Medals Don't Always Match Effort

My oldest daughter Lauren just won the NCAA Championship Medal above.  She earned it as the playoff goalie for the Juniata College Women's Field Hockey Team.  Lauren never played field hockey as a sport until the end of the 2010 season when she was drafted by the team to be the goalie if their championship game came down to penalty shots.  Lauren is tall, quick and has been good against penalty kicks in soccer  during all the years she has played goalkeeper.  Lauren practiced with the field hockey team for three weeks before the playoffs, but never played in a game.  Juniata was eliminated from the playoffs in the first round and there were no penalty shots.  But Lauren was on the team and got an NCAA medal.

She played four years for the Juniata Women's Soccer Team, sharing the goal for three years with "KP."  During her three years Lauren had an open compound fracture of her right index finger--she gets the screws out in a few weeks--a couple of concussions, knee injuries and many minor injuries.  But she got the medal for field hockey.

During my first service in the Army, I was a tank commander with Bravo Company 1-70th Armor.  During my first three years with Bravo, I trained for months in the desert of southern Colorado, followed by months of winter training in Germany.  I shared all this misery with a hundred great guys, most of whom never got a medal.

The last year I was in Germany, I worked on the base newspaper.  I went to the field for days, not weeks.  I ate hot food.  I had a Jeep or a car.  I got my first Army Commendation Medal for getting 70th Armor and 4th Brigade int he newspaper.  

Life is like that.

REAL Army Weekend

No, I did not shoot guns or fly in a Blackhawk.  REAL Army is waiting for something that never happens.

On Saturday, I spent most of the day in the classroom phase of Combat Life Saver (CLS) training.  I arrived at 0945 and stayed until 230pm.  The class started at 9 and ended at 345.  I was there waiting for the deputy division commander to show up and check out the class.  He never showed.

But I did see him.  While we were on lunch break, I asked the new 28th Aviation Brigade NCO of the year and the battalion and brigade sergeant majors to meet me at 1pm so I could take their picture together.  I took one in the office then walked outside with them.  The general was just arriving.  He knew both of the CSMs.  They introduced Sgt. Matt Kauffman, the NCO of the year (from Echo Company).  Then I got a picture with the four of them.  The general gave Kauffman a division coin and I got a great picture fot he newsletter.

Then I went back to the classroom and waited another 90 minutes for the general to show up there.

It was not a total loss.  I did two very boring on-line courses while I sat in the back of the class and got a few good pictures of the hands-on part of the training.

The next day I waited part of the afternoon for the division commander to come to the CLS training and part of the morning for the battalion commander.  Neither showed up.   Too bad.  The Sunday training was very realistic.  I'll post those photos soon.

On TV in Philadelphia

Last Thursday I got up at 330am to be on local NBC TV.  Turned out well.

Sam Weaver the Parisian

For the week I was in Paris, I rented a Cannondale road bike from Sam Weaver of Rando Cycles (5 rue Fernand Foureau, near the Metro stop Porte de Vincennes at the eastern edge of Paris). The Rando Boutique, next door, tel. 01 40 01 03 08, has an excellent selection of saddle bags and German bicycle accessories. 


Sam is an affable Californian who married a lovely French biochemist.  They live just a mile south of Paris in the village of Malakoff.  When he told me about living in Paris I started wondering if my wife could teach math in Paris.  It would be a great place for Nigel and Jacari to live.  France doesn't have the horrible history of slavery and segregation that America does.  The right wing in Paris hates everybody fairly equally.  But my wife is fluent in Spanish, so it is more likely she could get a job in Spain.  


Because I had a decent road bike, it was the off season and the weather was cold--the high temp every day was either just above or just below freezing--I could ride with the peletons in Bois de Boulogne. Every day from 10am until dark, a two-mile road around a horsing racing track in the southwest corner of the city is closed to traffic and open to bicycles.  In the dozen times I have been to France, there is always somebody riding this road, rain or shine, heat or cold.  


I can't wait to go back!

