure.   

We will be taking more risks together and separately--and moving forward with our very complicated and interesting lives.

AOL in MY House

Today a video crew from AOL on line is filming me and my family at my home in Lancaster.  Later today we will go to Fort Indiantown Gap so I can join in some training.  The training shots will be set up by SSG Matt Jones at the Public Affairs Office.  He and I served together in Iraq.  He was the PAO for 28th Aviation, but he got promoted and moved to an Infantry Brigade earlier this year.

When the video goes on line, I will link to it on the blog.  In the meantime I will try to post some more pictures.

Waiting for the Next Waiver

At drill weekend this month I found I need yet another waiver if I am going to deploy.  As I had heard months ago, I not only needed a waiver from The Adjutant General of Pennsylvania to stay in for two more years, but I need a waiver from National Guard HQ in the Pentagon to serve in Afghanistan past my 60th birthday.

In case you are wondering, sending me over and then sending me home for my 60th birthday next May is not among my options.  

I would say there is a good reason why they won't let soldiers who are qualified serve past age 60, but the reason may not be good.  I have heard it is because some National Guard and Reserve soldiers served in Iraq and Afghanistan past age 60 and came home on a medical.  If that's true it would make sense to stop old soldiers from serving.  Why bother if they are going to go home early on some kind of medical.

If that's true, I don't have much of a chance.  In my own state the general officers approving the waiver  could ask my commander and their sergeant major about me.  

But at Army headquarters, I am just another packet of papers.  It means risk if they say yes, no risk if they say No.

So the most likely outcome is that I will serve my last two and a half years in the Army in Pennsylvania.  

I'll be happy either way.

Out the Window

We are flying back from Reading to Fort Indiantown Gap. Here's the view out my window. The picture is me just before take off.

Days like this I can't quite believe I get paid for this.

Reading Airport--Where my Dad Served In World War 2

After dropping off infantry soldiers at the Reading Armory, we flew to Reading Airport. This small municipal airport has very little passenger traffic. During World War 2, the place was bustling. The airport served as a transhipment point for P-47 and P-51 fighter aircraft and B-24 bombers going into combat.

According to the poster in the display case, the northeast corner of Reading Airport also served as a Prisoner of War camp. The last commandant of that camp during the war was 1st Lieutenant George Gussman. The POW camp housed 600 mostly Afrika Corps German prisoners captured in 1942 and 43.

Dad was the third commandant. In one of his many war stories about the camp, Dad said those prisoners had driven the last two commanders nuts with Geneva Convention complaints.

The previous commandants were young officers wounded and in charge of the camp while they recovered their health. Their heart was not in it and they got out of there as soon as they could. Dad came to command of the POW camp after commanding a black maintenance company. He was very old (almost 40!!!) so he was not goign to be sent overseas. He was Jewish, the son of Russian-Jewish immigrants who escaped the pogroms of late 19th century Russia.

He was a middleweight boxer before he joined the Army and not inclined to take crap from German prisoners.

At an early meeting with the prisoners, one of them made a remark about Dad being a Jew. Dad knew Yiddish and enough German to know understand the remark.

Dad laid him out and let them know this was his camp and would run by his rules. Elsewhere on this blog I have written about The Engagement Present--600 chocolate bars Dad confiscated from the prisoners and gave to his future bride--and my Mom.

I haven't been here for almost 30 years. There is not much evidence that the camp ever existed. But it was a big part of my Dad's life, and the subject of many stories I heard as a kid.

Picked up Troops

This is what carry-on bagge looks like in a Blackhawk.

Three Blackhawks Bringing Troops Home

We are just about to take off on a three-ship Blackhawk mission to pick up troops in a wooded training area. The doors are shut, so I can't take good pictures till we land and open the doors. I want to get video of the infantry boarding the aircraft. They will enter on the right side with 80 pounds of gear each--and no storage for carry-ons!!! I will have a couple of minutes to get pictures before I get squeezed against the door by the passengers.

Waiting to take off

On board on CH-47 Chinook on Muir Filed at Fort Indiantown Gap. Waiting to take off. We are flying to a training site. If all goes well, there will be an aircraft refueling site and aerial gunnery training.

Still Sore--and Can't Run for a While

Yesterday I went to the Lancaster Orthopedic Group, one of the places that has been repairing me from running and riding injuries for the last couple of decades.  The first team I raced for in the 90s had LOG as its main sponsor.  We made jokes about being great customers.  But actually, we were.

