More Than the Sins of the Flesh

Two days ago our battalion commander spoke to several hundred of us on the parade field about what he expects for the training ahead and the deployment to follow. Since the deployment began and most recently last night, we have been getting official warnings about the sins of the flesh, but very little about the sins of the spirit.

If you need a brief refresher, the Seven Deadly Sins (from least to worst):
Lust
Gluttony
Anger (murder)
Sloth
Greed
Envy
Pride

The first three are the sins of the flesh. The last three are the sins of the spirit. Sloth can be either.

We get warned regularly about all the penalties of lust: No sex with other soldiers being the primary warning. We have also had many warnings about porn, but several thousand young men with DVD players and computers makes that warning hollow at best.

Gluttony gets two mentions: We cannot drink during training or on deployment, and those who do not meet weight standards don't get promoted, no matter how proficient they are as soldiers or technicians.

Anger gets covered in Rules of War briefings.

Sloth (meaning lack of motivation in a military context) is penalized in many ways, both official and social.

Of the sins of the spirit, greed gets mentioned mostly in the context of stealing, but is very little tolerated.




But when our commander spoke he brought up Envy. He said specifically that envy can destroy unit cohesion--which is the military way of saying it destroys community. He then said, "If someone else is getting something you are not getting, go find out how to get it. Don't sit back and complain." He's right, of course, envy does destroy community. It's just the first time I have ever heard it condemned in a military briefing.

I don't suppose I will ever hear Pride condemned in a military formation. It is hardly ever condemned in Church. But Envy is a big step forward. My friend Bruder Timotheus of the Franciscan Brotherhood in Darmstadt Germany was my roommate at Wiesbaden Air Base in 1978. He left the military to become a Franciscan and lived in Germany ever since. He has said more than once that his vow of poverty, chastity, and obedience lets him and the other brothers get on with the really difficult work of living in community for the rest of their lives. By pushing aside the sins of the flesh, they can begin the difficult work of spiritual warfare against Envy and Pride, the sins Dante put at the very bottom of Hell.

Training While We Wait

The best laid training plans get delayed and fall apart for a variety of reasons. So with 20 minutes between training sessions today, our platoon sergeant paired us off for 20 minutes of martial arts training. We learned two moves: how to parry a jab to the face and hit your opponent below the belt in one smooth move, and how to disable an attackers arm when he swings a fist at you. The second one is called a "destroy" move on the attackers arm.

Our platoon sergeant is a martial arts instructor, so he can fill in down time with martial arts instruction. Other sergeants fill in with different training.

More PT

This morning we got up at 0445 (WAY before sun up) for an hour of PT beginning at 0530. We stretched then did timed sets of pushups followed by sit up ladders and other exercises. We did the exercises in pairs so with the sit up ladders, I did 5, he did 5, then 10, then 15, then 20, then back down the ladder. It looks like PT at 0530 will be the rule until April. The only change will to an earlier time. Most everyone in our platoon managed to eat breakfast and change between 0630 when PT ended and 0800 formation. But in another platoon only half of the 40 soldiers ate. So if the other platoon does not eat, we get up earlier. We were almost all civilians until two weeks ago. I am sure that the prospect of getting up even earlier will get the soldiers who missed breakfast into the chow line--or at least saying they weren't hungry.

My New Wardrobe

We are still getting new equipment, medical exams, filling out forms and waiting for the rest of the unit to arrive before we start training. Yesterday we got our new body armor--the latest version with a quick-release system and an eight-layer cold weather suit. I am wearing the outer layer in the photo.

Good Time to Take Leave from my Day Job

I just got a note from one of my friends at my day job. The economic crisis just caught up with CHF and nine people were laid off or about 15% of the employees. A few weeks ago, I was joking with my boss about how much money she saved by not paying my salary and benefits for the next year or so. I hope having me on military leave allowed one more person to keep working.

Our New Love Life

This morning fifty of us were out in the cold and the dark waiting for a bus that, among other things was going to take us to get cold-weather clothing. While we shivered, the motor platoon leader (a first lieutenant in his mid-20s in charge of the motor platoon) came to the front of the formation to talk to us. He began by asking how many of us were married--about a third of us raised our hands.

Then he said, "How many of you are married to a soldier in this platoon. . .In this company. . .In this battalion? Good. No one. That means no one should be having a sexual relationship with anyone in this command."

