How I Would Have Died--If I Lived 100 Years Ago

Here's another of the posts from my day job on the How I Would Have Died theme:

In his Pulitzer-Prize-winning book Guns, Germs and Steel: The Fate of Human Societies, Jared Diamond says Native Americans were killed off in massive numbers—possibly 95% of their population—by smallpox and other germs brought by settlers who would soon begin attacking the Native Americans with weapons. They eventually armed themselves, but the history of North America would have been very different if they had also been vaccinated.

I was born in 1953. My sister was born in 1955. My mother was worried sick during both pregnancies. Polio was sweeping across America, claiming more victims every year from 1920 to 1957. In 1955 Jonas Salk began widespread testing of the first effective polio vaccine. By 1957, the upward trend in polio cases had reversed. By 1960, polio had all but disappeared. 

Vaccination is one of the real triumphs of modern medicine, all but eradicating deadly diseases. But a new and disturbing trend threatens to undo centuries of progress. An anti-vaccine movement has sprung up in America based on the belief that certain vaccinations cause autism. Parents keep their children from being vaccinated and hope enough other children will be vaccinated to keep their children from contracting deadly diseases. The movement has celebrity spokespersons like Jenny McCarthy, but no support from leading researchers in the medical community.

I have five children who get all the vaccinations their doctor prescribes and I am thankful they can get them. If they couldn't, their histories may ultimately prove very different today.

Almost on the Fat Boy Program

On Sunday I took  PT Test.  I was one point lower than last time.  I went over max on the situps (82, 64 is max) and the pushups (just barely) but was 28 seconds too slow on the run.  So my score was 296.  BUT, I almost flunked the AFPT before I ran.  At 8am we went in for height and weight.  My weight was 191, up from my usual 186 because I had not ridden the bike for almost a week and was eating a lot the night before the PT Test.

Since I am getting old, I am slowly shrinking.  The first time they measured me, the medic said I was 71 inches tall.  According to Army height-weight standards 186 pounds is the maximum weight for a man 71 inches tall.  The medic sergeant rechecked and said I was 72 inches tall.  Then the max weight is 197.  If I had not passed height and weight, I would have been a No Go on the overall fitness test even with a score of 296 out of 300.

Actually, if the measurement had gone the other way, the medics "tape" you, checking your waist and neck.  With my waist and neck measurements, I would be allowed up to 203 pounds.  So I am good.  For now.

But I have to make sure I am not a Fat Boy in the future!!!!!!

Riding in NYC Tomorrow--Bought a New Lock

Tomorrow I will be riding in NYC.  I will be taking my other Iraq bike, the GT Peace 9er with me.  To be sure that bike is not stolen, I bought the best Kryptonite Lock--the Forget About It New York model.  I keep the bike in my hotel room anyway, but if I would need a lock--this one is the best.  And at 8 pounds, it is just one pound lighter than an M16A4 rifle.  So even the weight will be like being back in Iraq.

Air Assault Training

On Saturday 2-104th Aviation trained 55th Brigade Combat Team.  We flew 70 feet over the tree tops up and down steep hillsides on the way to Medina Ridge where we put two rifle squads in position.

  

LOTS OF PICTURES

More than 1200 pictures of soldiers in my unit since we got back from Iraq are here.

If you are looking for photos of 2-104 Aviation photos, look no further.

How I Would Have Died--If I Lived 100 Years Ago

[The following post is on the blog Periodic Tabloid. I will be writing weekly about how I would have died if I lived 100 years ago.]

In honor of Veteran’s Day, which was yesterday, let me explain how I could have died at 9:30 a.m. on November 9, 1973 had it been 1873 instead:

I enlisted in the Air Force in January 1972. After eight months of school I was assigned to Hill Air Force Base in Utah. My job was live-fire testing of missiles. We were 8,000 miles from the war in Vietnam, but several days a week we bolted rockets into test -firing rigs and set them off.

Our job was officially aging and surveillance testing. We froze missiles, heated them, shook them in 750,000-watt machines, put them in altitude chambers and humidity chambers, then fired them.

