Politics and Freedom in "Fury"

This morning I was reading Hannah Arendt's "The Promise of Politics" on freedom and leadership.  Politics, Arendt says, should bring freedom into the world.  She wrote this shortly after World War 2.  In a big way, the movie "Fury" could be seen as a movie about men who gave up their freedom to set others free.

But reading Arendt, I thought about one of the early scenes when the column of tanks passes hundreds of German refugees.  Among this group of pathetic people carrying their meager belongs on the muddy road is a woman wearing her wedding dress.  Her head is oddly tipped.  The dress is dragging in the mud.

In any coffee shop, locker room, or restaurant, we hear people saying "Politics doesn't matter--they are all the same."  Or "I don't care about politics."

In America we have the freedom to say those things, because in America we have the Rule of Law and who is in charge does not matter in the same way as in a real dictatorship.  The scene with the refugees portrayed real roads full of German refugees at the end of World War 2.

Those men and women stumbling through the mud, hoping to get food, hoping to stay alive another day, dragging what few belongings they still had would never say politics doesn't matter.  Just 12 years before, many of those refugees voted for Hitler the only time he actually stood for election.  Because of that vote, American tanks were driving down the muddy road to kill more Germans in their country.  And the men in those tanks were making jokes about how many chocolate bars or cigarettes they would need to have sex with any of the women on that road.

We can say politics doesn't matter.  In Sudan, in Egypt, in Palestine, in Iran, North Korea, and Congo, no sane person says politics doesn't matter.


Other posts on Fury:

Fourth time watching Fury

Review

Faith in Fury

Memories

Seeing "Fury" for the Fourth Time

Last night I saw the move Fury for the fourth time.  I was in NYC and saw it with Jim Dao, who covered the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan for the New York Times.

Seeing it the fourth time, I was just as impressed with the crew and how accurate every tank scene was--until the final battle scene when everything went all John Wayne.  I did not leave the theater in the same emotional haze that enveloped me as I walked form the theater the first time.  That night I walked out of the theater ready to re-enlist for six years--if I could serve in tanks.

My favorite scene remains the four American Sherman tanks battling the single German Tiger tank until just the heroes' tank remained.  I loved watching the gunnery procedure in fine detail.  Four times watching Bible shoot, Coon-ass load, Gordo drive and Wardaddy lead the crew just made the whole scene look better.

Of course, by the fourth time, I realized my view of the action is very different from someone who has never sent rounds downrange from inside a tank turret.  Like a helicopter pilot in a simulator, I can feel and smell things that non-pilots completely miss.

I may see the movie again in a theater before it goes to video.  I am sure I will own the video when it is available.

If you haven't seen it yet, enjoy!!!!
Other posts on Fury:

Fourth time watching Fury

Review

Faith in Fury

Memories

"Fury" Brings Back Memories of Tank Gunnery and Life in a Turret.

On Monday night my son Nigel and three men from Church went to see "Fury" with me.  I re-read books I love and will watch movies and TV shows I like a second, third, or more times.  Re-reading and re-watching takes away the delight of surprise that only the first time can offer, but removing surprise lets the best moments sink in more deeply.

In 1976 I spent more time inside my tank "Bad Bitch" than at any other time in my Army career.  That year our brigade was training to go to Germany for three years as Brigade '76--4,000 combat soldiers with an alert area in Fulda, West Germany:  the place where everyone thought the ground war with the Soviet Army in Europe would start.  Tom Clancy wrote his best novel about that war:  "Red Storm Rising."

In the Spring of 1976, the 54 tanks of 1st Battalion, 70th Armor, spent three weeks in the Colorado desert for annual gunnery training.  For three months before that I read the 700-page maintenance and operation manual for the M60A1 Patton tank I commanded from cover to cover.  I came to the Army from the Air Force and was determined to be as good as the Army at tank gunnery.

For three months before gunnery, my crew was the last to go home at night, and sometimes was in on weekends when everyone else was off so we could drill on every aspect of tank gunnery.  Some afternoons we drove to the top of a hill near the motor pool and tracked cars on Interstate 25.  Moving targets are difficult with a tank cannon.  We drilled on tracking targets for hours.

One of the things "Fury" gets so right is how different the members of a crew can be and how well they can work together confined in a turret despite all those differences.  My gunner was Specialist Morris.  His nickname was "Merc."  Because Mercury Morris was a start running back of the 70s.  I was a starched, creased ambitious young sergeant.  Merc was a very good gunner, but a wrinkled, complaining soldier who was at his best after smoking dope.  Outside the tank we would not spend two minutes together.  Inside Merc and I became a team that could hit targets, even if we could never hit it off.

We had an amazing loader in Eugene "Geno" Pierce.  Geno was big, strong and quick.  He could flip and armor-piercing round into the breach one-handed in two seconds and have the second round in the chamber while the first one was still rattling to the bottom of the turret after the first shot.  Our driver, Rich Burhans, was a lanky, laid-back Minnesotan.  He was perfect as a driver.  He could wait calmly during long delays and then driver the 54-ton tank smoothly down the firing lanes.