He said this policy was one of the general orders of the Army. He then asked if anyone in the formation could explain the Army policy on this kind of relationship between soldiers. A voice from the back of the formation yelled, "DON'T F#CK YOUR BUDDY SIR."

After we stopped laughing the LT continued without missing a beat, mentioning the terrible penalties for getting caught.

Then we were dismissed because the bus was not going to arrive for another 20 minutes.

A Shot in the Arm, Actually Both

Today I got shots for smallpox, anthrax, hepatitis, and typhus--three in the left arm, smallpox in the right. They also took three tubes of blood for various reasons. They asked before the shots whether I was left or right handed. I said left and almost immediately I got the smallpox vaccine in the right arm. Since this one is the most painful, that would be a good idea normally, but the right shoulder is the one that got operated on. I suppose it will keep all the pain in one place. So far it doesn't hurt too much.

Tomorrow we get more equipment for Iraq. Because we are leaving about the time the chow hall opens for breakfast we will be eating SunMeadow Shelf Stable Meals. My squad will be eating meal M033:
Two (2) 7.5 oz. Can Spaghetti
One (1) 4.0 oz. Fruit Cup
One (1) 1.0 oz. Trail Mix
One (1) 1.0 oz. Wheat Crackers
One (1) 4.0 oz. Pudding
Two (2) Packets Hot Sauce
One (1) 11.5 oz. Drink
One (1) Wrapped Peppermint Candy
One (1) Cutlery Kit

Spaghetti for breakfast. Yummmm!

If you check out the SunMeadow Web site, you'll see their main business is assisted living and nursing homes. I am going to run back to the chow hall and get some fruit.

Good Food

At dinner last night, several of us were talking about how good the food is here--and it really is. Several different options, a good salad bar, good deserts. But talking about food always brings up the perfect meals that someone's mother, grandmother, wife, even a mother-in-law got a nod in this list of roast chicken, sweet potato pie, meat loaf chocolate cake, and other memorable foods.

I got the table laughing telling them that I loved military food from the first day. My Mom burnt nearly everything. In basic training when the other guys we moaning about the meat loaf I was saying, "You gonna eat that?" She did cook things I like, but I remember I got into the habit of drinking coffee only after I left home. My Mom had a plastic percolator.



She made a full pot of strong coffee in the morning then unplugged the coffeemaker when she left for work. She plugged it back in when she got home and drank the re-perked coffee in the evening. I grew up thinking that when you put milk in coffee, the resulting liquid was gray. I liked Army coffee. But when I went home on leave, I only drank coffee at Dunkin Donuts or diners. I let my Mom think I didn't drink coffee. She still had that percolator.

First Day on the Ground--Cattle Car Buses

Next time we ride in Fort Sill buses I will post a picture. The troop transports that took us to the base theater for the welcome briefing were not buses, they were tractor trailers with seats--cattle car bodies with multi-level seating borrowed from Boston T subways. They actually were comfortable, but they look so strange, a lot like cattle trucks. On the second ride we filled all 50 seats and had 20 standing. There were "moos" every time the truck turned a corner and the standing riders bumped into each other.

Among the welcome briefings was a captain who introduced us to his team and told us that they were the ULNO for our unit. He had a dozen PowerPoint slides and and never once spelled out what ULNO meant. I suppose many soldiers know that ULNO is Unit Liason Office, but I didn't. I asked the captain what ULNO meant after the briefing. He said Unit Liason Office, but didn't explain the "N." So I asked another member of his team during the break. The soldier I asked was a lieutenant who had been an enlisted man for many years before becoming an officer. He looked like a guy who take a joke so I said, "WTF ULNO." He smiled and said, "It should really be a small "n." (ULnO). I was using the first definition of WTF in Wikipedia.

Hollywood Again

The Lancaster Sunday News published another story about the old soldier going back once more. My kids told me that the print edition includes a photo of the whole family, but the online edition doesn't. Follow this link and you get the story, but only a photo of me. We all arrived safely this morning. Training starts tomorrow. Superbowl party tonight.