Most of the missiles burned just as they are supposed to. Occasionally, the mistreatment we gave them caused the propellant to crack. The air gap could make the missile explode rather than burn. We hated that. When a missile blew up a test pad we would get behind schedule and be out on the range longer. Some actually worried about the concrete and steel raining on the bunker we waited in—mostly the older guys. The single airmen, most under the age of 20, only worried about their weekend plans.

On Friday, November 9, 1973, we were testing inter-stage detonators on a Minuteman 3-stage missile—the kind that carry several warheads across the poles to the other side of the world. Back then they were aimed at Russia and China.

In a multi-stage missile, detonator cord separates the stages. When the first stage burns out, the detonator cord burns through the skin allowing the spent stage to fall away before the next stage fires. I was connecting test wires to the detonators when I saw a blue-white flash and flew back against the wall of the test bay.

I stood up and saw my crew chief lying on the floor. I could see, but I could not blink and my vision was tinted red. A wire was sticking out of my right eye, holding it open. The first two fingers of my right hand were hanging at a strange angle. Bits of wire, screws, and aluminum from the test clamp peppered my body from my waist up.

After six eye operations and surgery to reattach my fingers, I recovered months later. If the same accident happened 100 years ago, infection would have left me blind, or dead. And without the high-tech eye surgeons who cleared their schedule to operate on me, I would have been blind just from the injuries.

Modern medicine depends on chemistry. Not just drug development, but the materials that make high-tech surgery possible and the instruments that make labs so accurate and efficient.

Iraq Bike Stolen on Veterans Day

Today I went to lunch with a friend in Center City Philadelphia.  I rode my bike to lunch.  Chained it to a u-shaped metal pipe for locking bikes and went to lunch.  When I came out from lunch the bike, my helmet and the lock were gone.

Which bike?  The one I bought for Iraq and rode for almost my whole tour--a red Trek T-1 single speed.  If you ride in Philly, bike theft is going to happen.  I'll miss that particular bike like an old friend because I rode it in Oklahoma for the train up and for almost the whole deployment--I broke the crank with a month to go on my tour, but Bike Line of Lancaster fixed it when I got back.

I don't suppose I'll ever see it again, and I do have other bikes.  But I really liked that bike and will always remember the looks I got from turret gunners in MRAPS and Humvees when the say me riding with my rifle on my back.

Homesick for the DFAC

Three times in the last two weeks I stopped for breakfast on the way to work in Philadelphia.  Usually I don’t eat breakfast.  I drink coffee at home.  I drink coffee when I get to Philadelphia and sometimes buy a loaf of bread from Fork (a local restaurant that bakes its own bread). 

Today, I stopped at the buffet in The Bourse in Philadelphia.  It’s just any buffet.  It is an American buffet run by an Chinese family.  They have creamed beef, fried potatoes, bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, bagels, toast and all the greasy starchy stuff anyone could want for breakfast on the hot line.  But they also have six or seven different kinds of just-cut fresh fruit:  watermelon, honeydew, mango, kiwi, pineapple slices, grapes and then everything mixed together in fruit salad.  Its all fresh and bright colored on an immaculate serving line.

I miss the cut-to-order fruit every morning at the DFAC.  I only eat a little of several things because it is expensive.  If I ate breakfast in Iraq DFAC quantities, it would cost $25.  But for $5 I can get enough to remind me of one of the really good things about Iraq.  The best thing here is when I walk outside there is no sand and no dust storm.

Maybe around the holidays if I am really hungry, I’ll eat like a soldier one morning.

Happy Veterans Day!

Late Update on Half Marathon

Reached my goal Saturday.  I finished in 1:58:18--under two hours.  To go any faster I will have to train specifically for the the run--intervals, hills, etc.  This one also made me wonder if I should go for a full marathon.  But again, lots of training.  At the end of the half marathons I can speed up.  My lungs feel great.  My legs don't.  I think a full marathon will likely end in injury.

But I might do another half if I can find one close by.