On the final day of tank gunnery when we were next up to fire on the moving range, Merc walked off into the woods to "have a smoke."  He came back calm and happy.  We were ready to fire.  Would three months of practice really pay off on the ten-minute "Final Exam" for tankers?

Next post.

Other posts on Fury:

Fourth time watching Fury

Review

Faith in Fury

Memories

Review of "Fury"

Last night I went to see the movie "Fury" at the 945pm showing.  That meant movie did not start until 1006pm and was not over until after midnight.

At more than 20,000 days my life is much too long to say for sure this is the best movie I have ever seen, but it is the best movie I can remember ever seeing.  I walked out of the movie slowly after watching the credits.

I never stay for the credits.

But the credits of Fury show actual footage from World War 2 I remember from documentaries.

The story begins in the flaming, smoking wreckage of a tank battle with a lone German on a horse riding into the scene.  The somber calm is broken when Brad Pitt jumps from his tank and kills the German with a knife.  Pitt and his crew are the only survivors of the battle.  They get the disabled tank running and return to the war.

From this scene onward, the movie gets perfectly right the claustrophobic, noisy dangerous world inside a tank.  Even without a war, every tank turret is divided in half by a main gun.  When the main gun is fired, the gun recoils almost to the back of the turret.  Hands, legs, gear, bodies or anything else behind the main gun gets crushed.  This movie gets that danger right.  The crew calls the metal enclosure home, but home is a place that can turn into a fuel and ammo fueled inferno.

In the middle of the movie, four American Sherman tanks are attacked by one German Tiger tank.  The American tanks are outgunned by the more heavily armored German tank and three of the four Sherman tanks are smoking wrecks by the time the brief, violent battle ends.  The way the fight went brought back my best memories of tank gunnery and how well a crew that agrees on little or nothing outside the tank can mesh to put fire on targets.

Like "Saving Private Ryan" the premise of the last scene is ridiculous.  But unlike Ryan, which had me laughing and calling "bullshit" I stayed with the movie because even if the scene was unbelievable tactically, as bad as the worst John Wayne movie, the final scene made clear how attached crews can become to their tank and to each other.

The battle between the Tiger and the Shermans is worth the price of admission by itself.  Brad Pitt's character drew me in past every filter I have for war movies.

I am going to see Fury again in the theater.  Maybe twice.

Other posts on Fury:

Fourth time watching Fury

Review

Faith in Fury

Memories

What's Next Neil??

"What's next Neil?" My riding buddy Chris Peris asked me that question yesterday.  I have been hearing it a lot since the Ironman.  I did not answer quickly because we were riding fast and my jaw hurt from getting the first stage of a root canal yesterday morning.

I could give several answers to the question:

• Since I am out of the Army next spring, I can actually race again without Army training eating up all the weekends at the peak of the race season in May and June.
• Jim Dao and Ethan Demme both want to do Half Ironman events next year.  I could be interested in that.
• Next month is the 28-mile March for the Fallen--in uniform with a 35-pound Rucksack.

But here's the definite answer:

• Shoulder surgery, probably in January 2015.
• Dental implant next month.
• Tomorrow I will find out if I am getting a root canal or another dental implant.
• Three crowns.

All of the above are things I put off because I did not want to interrupt Ironman training.

So the answer to "What's next Neil?" is getting various parts of my body repaired from Ironman training, previous crashes and the wear and tear of living more than 23,000 days.

Another dimension of "What's next?" is what I am doing now that I work two days a week and go to Philadelphia just once a week.  Ten years ago when I worked as a consultant, I took a course at F&M College each semester:  French, five courses in Ancient Greek, two each in Organic Chemistry and Physics.  

This semester I signed up for Russian 101. Hearing that I did this, one of my running buddies (who is multi-lingual) said, "Language is not like the Ironman.  There is always more to learn.  There is no finish line."   

Tough Mudder vs. Ironman, Part 3

Tough Mudder vs. Ironman, Part 2

Tough Mudder vs. Ironman is Here

Second Tough Mudder Report

First Tough Mudder Finish

First Tough Mudder Photos

First Tough Mudder Entry

Ironman Plans

Ironman Training

Ironman Bucket List

Ironman Idea

Ironman Danger

Ironman Friendship

Beginning a Friendship at the End of the Ironman Triathlon

My story of finishing the Ironman Triathlon in Louisville, Kentucky, on Sunday, August 24, will begin with the end--or near the end.  At mile three of the marathon that ends every Ironman, I jogged past a guy who saw my tattoo and said, "I was in first armored."  So I slowed to a walk and started talking to Chief Warrant Officer 4 Mike Woodard, a Blackhawk helicopter pilot in the Kentucky Army Reserve.

Mike has done the Louisville Ironman for several years.  He was convinced we could run-walk to a finish just before midnight, so we started walking and running together--and stayed together until mile 19.  During the 16 miles we walked and ran together we got a lot of encouragement.  When people on the side of the road would say, "Looking good!" I would tell them that Mike and I were 115 years of good looking.  I yelled this to one group of women wearing matching t-shirts supporting another competitor at mile 5.  We passed by them on mile 9 and one of them said, "Here comes that 115 years of good looks."