And Another Frenchman Who Really Loves George Bush

In a post last week I wrote about Stefan who said he loved George Bush.  The next night, on Wednesday, I sat next to a Frenchman who genuinely liked George Bush.  I had dinner with the executives of the Maison de la Chime, a professional organization of chemists.  The man in question was in his mid-70s.  He had served five years in the French Army including fighting in Algeria in 1961. 

He is a French Conservative who believes in strong central government and strong national defense.  He said invading Afghanistan was definitely the right thing to do and was very proud that French soldiers served there.  He admitted the reason for invading Iraq was wrong—there were no WMDs and he believes the US knew it at the time—but he said the excuse led to the right action, which was to get rid of Saddam Hussein.  He admires George Bush for staying on course despite all criticism.  He was the only one at the table who admired the former president.

One of the best things about international travel is seeing the USA from a distance.  The US showed up in every newspaper.  Sarah Palin was on the cover of one.  But at this distance, commentators don’t exist.  Limbaugh, Beck, Savage and the other croaking toads that are so loud in America don’t exist here.  They do not lead.  They talk.  They never take responsibility.  Outside America, people analyze our actions, they don't listen to words on the radio.  

Empty Row To and From Paris

Sometimes life is so much better than you can hope for.  Most of the flights I have taken since coming back from Iraq are full and even beyond full—overbooked with gate agents offering a free flight to anyone who can wait another day to go home.

When I booked my flights to Paris and back, I followed my usual practice of getting an aisle seat as far back in the plane as I possibly can.  Both ways I was on a Delta/Air France flight.  They sold the ticket as Air France, but it was a Delta plane—a Boeing 757 that was built when the Beatles were still a group.  This long, narrow plane has 34 rows of  coach seating with three seats on either side of the center aisle and ten rows of first-class seating with two seats either side of the center—not quite 200 passengers if the plane is full.

On the way over we had just 57 passengers.  On the way back the gate agent said there were 70 empty seats.  From Row 37 back to Row 44, most of us had a row of seats to ourselves.  I have been eating and napping for the last four hours.  Travel to Europe does not get any better than this!

Touching Off an International Incident--in Brussels!

If the US goes to war with Iran over an incident in Brussels, Belgium, I just want to say in advance, "It was not my fault!"

On Sunday evening I flew to Paris for a conference.  Since air travel is SOOOOOO much nicer in uniform, and since I was actually on a drill weekend, I decided to wear my soldier suit for the trip over.

Now waiting in the security line at Philadelphia airport.  My oversize slightly overweight checked bag was not a problem.  (If you know there is a regulation against travel in uniform, just let me enjoy my ignorance.)  As I always do I booked an aisle seat as far back in the plane as I could.  As I got ready to board a very old extended range Boeing 757, the ground crew said there were only 50 passengers--I had three seats to myself.  A whole row---AAAHHHH!!!

But the plane was delayed for 45 minutes while they tried to fix a leak in the 40-year-old toilet.  We arrived late for Paris and I had to catch a train for Brussels that left 15 minutes after I got my bag.  I made the train, but was still in uniform.  No problem, I'll change in the bathroom.  I went into the bathroom when I got on the train.  The floor was sticky. I checked another car. Blue water on the floor.
When I got to Brussels, I met a colleague who was going with me for a site visit for an event in December.  She said we had to go right away, I did not have time to change.We got the facility, a beautiful meeting hall for 1200 people called The Square.  I took my camera (with a long lens) out of my pack and took pictures of the place we would set up a display.  Then the representative from The Square took us down to the actual meeting hall.  When we walked through the door to the lobby, there were a dozen dark-skinned men staring at me.  A couple of them were holding signage with Arabic symbols.  It turns out they were setting up for a meeting of the Iranian exile community in Europe the next day--in the main hall of The Square.

So I am standing in uniform with a camera in my hand looking at a bunch of Iranians getting ready for a party.

I decided I had seen enough of the meeting hall.  We went upstairs to talk about plans for December.