This visit was about my right knee.  It gets very painful when I sit with my leg bent.  And since I may be flying a very long way in a very cramped airplane, I thought I should get it checked out.  The doctor said my knee wasn't as bad as he expected and if I stop running and do physical therapy it should be fine.  I do not need an operation any time soon.

That was a pleasant surprise.

And I love Physical Therapy, especially at LOG.  Joe and Gretchen are the therapists I have been going to for the last several years.  They rehabilitated my shoulder after surgery five years ago and have helped me with minor hand and knee trouble before.

Every time I have PT I learn something about how my body works and how it recovers.  If the injury means I can get PT, I am happy.

Speaking of injury, my neck still hurts from the recent army training.  If it still hurts Tuesday, I will ask Joe for help with neck recovery also.

On days like these, I am very sure I am NOT a 20-year-old.

Judgmental Bastard--the Transition Back to Civilian Life

Three weeks in Army culture changes me.  The longer I am in the National Guard, the faster and more thoroughly I can change from seeing the world through civilian eyes, to seeing through olive-drab-colored glasses.

On the last day of training we were cleaning the barracks.  After the inside of the barracks was shined and polished I told three enlisted men to join me in Police Call--picking up trash--mostly cigarette butts--around the barracks.  One of the soldiers protested that he was willing to pick up trash but not cigarette butts.  I was ten feet away.  After a moment's hesitation in which I tilted my head and looked to see if he was joking, I yelled, "I am not taking an opinion poll.  Pick up everything."

In Army training we show up on time, line up for chow and wait for leaders to make up or change their minds.  And when we judge each other, it is on competence.  Everyone knows who can shoot, wrench, run, communicate or spit best, because we spend so much time together watching and judging each other.

And then I come home.

Home is fine.  My wife insists on being on time, and is strict with our kids.

But then I leave home.

On Sunday a couple that I ride with invited to go with them on a 50-mile group ride.  I met them at 1250 and rode with them to the place where we were meeting the rest of the riders.  We rolled up at 1258 for a 1pm start.

One of the three riders was ready to go.  Another was changing and his bike was still in his van.  The third just discovered he had a flat.  Really?  Is air in your tires is optional?

It was already 93 degrees and getting warmer.

We waited 7 minutes for the guy who was still getting ready, while the guy who was ready told us what an awesome climber he is.  The guy with the flat drove a few miles up the road to change the tire.  We rode to meet him.  We waited ten more minutes for him to finish changing the tire (a five minute job for someone who knows what to do).


Five miles into the ride, Bruce said, "I thought you told me you were tired.  You rode hard up the last two hills." I explained that I was riding on adrenaline.  I got angry waiting for the guy who was folding his shorts, the guy who was changing his tire, and then I need to beat the guy uphill who introduced himself as an amazing climber.

Sixteen miles into the ride, the two guys we waited for turned back.  Too hot.

Eight miles later we got to Nissley Vineyards--the turnaround point.  There was some water.  I got half a bottle.  Our leader--Mr. Climber--said we were going to Elizabethtown.  OK.  I can ride six miles on spit.

Except he made a wrong turn.  I followed and suddenly we were headed for Mount Joy.  Two of us had no water.

I rode to a Turkey Hill store.  Got hydrated.  Then we rode back on my route--not the route suggested by Mr. Climber.

I told Bruce that the Army really enhances my already strong tendency to be a Judgmental Bastard.  That got me through a 55 mile ride on a 95-degree day at a respectable speed, but it is not a good way to live.

Hopefully I can chill out before I have to go back to the Army again.

AT Day 22, the Last Day, Barracks Cleaning, Final Paperwork

This morning I woke up for the final time in Barracks 4-84, my home for most of the last three weeks.  I took the bunk in the northwest corner of the barracks, so there is just a wall on one side of my bunk and the affable mechanic Angel Matias on the other side.  I woke at 0600 this morning.  Most of this week I have been sleeping in until a late and luxuriant 0630, but this morning I wanted to be sure to get all my stuff out of the barracks before the cleaning party began.

Matias is always the last one up in the morning.  He also goes to bed later than I do--and I usually go to bed around midnight.  So at 0600 Matias was in his sleeping bag sound asleep.  I was dressed, shaved and carrying my bedding out the door before Matias got out of bed, but he was ready at 0715 when we went to breakfast.

They cleared out all the remaining food for breakfast this morning--eggs, English muffins, sausage gravy, bacon, fruit, and cereal.