We agreed that at 10:30 p.m. if we were not at mile 22, we would run till we made it or cracked.  At 10:30 we were at mile 19 and started running.  Mike took a break a mile later.  I kept running and finished six minutes before midnight.  Mike finished just before midnight.

Before the last mile I was thinking of waiting for Mike at the line, but the final effort to get to the line was so painful, I lost track of everything except getting back to my car.

That half-mile walk from the finish line to my car took more than 20 painful minutes.  When Annalisa and I got back to the hotel room, I told myself I should eat before going to bed.  I microwaved some leftover spaghetti.  I tried to eat it, but the effort of lifting my fork was too much.  I went to sleep.

It turns out Mike is a writer in addition to being a pilot and an Ironman.  Here is something he wrote about flying MEDEVAC in Afghanistan.  Mike also flew through the base where I was stationed in Iraq, although a few years before I was there.

The night before the Ironman, we went to dinner with Pam Bleuel, a friend from Iraq who lives in Kentucky.  My next trip to Kentucky, I will be visiting Pam and Mike.

Tough Mudder vs. Ironman, Part 3

Tough Mudder vs. Ironman, Part 2

Tough Mudder vs. Ironman is Here

Second Tough Mudder Report

First Tough Mudder Finish

First Tough Mudder Photos

First Tough Mudder Entry

Ironman Plans

Ironman Training

Ironman Bucket List

Ironman Idea

Ironman Danger

Tough Mudder vs. Ironman, Part 2

Both times I did the Tough Mudder, this was the obstacle that showed me Tough Mudder is a team sport.  At each event I ran as hard as I could toward this curved wall three times.  Twice I slid back down.  The third time I reached up.  Two strong men at the top of the wall dragged me over the top.  Strong guys hang out on the top of the wall and pull the rest of us up.  If Tough Mudder was a pure solo event, this obstacle would be a fail for me--unless I brought a ladder.  All through both Tough Mudders people were helping and encouraging me.  I helped them when I could.  If I ever do another, I will get together a group of three or more.  Tough Mudder is a dirt-covered party.

On the other hand, with 74 days left until the Kentucky Ironman, I am withdrawing more and more into the solo world of Ironman training.  This past Thursday I swam 3000 yards, rode 80 miles in rain and a headwind to Philadelphia then took the train home.  On Friday, I was going to ride with my friends, but then I took a train to Philadelphia and rode back to Lancaster, another 80 miles.  There was no rain, but the wind reversed and was stronger than the day before.

To be ready for the Ironman, I have all but stopped bicycle racing and mostly ride alone.  Even though my wife and I are training for the same event, we might as well be training for two different events.  She is much faster than I am in the water and is running about 100 miles a month.  I am not running now because of knee trouble and plan to cram the run training into the last five weeks.  We can't run together.

On the bike our training speeds and riding styles are so different we only occasionally ride together.  I plan on surviving the swim and run and making as much time as possible on the bike. My wife will crush the swim, post a good time on the run and survive the bike.  In the 17 hours of the event, we will be together when I pass her on the bike and when she passes me on the run.

The current issue of Christianity Today includes a feature article on a guy who did the Tough Mudder as part of self-administered therapy for a mid-life crisis (I would include the link but it is subscribers only).  The author was right to pick a Tough Mudder instead of an Ironman.  At the Tough Mudder, you suffer together and laugh about it.  The Ironman means more and more time alone until the event wrings everything out of each participant.  A very tough friend and I rode to and from the Tough Mudder together on single-speed bikes--35 miles total.  If you can run a half marathon and do 50 pushups you can finish a Tough Mudder.  The Ironman is the toughest thing I have ever done that I planned to do.  Recovering from a broken neck was tougher, but I did not plan that.


Tough Mudder vs. Ironman, Part 3

Tough Mudder vs. Ironman is Here

Second Tough Mudder Report

First Tough Mudder Finish

First Tough Mudder Photos

First Tough Mudder Entry

Ironman Plans

Ironman Training

Ironman Bucket List

Ironman Idea

Ironman Danger

Ironman Friendship

Army Morality

In other posts I have said how strange, sad, and funny by turns our "morality" lectures were, especially during training for deployment.

No one was ever talking about a real moral code of any recognizable religion. The Army is the government and since our government separates Church and State, it would be wrong to impose any single religious view on the Army. So the Army makes it up.

Like every bad youth organization, whether religious or secular, the Army tries to use the sins of the spirit to keep us from the sins of the flesh. It uses cold-blooded sins to keep us from warm-blooded sins. In case you have not reviewed the Seven Deadly Sins lately, they are (from least to worst):
Lust
Gluttony
Greed
Sloth
Anger
Envy
Pride

Some lists switch lust and gluttony as the least, but all ancient lists are clear that the disreputable sins are the least and the arrogant sins are the worst. Sloth sits in the middle because it can be both physical laziness and spiritual laziness. So the sins of the flesh: lust, gluttony, greed and laziness are different from despair (spiritual laziness), anger, envy, and pride.