The best thing about this event was the water stations.  Every two miles or so, a dozen Amish kids were lined up handing water and Powerade to the runners.  This event could not be held anywhere but Lancaster PA.

"This Job is for Young Men"

As some of you know, way back in 2007 when I re-enlisted I thought I would join a WMD detection team as some kind of chemical weapons detection specialist.  It never worked out at the time, but when I got back from Iraq, I started getting weekly listings of full-time jobs available at Fort Indiantown Gap.  One of those jobs was the job I was looking for four years ago.

I looked at that job every week and thought 'Do I really want to be full time?'  It turns out that the team members have to be full time, which makes sense.  I called the office last week and talked to a senior officer in the unit.  He told me that the job involved a lot of travel, a lot of chemistry and was physically demanding.  He asked how old I am.  When I told him he said I could apply if I wanted to, but almost everyone else on the team was in their 20s.

I suppose I could apply anyway, but the unit gets to decide who they interview from the applicant pool.  And when I joined, I was thinking I could do this kind of thing part time.  Since that's not the case, I'll sty where I am.

Infection is Getting Better

At least that's what the doctor said tonight.  It is still more swollen than two days ago, but is less swollen than last night.  He took a culture so in a couple of days I should know what kind of bacteria were swelling my arm up.

They switched antibiotics and the second one seems to be working.  They gave me the first one because I had a MRSA infection in June.  But this one is likely to be a strep infection for which Clindamycin works better--which is what I have now.

For the last two months I have been writing the Friday post in the blog at the museum where I work.  Up to know the posts have mostly been about events.  They are a complete pain in the ass to write because our company uses a CMS system for posts.  They take 15 minutes to write and another hour to do all the crap necessary to enter the post into the system.

YUK!

But starting Friday, my posts will be under the new heading "How I Would Have Died if I Was Alive 100 Years Ago."  Breaking my neck, shrapnel in my eyes, seeing inside my knees after a motorcycle accident and all of the infections that go with my less-than-safe lifestyle mean I would have been dead at least a half dozen times if I did not have the good fortune to be alive today in America.  I send links.  My doctor thinks I am the perfect candidate to write these blog posts.

It may even make CMS easier to deal with.

The Model Scientist? | Books and Culture

I just had a review published in Books and Culture

The Model Scientist? | Books and Culture

Infection Gets Worse

I got a different antibiotic this morning, but now my arm is more swollen than ever.   The nurse on call at my family doctor said I should wait until tomorrow before going back to the doctor.  So I will wait till morning and see if the swelling goes down.  If not, I'll get an appointment and try to get this infection under control.

More tomorrow. . .

Back to the Emergency Room Again

Yesterday, the MRSA infection seemed like it was going away.  This morning I woke up with my arm swollen so much I had no wrinkles--not easy at 57 years old.  The cut they made Thursday night to drain the would had opened and blood and pus were coming out.  The MRSA is back.  I called my doctor and they said to go back to the emergency room.  I got a different antibiotic which is already giving me a weird taste in my mouth.  They said to soak my arm in hot water.

At the hospital Jacari was hoping they would do something he could watch, like cutting and squeezing pus out of my arm.  Nigel was happy when they did not do anything visual.

Looks like I am going to be a lab rat for infectious bacteria.  

My First Blister!!!!

Today I got a half-dollar-sized blister on my right heel.  I ran three miles in combat boots--clearly not a good plan.  But when I took off my boot I realized it was the first foot blister I have had since rejoining the Army.

I felt the blister coming on at the end of the first mile, but my son Jacari was running with me and this would be the first time he ran more than a mile without stopping.  He usually sprints, stops and sprints again.  He's a boy.

So we ran up a hill at the beginning of the second mile and my foot felt a little better, but down the other side it was worse.  But Jacari was still running and I did not want to be the reason he stopped.  So I kept on running.  Jacari made the whole three miles.  So it was worth a blister.

It shouldn't be too bad since it is on the back of my heel, not the bottom.  I rode the bike thirteen miles after I got the blister and that's no problem at all.  Nigel rode with us.  He was encouraging us and not at all interested in a three-mile run.