Goodbye at Physical Therapy

On Wednesday, Joe and Gretchen, my physical therapists, gave me final instructions for keeping my shoulder healthy. At Lancaster orthopedic Group they have a wall of shirts of athletes they have treated in one of the therapy rooms. Joe asked me for an Army t-shirt to hang on the wall. Joe is about my age and well remembers the John Wayne movie The Green Berets. In that awful film, a dying sergeant asks that if they are going to make a memorial to him, they name a latrine after him--that way all the men will see it. The sergeant got his wish. And Joe hung my t-shirt above the entrance to the men's bathroom.

Goodbye Ceremony

Tonight we had an official goodbye ceremony for our families courtesy of a group known as the Mechanicsburg Club. We got a catered dinner at the Farm Show. My family and I shared a table with another soldier from our unit and his parents. My youngest daughter Lisa, who is a vegetarian, sat next to the soldier. He got the beef. In fact his all time favorite restaurant is a Brazilian Churrscuria--the ones where more than a dozen kind of meat are served by waiters moving around the restaurant offering various cuts of mostly red meat. He and Lisa made a lot of jokes about what constituted a real meal. My wife said Lisa actually just wants to kill vegetables.

Even better, they had a Kids Food table, so my son (no vegetarian) could have hot dogs, pizza, chicken nuggets AND mac and cheese!!

My First Day & First Additional Duty

At 0730 we had our first formation of the deployment. During that formation we heard again what we had heard ever since we were told we are getting deployed: Accountability is the First Priority. Every leader has to know where his or her people are at all times. So we had a roll call. We traded cell phone numbers. We met the new guys. When I went to the gym at lunch time, I made sure my squad leader knew where I was and when I would be back.

And just before lunch (Chicken with Noodles MRE--I never opened it) my platoon leader let me now he would be in charge of Physical Training (PT) while we are at Fort Sill. I knew he would need a sergeant in charge so I volunteered immediately. I was wondering how I would find time to work out during our training phase. But by volunteering to be NCO in charge of PT, I could volunteer for the aerobic training which nobody ever wants. So the lieutenant gets to be in charge of the PT people actually like, and I get to run. Although it will be with up to 80 guys, some of whom do not share my enthusiasm.

I'm a GO

Just a few minutes ago, I got a call from my unit saying I am officially a "Go" for deployment and should report for duty tomorrow morning at 0730.

I have been sure I would get cleared for the big trip. And when I spoke to the administrative specialist on the phone I was making jokes. But when I got off the phone, I was both excited and felt like all the strength went out of my legs.

I am happy and having the biggest "Oh Shit" moment I have had since the pain killers wore off after my last surgery. After all this time and all that distracting paperwork, it's finally real. The one-year clock starts ticking tomorrow.

Communication Without Words--On the Phone

Today I called my No-Go Counselor again. As soon as she answered the phone I promised I would not ask her anything about my status, because, of course, she was not allowed to say anything. So I told her I did not want to bother that one sergeant's major (SGM) in the whole world whom I could ask about my status. Then she said that the SGM was a very busy guy processing many people for deployment. Since she told me yesterday that she would be lloking for a doctor to sign my form after I sent the additional info from the surgeon, I asked her if she was successful in her work yesterday. She said she was and then added there was no need to bother the SGM about my status and said I should ask the full-time guys in my unit to check the deployment roster tomorrow afternoon.

By telling me to have the full-time guys check the roster, she was saying (if I correctly heard the smile in her voice) that a doctor did sign my form and that by tomorrow I will be a Go.

If the governor of Illinois had the communications skills of my No Go counselor, he wouldn't be on his way to impeachment and prison.

The Mute Counselor

In December when I went through the second round of pre-deployment medical evaluations, I was officially a "No Go" because of the shoulder surgery on October 30. I was assigned a No-Go Counselor who said it was her job to "get me through the process of clearing the No Go and getting me ready for deployment." She sounded like a customer service rep.

And she was. Until last Tuesday. That was the day the surgeon who did my shoulder surgery examined me and said I was good to go. He then filled out an Army form saying I was ready to pushups, swimming, carry 48 pounds of gear, etc. At that point, my No-Go counselor became my No-Talk counselor. Once she confirmed she had the form from the surgeon, she said I could not ask about my Go, No-Go status.

What? It turns out Army regulations prevent them from discussing actual decisions on status. What else WOULD I want to talk about except my status with a No-Go counselor?