The sins of the flesh are those committed by those pictured on the pages of People magazine--too much sex, food, and money. The sins of the spirit are those committed by the readers of People magazine: hating, envying, and finally looking down on those who are pictured in People magazine.

Anyway, the Army tells us not to drink, have sex, and take drugs. First we are threatened in various ways, but then the poor guy who is giving the lecture appeals to our self-respect and says we are (or should be) better people than that.

But the Army does it with a lighter touch than a bad youth leader. Because nearly all of our morality lectures ended with something like a plea not to get caught. If you have sex, drink or whatever don't get caught.

Any real morality comes from the inside and shows its results on the outside. The only thing the Army can do is impose moral standards from the outside and hope for some appearance of obedience.

This is very funny on the subject of pornography. The Army bans pornography and makes a big deal of telling us how we can get busted, fined, lose rank, go to jail, etc. for possessing porn, especially on deployment. But the lectures on not having sex often end by saying something like, "Keep your porn to yourself, don't get caught, and wait till you get home for the real thing. In the meantime give yourself a hand."

An Old Friend's View of an Old Soldier

On the way home from New York City Thursday night, I called Abel Lopez, one of my two best friends from when I was on active duty in the 1970s. If I haven't mentioned him before, Abel left active duty in 1978, a year before I did. He was the commander of the tank next to mine in Bravo Company 1-70th Armor in Wiesbaden. We talked a lot about faith and about life, the universe and everything when we served together and have kept the conversation up for past 32 years. 

Abel and I seldom see each other, but talk every month or two about our current views of the same things we talked about back in Germany. He went home to Chula Vista in San Diego County and became a Federal Fire Fighter. He recently retired from the fire department. I talked to Abel on the 100-mile drive from Trenton to Lancaster, from just over the Pennsylvania line to my driveway. If you think it is wrong to talk on a cell phone while driving you should stop reading now. 

Anyway, the first thing Abel asked when I got on the phone is what I think the summary of my year in Iraq is. "I don't know," I said. We talked for a long time. He, like my friend Meredith Gould, think I went a very long way to prove L. Frank Baum (Author of the Oz books) was right, "There's No Place Like Home." One of my goals in going to Iraq was to become less tied to the life of luxury I was leading. 

That didn't work. My previous posts on the things I have done, bought, etc. since my return to America make it pretty clear that self denial is not one of my strengths. Abel thought that if I write a book about this year, it ought to be for all the people he sees in California who get to be our age and think they can reinvent themselves. They need to figure out how to do the best they can with who they are. And given the considerable lengths I went to in finding out how much I liked my life, I could make fun of my self in a big way writing that book. It also fits with my sister's advice to write one of the currently popular "One Year" books. 

I do know now that joining the Army and serving in Iraq is a great way to clarify what you really want from life--at least it was for me. It also made very clear that goodness has so many forms that one life and one place can never support it all. It is yet another thing that draws me to life beyond this life. I love the beautiful, civilized, literate world I returned to. 

Today I went to the Evolution Table at F&M and enjoyed the conversation of 22 professors and local professionals about current developments in Life Science. Tuesday I return to work with co-workers who have an average of 2.2 college degrees. But I already miss the courage and laser focus I met every day among the men and women I served with in Iraq. I clicked my heels three times, I traveled a long way, but I can't figure out which end of the trip is Oz.

Screwtape Loves Creation Science

Screwtape: The Devil as a mid-level bureaucrat.

We are currently reading Screwtape in the CSL group here in Iraq. I wrote this a few days ago. It's how Screwtape would look at Creation Science. 

If you haven't read The Screwtape Letters, this won't make much sense--and if you had to choose, it would be better to read a the real Screwtape Letters than my imitation. 

My Dear Wormwood, 

Very true, I did tell you in my very first letter to keep your patient away from science, but I meant real science based on math in which theories are the best current description of observed reality. And the theories are not absolute: the latest discovery can make last year's greatest theory obsolete.

Of course you should let your patient immerse himself in Creation Science. That ridiculous pairing of words is one of the many recent triumphs of our Infernal Marketing Division. 

Real science is wretched for us. The Enemy has made the material universe so complex that the deeper the humans penetrate reality the more surprised they are at what they find. And He made it so vast that in time and space that no one can fully comprehend it. 

We know he did this for the sophomoric reason that he wants the human vermin to be free to choose to Love Him, or not. The universe is so complex from the micro scale to the galactic, that no amount of mere facts can convince anyone of the Enemy's existence. All this disgusting beauty is more of what He calls Love. 

Creation Science does away with all that. It says Einstein was wrong, Darwin was wrong, Mendel was wrong, Watson and Crick were wrong, and an Australian biology teacher who built a museum with saddles on dinosaurs is RIGHT! 

All the messy reality of life, the universe, and everything is tied up with a bow in Creation Science. All of modern science that does not conform to their particular literal view is wrong. Wormwood, it is wonderful. I could show you cages full of proud fools who watched a four-hour Deep Science video series and from that day were able to look down on the millions of people who have held science PhD degrees in the last hundred years. 