Nigel and Jacari

Back to the Emergency Room for an Infection

Yesterday a bug bie on my arm swelled from an inch to four inches long in one day.  I made a doctor's appointment for Saturday, but the last time I waited with a fast-swelling infection, I had to get about a square-inch of skin cut out.  So at 11pm I went to the emergency room.

When I got there, one of the nurses walked up and asked me how I was doing.  She had taken care of me in May of 2007, the last time I was in the ER at Lancaster General Hospital.  I broke ten bones and spent 9 days in LGH on that visit.  This visit was over and I was on the way to the pharmacy by 1:15 am.  They did cut the skin and drain some of the swelling, but nothing like last time.  I'm glad I went early.  The MRSA bacteria work fast.

Now I am climbing onto my soap box.  I joined the Air Force in 1972 when I was 18.  After eight months of training I went to my first permanent base, Hill AF Base in Ogden, Utah.  At hill as an airman I got a two-man room.  Our chow hall served five meals a day.  The food was great.  We had almost every weekend off, extra duty maybe once a quarter.  And everybody bitched.

Four years later I was in the Army.  The food was bad and there was not that much when we were out in the field.  We trained on weekends.  We slept on the ground.  The soldiers I served with bitched much less than the Air Force guys.

I learned then one of the weird rules of human life:  the better a person has it, the more that person will bitch.  Who is most like to sue their doctor--the higher the family income, the more likely they are to sue.  Who sends their food back at restaurants, bitches about coffee temperature at Starbucks, people who have a great life.

So now I come home to people bitching about the government, the economy, health care, Hollywood, TV, and who knows what else.  People in America bitch about everything and live better than kings did two hundred years ago.  Clean water from the tap, medicines that really cure disease, safe food, surgery with anesthesia (versus none), vaccines against disease, effective dental care, antibiotics, and lifesaving surgery of many kinds--I have had several myself.

We have all this and an epidemic of bitching.  And those who cannot bitch enough themselves listen to professional whiners bitch for three hours at a time on the radio.

I am so thankful to be alive at time when I can break my neck and nine other bones and join the Army three months later.  A decade early I would have spent a year in a halo cast.  A few decades ago I may have been paraplegic.  I ate better in Iraq than 90% of the people in the world.  I flushed better water than a third of the world drinks.

This really is a great country.  I wish the whiners could see it.

Lauren's Last Regular Season Game

Championships start next Wednesday.  Lauren's finger is healed up.  She played the full game plus two OT periods.

 

October Drill M240B Range Photos--Chinook Door Gun

Safety Check

Long Shot to small targets

10-round bursts

Beautiful weapon

Changing firing mechanism

Switching to prone firing position

Article in USO magazine "On Patrol"

The following article was published this spring in "On Patrol" the USO magazine.  I never saw it and the link is broken on the web site.  There is a pdf copy on line, but it is not easy to get to.  I also posted on a soldier stories Army web site.

------

On a cold, wet morning in early May of 2008, I climbed into the back of a canvas-covered 2 ½ ton M35A2 “Deuce and a Half” truck for the bumpy ten-mile ride to Urban Combat training.  I was carrying an M16 rifle.  We were beginning combat training to get ready for deployment to Iraq in January of 2009.  I re-enlisted in 2007 after leaving the Army in 1984.  I had been a civilian for 23 years and now I was back.  Up to this point my service had been one weekend a month.  But climbing into that out-moded truck that would soon be retired even from National Guard use, I had a moment of doubt whether I really belonged with these guys less than half my age and a moment of déjà vu.

Thirty-six years ago, in February of 1972, I was 18 years old in basic training.  I climbed into the back of a Deuce and a Half truck.  They big three-axle trucks were new to the military then, as was the M16 rifle I carried at the time.  We all knew we could end up in Viet Nam, although the war was ending.  Riding out to the range made the war more real. 