So this morning I put on one of my best suits and went to the Army Medical Records office at Fort Indiantown Gap. My youngest daughter went with me. It is her 18th birthday and she wanted to get a military ID card. She was also very well dressed. The sergeant at the service window took my information right away. He confused me with a Colonel Gussman. To be fair, he did continue to help me when he found out I was a sergeant, not a colonel.

He said they would call back today. And they did. It turns out the Army form I sent was not enough, they needed another piece of paper. By a very good coincidence, when my No-Go Counselor called, I was at my Physical Therapy appointment, in the same building as the surgeon's office. I went straight to the surgeon's office keeping the counselor on the phone. The surgeon's admin assistant was in and willing to get me the document I needed while the counselor was on the phone.

A half-hour later, I called the counselor back. She said she thinks she has the right piece of paper now and just needs to get a doctor to sign it off. She also apologized profusely, but Army regulations prevent her from discussing the status of my case. She did tell me there is one sergeant's major on the entire who is authorized to discuss my case. She gave me his name and suggested the full-time folks at my unit contact him.

So as of now I am still a No Go and waiting for a doctor's review.

Goodbye For Now at Church

This morning I spoke for a few minutes at both services. We are members of a Presbyterian Church, so this kind of testimony is written out. Here's what I said:

Good morning brothers and sisters. If all goes according to the plans the Army has for me as of now--and they could certainly change--the next time we will worship together at Wheatland will be in February of 2010. For those of you who don't know, I am going to Iraq in May after spending the next 2 1/2 months at Fort Sill in Oklahoma then a couple of weeks in Kuwait to acclimate to the rather warm weather in the Middle East.

So I wanted to say goodbye for now and to let you know I will be praying for you as you face the difficult months ahead.

I know, you thought you would be praying for me, and, of course, I welcome your prayers, but really, it is you who are facing the greater danger, while I will be experiencing many blessings that you folks can only wish for.

Because we all agree, or at least if we are members of Christ's Body we have affirmed many times, that the purpose of our lives is to Love God and enjoy Him forever. And we know from the life and words of Our Lord and the Apostles and the greatest saints that have followed in His footsteps, that the surest path to beatitude is through suffering--not to mention poverty, grief, and forsaking the blessings of this world.

Even in the current economic climate you will all still be spending money on things you need, choosing among competing brands and stores, faced with a dizzying array of choices. You have to decide where to eat, when to eat, what to eat. You can quit your job, choose your doctor, sleep in a room with fewer than 10 roommates, choose your wardrobe, make your own schedule, even have Budweiser and Twinkies for breakfast if you really want to.

In fact, a few of you may even be in doubt as to whether your work is valuable or you are doing the right thing with your life.

I, on the other hand, will not be spending time choosing my clothes, my meals, my forty or so roommates, meal times, or what I am eating. While I may have doubts about the wisdom of the US getting into the Iraq war, I have no doubt that someone needs to be there now and I no longer have any choice about being one of those someones. And I have the distinct comfort of having no choice, that I am obeying the Lord simply by following my orders and giving my will to the Army to which I have sworn allegiance.

Of course, I will need your prayers. I will be without my family and they will be without me. I will be lonely and having spent 55 years getting my own way, the months ahead will hurt as the Army crushes some of the rebellion in me which I have not submitted to Our Lord.

But I will pray for you. The most vibrant faith grows in suffering and persecution, and you are full citizens in the one of the most blessed corners of the richest nation in the history of the world. You, my brothers and sisters, have a real and difficult burden to bear. So I hope you will pray for my family and pray that I will accept the blessing that awaits me. And I will pray that your souls thrive amid the most pervasive temptation on this earth.

I Got to 21! (Not My Age)

At Physical Therapy on Friday, did four sets of pushups, 10, 10, 17 and then the magic number (for age group 52 to 56) 21 pushups. So if I need to do a PT test on the spot to convince the Army doctor I am ready to go, I can do that. I probably should not have worried about 21 pushups, but I feel a lot better now that I know I can.
On Monday I will be going to the Army medical records unit in person to see if there is anything I can do to get my records marked Go instead of No Go. I'll have PT gear with me just in case.