Pride, Wormwood. It is the best path to Our Father's House and who could be more sneeringly proud than a man who cannot solve the equation that describes a falling rock yet believes he knows physics at a deeper level than Einstein. If we spirits had lips I would kiss the man who dreamed this heresy up. 

Your Affectionate Uncle, Screwtape

A Report for the New York CS Lewis Society

The following is a report I just wrote for the New York CS Lewis Society. I have been a member since 1980 and, as far as I know, the only member in Iraq.


One of my big goals when I knew I was getting deployed to Iraq was to start a CS Lewis book group and, if possible a Dante group. We arrived here in early May 2009 after two weeks in Kuwait and two months at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. I thought about starting the groups right away, but I went on leave five weeks after I arrived, so the book groups started in late July. The CSL group, Beyond Narnia, met on Monday nights at 8pm. Our first book was The Weight of Glory. The Dead Poets Society started meeting on Tuesday nights at 8pm reading Inferno--it would be hard to find a more appropriate book. We read five cantos a week for six weeks. During each of those six weeks, the mid-day tempo topped 130 degrees.

The first night of the Beyond Narnia Group, I talked about CSL's life and works. Then we read "Why I am Not a Pacifist." I thought it would be good to start with an essay that describes CSL's clear-eyed view of pacifism and his service. On the following night, the Dante group had a long discussion of the Seven Deadly Sins and their order in Hell. From the first week the two groups had a surprising (to me) difference in
participation that has carried on right to the end (as I write there will be just two more weekly meetings before I go to Kuwait and back to America).

The Beyond Narnia Group was older, almost all officers, and was very steady in attendance except when on missions. The Dead Poets Society was almost all enlisted soldiers and airmen under 30. When I say old I mean 40s. At 56, I am beyond Methuselah in Army years. I was surprised because I had the idea that the Narnia movies (which I have not seen) would inspire someone to read more of Lewis. The Captains and Colonels in my group all had wanted to read CSL long before the movies ever came out and for one reason or another had not got around to it. After The
Weight of Glory we read The Four Loves and are finishing with The Screwtape Letters. Over time the group became more and more animated.

One of the Chaplains in the group disagreed with CSL on something every week, but was very happy to discuss more. The meetings were set for an hour, but The Four Loves discussions went almost two hours.

After Inferno, the Dead Poets Society voted to read Aeneid. We are now reading Purgatorio and should finish it by the time I leave Iraq. This group was very taken with Virgil and upset that Dante kept him in Hell, especially when they found out Cato was going to go to Heaven.

These groups allowed me to meet and talk with soldiers who really care about books and ideas and the Faith--at least in the case of the CSL group. The Dead Poets Society included non-believers. Despite everything and anything I had to do, I never missed these meetings. And I am sure I will miss them when I return to America where weekly
meetings to discuss books is simply impossible. But I am also very ready to go home.

What Does Socialism Look Like? It Looks Like Us.

When I listen to the TV or radio news commentary from back home I
hear political commentators accusing each other of Socialism. Many of
those commentators have no idea what Socialism really looks like.

But we do over here. It looks like us.

In a Socialist system, all the money is collective--there is one budget.
Just like us. There is an Army budget. If pay goes up, procurement
goes down. The opposite is also true. Reduction in Force (the Army's
version of layoffs) means more money for equipment.

Medical care is free, or the same price for all, but no one gets to
choose their doctor. Just like the Army.

In a Socialist system everyone gets the same pay if they have the same
rank, regardless of their productivity. Unions work this way. In the
Army an E4 with four years service who is a first-rate Blackhawk crew
chief, fit, and fully qualified makes exactly the same pay as an E4 with
four years service who is truck driver flunked the PT Test and still
can't fill out a maintenance inspection form.

In a really ideal Socialist society, no one owns private property. Your
housing depends on your rank. If you lose your rank you lose your
house. Since there are no privately owned vehicles, the only vehicles
are state-supplied and go with a position. So a unit commander gets an
SUV, a platoon sergeant takes the bus.

In a really radical Socialist system, everyone would dress alike and eat
together. If they had to carry weapons, they would only carry the
weapon designated for their job.

So here we are with assigned housing, assigned vehicles (or not), and
assigned weapons. We eat in the same three DFACs. We all dress alike,
both men and women. The commercials on our radio and TV do not sell
products, they attempt to modify our behavior for the betterment of the
state. We get the same pay for very unequal work. We all have the same
doctor.

In a radical socialist system we would not have freedom of worship as we
have here. In an interesting socialist aspect of life here, all
Churches use the same building. So the Catholics, Lutherans,
traditional and contemporary Protestant services, Gospel service, and
any other group that wants a worship service holds it in the same room.
This aspect of our socialist world emphasizes that all Christians really
worship the same Lord. I like that.

In America, in the active Army, even though we still dress alike at
work, we can wear our own choice of clothes after work. A Colonel can
choose to drive an 8-year-old Chevy and a Specialist with a
re-enlistment bonus can drive a new BMW M3 or a Suzuki GSXR. But not
here in Iraq.

We are defending freedom but for now, we are what Socialism looks like.