At 0815 we were back at the barracks and cleaning.  Four soldiers mopped and swept the main room, I took two enlisted men with me to clean the latrine.  I brought toilet cleaner from home so we would be able to leave the very clean looking blue water in the bowl--making it evident we really cleaned the latrine.  The other two soldiers cleaned the sinks and the showers.  I cleaned the toilets.  A third group walked around the building picking up trash--Police Call in Army language.

We waited an hour for the inspector then found out the barracks floor had to be waxed.  We waxed the floor and sent most of the group to the armory in case they were any final details to tie up.  With the barracks inspected, two of us went to the armory for additional paperwork and everyone else left.  I have other meetings because my duties are evolving faster than bacteria with a new food supply.

But I will be home for dinner tonight!!!

AT Day 21, First Fueling Experience

Since August of 2007 when I came back in the Army, I have been in Echo Company of 2-104th Aviation.  Echo has all the fuelers, but in almost five years,today was the first time I fueled an aircraft myself.  It was "Cold" fuel: that is when the helicopters engines are shut down.  The other option is hot fuel--the NASCAR pit stop style of fueling where the aircraft is fueled while the blades are turning.  As soon as fueling is completed, the aircraft takes off.  

Here is a photo of two Chinooks getting hot fuel at Schuykill County Airport

And a short video of a Blackhawk being fueled

AT Day 16, Low Crawl, High Crawl, Make Your Own Mud

Today we went through the fire and maneuver course.  Here is the 17 soldiers I train with before we started crawling.

We first learned how to search a car, how to handle a prisoner and how to run a check point.  When we went through the fire and maneuver course the ground was dry dust, but it was afternoon and 90 degrees.  By the time I had low crawled (flat on the ground, face in the dirt) and high crawled (head up) through the dust, most of us had mud on the front of our shirts.  The sweat soaked through our shirts and made mud.

Days like this clearly show me the difference between being in shape and being a 20 year old.  I can run, ride and do the PT test exercises very well because that's what I practice.  Fire and maneuver and crawling through the dirt uses different muscles and a lot of sprinting.  I was really breathing hard at different points in the exercise.  I could tell I would be sore the next day.  The 20 year olds, even those in not-so-good shape recover a lot better.

The Barber on Third Deployment

Sgt Shawn Adams, 34, an aircraft refueler from Connecticut is in PA to train for his third deployment with 104th Aviation.  Adams has 16 years in the Army, enlisting right out of high school in 1996.  He served three years on active duty in the field artillery then came home to CT and joined the 104th Aviation.

Before he joined the Army, he learned to cut hair.  "I've been cutting hair all my life," he said.  "I never went to school.  I learned on my own and worked in a lot of barber shops."

Adams was the unofficial barber of G Company, 104th Aviation when they deployed to Kandahar Air Base in Afghanistan in 2003.  "We set up a tent in the hangar that was the barber shop.  Word got around and I was cutting hair for people all over the base."

In Iraq in 2009 Adams and many other refuelers worked on Forward Operating Bases across the country.  During the deployment Adams was assigned to fueling operations at Camp Garry Owen, Balad Air Base, Camp Normandy, Riflestock and Tallil Air Base.


At every base he cut hair.  He has a portable haircutting kit.  Tonight he set up in the latrine in our barracks.  Adams is married and has a 5-year-old son.

Sgt. Shawn Adams with a happy customer.

Photos! Coming soon

I have many photos from the previous two weeks of training and hope to have more from training during the upcoming week. Rather and add the photos to previous posts, I will upload photos and mark them to refer back to the training they were from.

Hope to get the photos on line soon.

AT Day 11, Death by PowerPoint, Army Style

Today we had a morning session of chemical warfare training and an afternoon of PowerPoint slides. In the morning we began with PowerPoint but also had a lot of hands-on training. We completely disassembled and cleaned our Protective masks then put on our chemical protective suits. Wearing these suits makes everyone hope we never get attacked with chemical weapons.

After an MRE lunch we had four hours of Army PowerPoint presentations. If you think PowerPoints are boring in civilian life, here is how Army PowerPoints go. One of the presentations was 86 slides on Field Sanitation. The presenter introduces the topic. He puts up the first slide and has a soldier read it. The slides are all text, usually two or three paragraphs. After the soldier reads, hesitating over the many multi-syllable Latin-derived words--like sanitation--the instructor makes a few comments then he has the next soldier read the next slide. This continues until we have read all 86 slides.

You might wonder how anyone could stay awake during a series of several of these presentations. The big motivation is that if you are caught sleeping, you might have to do the class again. I got up and walked around several times.

One of the presentations was about the importance of hydration in the desert. 78 slides. Wow!