And 36 years later, bouncing and lurching on rutted roads toward the range I wondered if I was really ready for deployment to Iraq.  I never left the United States during the Viet Nam War, but in one of those ironies that make the best war stories so good, I was the only one of the five guys I enlisted with to come home in bandages.  They served in Viet Nam and came home just fine.  I was on a live-fire missile test crew in the desert in Utah.  On November 9, 1973, some detonators went off and I was blinded in the explosion.  I had my sight back in a month after six operations to remove wire and small fragments from my eyes.  I retained as a tank crewman after that and served another nine years, mostly as a tank commander on active duty and in the reserves.

In 1984 I left the Army because I wanted to work as a writer and, although the reserves is billed as one weekend a month and two weeks in the summer, the leaders spend a lot more time than that.  So I left the Army.

When America was attacked in 2001, I thought about re-enlisting, but I was too old.  At that time the maximum enlistment age was thirty-five.  Eleven years prior service meant I could enlist until age 46, but I was 48 when the terrorists attacked.  In addition, the baby we adopted the year before was not quite two years old. 

Five years later, in 2006, congress raised the maximum enlistment age to 42 for the Army.  It took a few months for me to find a recruiter willing to go through the waivers and hassles necessary to get a guy my age back in the Army, but Sergeant 1^st Class Kevin Askew was sure he could get me back in. 

The déjà vu comes and goes.  In a very digital world, the Army still runs on dog-eared file folders of papers and uses more clerks to shuffle paper in a 2000-soldier brigade than a civilian company with ten times that many employees.  Most of the men I served with in the 70s (there were no women in combat units back then) were from inner city or rural backgrounds.  Most of the men and women who enlist now are the same.  They want a job, they want the benefits for their young families, they do not have the money for higher education and want to go to college or technical school.

Inside the fences that surround most bases, the Army is very much the same as the 1970s.  But the first time stopped on the way home from a weekend drill to get coffee at Starbucks, I knew perception of the Army had changed completely.  In the 70s we did not wear uniforms off base if we could avoid it.  Now people thank me for my service almost anyplace I go.  I came home from Iraq through Fort Dix, New Jersey.  I took an Amtrak train home to Lancaster.  Several people I never met thanked me for my service between Trenton, New Jersey, and home in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.  A few of the guys I served with in Iraq had enlisted back in the 1970s.  They remembered very well what it was like to be a soldier back then.  Sometimes when a stranger thanks me for my service, I wish some of the men I served with in the 1970s could spend a day in the uniform now and get some of the gratitude that they missed back then.

Death and Motivation

In an odd coincidence, I watched episode 2 of "Band of Brothers" the HBO series with my two sons and talked with my daughter about her recent visit to a charter school in Harlem.  My boys are (almost) 11 and (just) 12.  Even though they don't have video games in our house, they play them with their friends.  In video games you die regularly and come back to life.  In the "Band of Brothers" they make painfully clear death has no re-dos.

The boys really like the series.  We will watch the whole thing together over the next two weeks.

On the same evening, I spoke to my daughter Lisa, a sophomore at the U. of Richmond about her Fall Break trip to NYC to see schools in Harlem.  One of these amazing schools she visited was located in the worst area of Harlem.  The school starts at 730 in the morning and goes to 430 in the afternoon, but the kids stay later if they need to finish their work.  They go six days per week, 11 months of the year.  More than 90% of the kids they graduate go to college.

The schedule is rigorous.  The work is hard.  So what is the biggest motivational problem for the school?

The student death toll.

Of the 1200 kids in that school, two to five die every month.  That's right, 2 to 5.  By the end of the year, that adds up to about 5% of the student body.

More than a million soldiers have served in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.  To date, about 6,000 soldiers have lost their lives in these wars or 0.6% of all soldiers.  If these wars had the same death rate as this relatively small school in Harlem, the death toll in these wars would already be worse than Viet Nam.

The unit I served with brought everyone home from Iraq--more than 2000 soldiers flying thousands of missions in helicopters.

Lisa said the teachers she met in these schools are amazing.  That is very easy to believe.  For all the problems with education, the best teachers really are miracle workers.