Evangelical Icon Fading

At Chapel today the Chaplain asked the audience "how many people know the name Joni Eareckson?" Three of us raised our hands. I suppose there were 80 or 90 soldiers and only three raised their hands. If you don't know the name here are the first two lines of her Wikipedia entry:

A diving accident in 1967 left Tada hospitalized and paralyzed (as a quadriplegic; unable to use her hands or legs.)[1] After two years of rehabilitation and in a wheelchair, Tada began working to help others in similar situations.
Tada wrote of her experiences in her international best-selling autobiography, Joni, which has been distributed in many languages, and which was made into a feature film of the same name.

when I became a believer in 1973, it seemed Joni was everywhere in Christian media and even secular media.

Two years ago, Joni returned to my life in a way. She and I had very similar injuries. She smashed the fifth vertebra in her neck, I smashed the seventh. In 1967 MEDEVAC was rare. More importantly, medical science was only beginning to bring the discovery of DNA into practical treatments. In 1967 Joni's first responders may not have put her on a backboard. She was not MEDEVACed from the scene. And her hospital did not have a neurosurgeon who just returned from Baghdad and was very skilled in replacing smashed vertebra with bones from cadavers. All of which I had.

Joni has touched millions of lives with her ministry as a paraplegic. I may have had a ministry as a paraplegic, but I consider it a very awesome blessing that I do not have her ministry.

The advances in medical science since Watson and Crick discovered the structure of DNA (They knew from Mendel and Darwin what they were looking for) are something I am VERY thankful for on this Thanksgiving Holiday Weekend. Younger Christians here often talk excitedly about how Christian rock stars cross over and get played on secular stations. The new icons of Evangelical Culture play metal and alternative and get picked up on secular stations. They make movies, or at least animated vegetables. More sadly, they put saddles on dinosaurs in an indoor theme park labeled a science museum.

It's strange to think of Joni as passing to the margins of Christian culture.

Life Here Seems to be on Hold, but Life Goes on Back Home

Last month the last of the six Gussman brothers died. My father, George, was the fourth of six sons born to two Jewish emigres from Odessa, Russia. My grandfather died in 1932 just over 20 years before I was born. I have very few memories of seeing my father's three older brothers: Abraham, Emmanuel and Ralph, but I occasionally saw the youngest of the six, my uncle Harold, and most often saw the fifth brother, Lewis. In our family, everyone referred to him as Uncle Louie. He was the most successful of the five brothers, following Grandpa into the produce business and building a highly regarded business of his own.
Louie always drove Cadillacs and often drove too fast. My father liked to tell the story of Louie being one of the first to get a new Cadillac after the auto plants started making cars again after World War 2. Louie wrecked the car not too long after. He wasn't badly injured, but no one seemed to car about him anyway. People at the scene and after said what a shame it was to wreck a new Cadillac.
Uncle Louie had one son, Bob, who I always thought of as an uncle rather than a cousin because he is about 15 years older than I am. I saw Bob more than any of my cousins. He had a very dry sense of humor, in contrast to the loud exclamations that characterized most of the people at Gussman gatherings. Bob, like his Dad, is still working long past the age others retire, and if he lives to 100 like his Dad, he will also probably work till he is 98.

The obituary below is from Produce News--a trade paper. It says a lot about Uncle Louie as a businessman and as a person that they would run his obituary.

Mutual Produce founder dies at 100
by Brian Gaylord

10/21/2009
BOSTON -- Lewis Gussman, founder of Mutual Produce Corp., here, died Sept. 30 at Newton-Wellesley Hospital in Newton, MA, following a brief illness. He was 100.

Mr. Gussman launched the wholesale company, formerly named Mutual Produce Inc., at the New England Produce Center in 1955. He sold the company in 2000 and continued to work for Mutual Produce Corp. until he was 98.

"He paid his bills on time, he ran a good business," Richard Travers Jr., co- owner of Mutual Produce Corp., said of Mr. Gussman. He added that some shippers have been doing business with Mutual Produce for 30 years.

Mr. Travers said that Mr. Gussman loved the produce business because "no two days are the same." He said that Mr. Gussman would "jump on the phone" to tell callers that he'd rubbed elbows with their grandparents.

Sadly for Mr. Gussman, he outlived his contemporaries in the produce industry. "He was the oldest guy around here for 15 years," Mr. Travers said. "He was an icon of the produce industry."

Mr. Travers recalled that Mr. Gussman "loved playing with fruit, creating displays that were outstanding."

Paul DiMare, president of Boston-based DiMare Inc., said that Mr. Gussman was a mentor of sorts to him. He described Mr. Gussman as "honorable" and "one of the best produce people."

"He was a double A house in [the] Blue Book," which meant that he paid his bills every week, Mr. DiMare said. "There aren't a whole lot of companies that do that."

Mr. DiMare said that "everybody respected [Mr. Gussman] in Boston" and that he had a "great list of top-notch shippers."

Mr. Gussman's five siblings -- all brothers -- also worked in fresh produce, though not at Mutual Produce. Mr. Gussman's father also worked in fresh produce.

Mr. Gussman is survived by a son, Bob Gussman, and his wife, Trudi, of Winchester, NH, and several grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Lewis Gussman was preceded in death by his wife, Ethel Rosenberg, in 2004.

Bob Gussman said that the family is considering holding a memorial gathering in the spring.

Ups and Downs

Last week I mentioned that I have been sending friend messages to my high school classmates on Facebook. After 38 years away from Stoneham, I am missing my childhood home in a way I never thought I would. I suppose getting homesick in Iraq is about as surprising as getting thirsty in a desert.
Today I got a brief message from one of my high school classmates thanking me for getting in touch and asking me to Google his son. His son was killed in action in Baghdad in 2006. I read the many messages from his friends and family on the memorial web site. Seems clear from the messages he was a good soldier and a good man also. He was 22.
Before I went through the pre-deployment processing and training for this trip, I made three visits to Brooke Army Medical Center, which everyone refers to as BAMC--pronounced BAM-See. BAMC is the treatment and rehabilitation center for those who lose limbs. I was in San Antonio for four days, had some free time and thought I ought to go and see what this war really costs.
I talked to parents at BAMC. But they are different than the parents of the dead. Even when their child is maimed, he or she is alive. The parents of the dead have only memories. I have other friends who have lost children. Two men in our unit lost children during this deployment. I went to one of the funerals when I was home on leave.
Part of what we are here for is to comfort each other when we face grief. On this day after Thanksgiving, I am very thankful for four healthy children. And I will put the grieving parents I know at the top of my prayer list.

Virgil in the Chow Hall

Today I ate lunch with one of the cooks who attends the "Dead Poets Society" meetings here on Tallil. We were talking about how things have changed for us--he is in the group going home before Christmas. He is sad about going home early as are almost everyone I know who is leaving. They all wanted to be here into the next tax year so they would earn more tax-free money and begin next year with combat pay. I, on the other hand, would leave tomorrow with no regret about my tax status.

This led us to the trials of faithful Aeneas as recorded in Virgil's epic. All of us wish we could identify with Aeneas, his troops, and even his enemies. They face danger with no regret. When they die they are brave to the final moment. We don't get a lot of chances to face real danger and we hope we will do it well. But the gods in the epic--we know them. The generals and political leaders above them are the gods in our story. They are powerful, able to move thousands of soldiers at their will, but like the Roman gods, they all have a specific territory they are in charge of. When they step outside that territory another god will fight them, or appeal to Jupiter to settle the dispute.

So a big group of us train together, arrive together, serve together, then at the stroke of a pen, most of the group goes home a month early--including the Christmas holidays--and the rest of us stay here as planned. It all makes sense to someone in Baghdad with a big map, but to us it all looks arbitrary and territorial, like the gods in Virgil's Aeneid.

Before some of the extreme beliefs of the 18th century became the mainstream of the late 20th and early 21st century, most well-educated people read "The Consolation of Philosophy" by Boethius. This book, written in the 6th century AD, may be the best ever written on how Destiny or Providence can guide an individual life in a world dominated by chaos. Our world is contingent, chaotic we live by faith daily even when we don't want to, and yet some people follow a destiny laid out by God.

The Greeks and Romans imagined the world as dominated by a chaos, with the gods making the chaos worse in many cases, yet the greatest men were guided by the fates--predestined to greatness. Boethius shows how this works in a Christian believer's life. The main difference is that only those of high birth and merit had a destiny in the Greco-Roman world. In the Christian world, it is quite the reverse. Those who most fully focus on doing the Lord's will, and usually being notable failures in this life, find God's will most fully. Mother Teresa's intent to love and serve lepers in Calcutta eventually led to fame for her, but she began as lowly as possible and was exalted for it. Reading Virgil and Boethius reminds me that a program with great ambition for control and power in this life, even with a designer Christian label, is aiming at the Roman heaven of senators and generals. The Christian Heaven of the Man of Sorrows is in another direction.

The Amish Have It Backwards

No, I don't mean the buggies. The Amish are reputed to avoid getting pictures taken of them because they fear losing their soul. I think they are talking about the wrong end of the camera. Thirty years ago in Germany, I got paid to take news photos for the Army just like now. I had a lot of success. One of my pictures landed on the cover of Stars and Stripes. Hundreds got published.

Then I quit taking pictures. In fact, I don't actually own a camera. I have a camera in my cell phone and that has been enough. Everyone around me seems to have cameras so I let them take pictures. Over the last week I started to remember one of the reasons why I stopped. The camera hurts the soul of the photographer. It doesn't steal your soul--that might be better. But the more pictures I take and the better they are, the more I am "the guy with the camera."

Now when people have events they want me to take the picture. And they want me to take the picture they way they want it--which means the picture is going to suck anyway. It will suck in my $3000 camera (Army Property) instead of sucking in their $100 camera.

Why will it suck. Because inevitably, they envision a photo beginning with the BACKGROUND. Their goal is a tourist photo which includes themselves and all of the Ziggurat of Ur, or a square mile of desert, or an entire Chinook Helicopter. Which means the people disappear. YUCK.

I take photos: eyes first, then face, then enough of the rest of the body to convey attitude. I want to see someone through their work.

So the real problem is that I am becoming more judgmental than I already am. Cameras are harsh. People who look good normally can look bad in pictures. They look worse in my kind of pictures because I get close. I start to look at people through the lens and know before the first shot they will look bad. I know most people around me are happy with the photos they take. I would not have cared before I was shooting pictures four days a week. Now I am looking at them like they drink $3 boxed wine.

So if I am not careful, it will be me who loses his soul, from the back side of the camera.

Flags at Half Staff

All the flags on Camp Adder are at half staff to honor the dead at Fort Hood. One of the national guard brigades where a friend of mine works flies the Texas State Flag next to Old Glory. Last night at dinner she was saying everyone in her shop mobilized out of Hood and went through the facility where the shooting occurred. 

Many of the national guard soldiers are full time and work at Hood. They know people, civilians and military, who work at that facility and were frantic for a while wondering of someone they knew was a victim. No one was. It seems the victims soldiers getting ready to deploy. How horrible for their families to lose their soldier before he or she even gets on the plane. 

Earlier this year when an American soldier was captured in Afghanistan, most soldiers turned and watched the news when there was something about that soldier, then turned back when that segment was over. It has been that way since the shooting. If there is a report from Hood, people watch, if not they turn back to their conversation. 

The darkest comments are of the WTF variety "What the F#$k were they thinking when this scum bag was admiring suicide bombers on blogs and trying to get out of deploying." I was talking to another friend before this tragedy about chance and Providence. CS Lewis, following Boethius (The Consolation of Philosophy), says we live in a created world in which chance and randomness rule the lives of every creature except those who are following God's will for their lives. 

This may seem like abstract theology, but at times like this and 9/11 and other tragedies, if you believe the created universe is determined down to the movement of particles, then an event like this can only be God's will. A field-grade officer murdering his fellow soldiers is not God's will. The Lord gave us free will and at times like this I wish it were otherwise. But we are free to love, or not. So right now to this random act of violence we are all free to do the Lord's work in caring for the victims and their families.

The Race is On!!!!! Task Force Diablo Biathlon on Thanksgiving Morning

It's Approved. It's on. We are ready to roll!!! The First EVER Task Force Diablo Biathlon begins at 0700 hours on Thursday, November 26. The Run/Bike event will begin with a 5k run followed by a 15k bike. We will have individual and team competition. We are hoping to have medals. We do have water bottles and a couple of helmets and several other prizes courtesy of Bike Line of Lancaster, Pa.

The course profile is the same as an ironing board--flat. I am hoping to have 100 teams or individuals. I am going to make the race flyer in the morning. Advertising should begin by Saturday. Three weeks today till the start.

When I went to the garrison sergeant major's office to get approval for the race, he said we first had to talk about a Veteran's Day ceremony on Wednesday the 11th. I am going to be the emcee. I contacted the guy who will (I hope) be the featured speaker--one of the chaplains who is a regular at the CS Lewis book group.

This Monday I am going to send the newsletter I do to everyone I sent it too a month ago. This seventh issue really is good. With the help of Sgt. Matt Jones at 28th Combat Aviation Brigade, the simple layout I use is starting to look better. And I got some really good shots that I am using full page so they would not look as dramatic on the blog.

Too many great things happened this week to even write them all down. One sad thing for me I realized this morning is the Charlie MEDEVAC Company is leaving. They have been the source of some of my best stories and are one of the best units it has ever been my pleasure to be associated with. They are going back to Alaska soon and another MEDEVAC will take their place. I re-wrote the Eight Minutes and Gone blog post from two months ago as a tribute/goodbye to them and re-cropped some pictures for the past page of the newsletter.

DUST!!!!! and Good Friends

My big idea about a 1,000-mile month might be dead already. We had a HUGE dust storm today. When I rode to the south side of the base in the morning the sky was clear and it looked really nice outside. Then at 10am the visibility went from miles to feet. I let the bike sit all day then rode back to the North side for the Aeneid book group. The whole four-mile trip the sand was hitting me like rain, I could hear it on my helmet and shoulders. It was accumulating in the creases I my uniform like some kind of foul snow.

Last night we discussed Eros in the CS Lewis book group. The discussion went on for all but two hours. So we were talking about Romantic love and going back to define friendship (philia) again to be sure the contrast is clear. In the course of discussing Eros, I became very aware that I was part of a group of friends. Steve, Abbie, Gene, Ian and Edgardo--the regular members--really do bring their own perspectives to the group and, as Lewis says, bring things out in the other friends that would never be as clear otherwise. Gene and Edgardo are both chaplains and both orthodox in their beliefs, but are very different politically. With Edgardo gone home on R&R leave the last week, we only have one chaplain and not the interplay between Edgardo and Gene. Abbie and Steve are both Air Force and both friends outside the group, but Abbie is intuitive and Steve is logical. They play off each other very well. Ian is younger than all the rest of us and, like Abbie, goes to both book groups. He is about 6'6" tall and quiet until a subject hits a chord in him, which Eros did. Ian could give us the single-guy perspective on Eros in new Millenium, showing CS Lewis needs some updating.

I said I would start to talk about what I would miss in Iraq. This group of friends is at the top of my list.