Nigel's New Truck

I bought a die cast truck very similar to this one for Nigel at a hobby shop near where I work. When I brought it home I told Nigel one of my favorite stories about my Dad. Those of you who read earlier posts about him know he was a Teamster, but he was also a childhood friend of the owner of the company he worked for, so he had more freedom and responsibility than most of the men who worked at Food Center Wholesale Grocers in Charlestown MA. He mostly worked in the warehouse, but sometimes when they were short of drivers, Dad would drive a semi. One Spring day when I was in the third grade, as Nigel is now, we had just finished lunch in Mrs. Day's class when a huge semi with a bright red Mack tractor pulled into the driveway and stopped right in front of the window to our class. Dad knew my class faced the semi-circular driveway in front of the school. A few minutes later, Dad walked into the class in work clothes and asked Mrs. Day if I could go with him to New Hampshire. As well as I can remember, Mrs. Day consented, if for no other reason than to get the truck out of the driveway and the rest of the class back in their seats.

Did I mention Dad drove into the driveway so that the passenger side of the truck was facing the school. Everybody got to see me climb into the cab of the red B-67 Mack tractor. Status for grownups can be very complicated, but Mack trucks with 40-foot van trailers are as cool as it gets for 8-year-old boys.

B-67 Mack Tractor

Schedule Change One

This change is good. We just got an email saying we report for duty on January 29, but we do not yet have a departure date. So unless something changes, we will be at our drill hall until 5pm on the 29th, then soldiers (like me) who live within 60 miles can go home for the night. The next day we have a morning formation, work until 2pm, then go pick up our families for the going away ceremony. After the ceremony and dinner, we go home again and report for the day on the 31st. Right now, we go home again on the 31st. I'll be home on February 1. We may leave that day for our US training base, but if we don't I may be home watching the Superbowl with Nigel.

Speaking of Time. . .

When I leave for work tomorrow, I will have exactly one week (168 hours) to go until I begin the deployment. Tomorrow I will be on a business trip to NYC. My last work day is next Tuesday. There will be a "Goodbye for Now" party at 315pm. The place I work was founded by a British professor so every Tuesday at 315 pm we everyone stops working and goes to one of the big meeting rooms for "Tea and Biscuits."
Maybe later this year I will have Tea and Biscuits on Dirt.

Army Time, Not My Time

Today, I called the admin sergeant at our unit to check if he had heard anything about my status. He said if the civilian surgeon signed off there should be no problem, but he would check later today. In the meantime, I go a clear "Don't call us" message from my "No Go Counselor." The woman who answered the phone said that when the Army doctor signed off on my status they would report the result to the unit. I know it is mostly a matter of privacy--only authorized doctors and my commanders are allowed access to my medical records. So the people on the phone can't say anything about my medical status on the phone. I suppose if I showed up in person they would be authorized to answer the question, but then I would be interfering with their procedures.

No news yet.

Surgeon Says OK!!!

This morning, the surgeon who operated on my shoulder checked every box "Yes" and signed the form that clears me for duty. After he signed the forms, one of the office assistants faxed the signed forms to my "No-Go Counselor" at Fort Indiantown Gap. If all goes well I should hear officially today or tomorrow that I am now a "Go." If the answer is Yes I can breathe easier and concentrate on enjoying today's inaugural celebration. Just 9 days and a wake up till I go. I was up most of the night last night, I suppose from thinking about the shoulder evaluation.

I have been treated in past by Lancaster Orthopedic Group for a broken collarbone, a separated shoulder, and knee trouble. They do good work.

Finally Back to Exercising

Yesterday at the gym I did 35 pushups: 5, 10, 10, & 10. It will be a while till I can do that many at one time, but it is great to get back to working out again. Because of the cold and the ice on the roads, the rest of my exercise spreadsheet looks very different than any other year. Usually bicycle miles are the big number and everything else is smaller. As of yesterday I have ridden the bike 79 miles, walked 59 miles, and run 29 miles. I suppose this year in particular, my walking and running miles might go ahead of my riding miles.

Thanks to the CINC on His Last Day

On this last day of the Presidency of George Bush, I have to say I owe him one last thank you for raising the enlistment age twice in 2006, first to 40, then to 42. (For prior service soldiers like me it is the enlistment age plus years of prior service.) Without that change, I would not have been able to enlist.
So, Thank You Mr. President.

Enlistment Diary--Part 2

So in the late summer of 2006, I realized I could re-enlist if I acted quickly. But I didn't. I did make a major change in my life though. All summer in addition to thinking about being a grunt again, I was listening to my teammates and competitors in Masters bicycle racing. For all of my adult life I have heard men bitch about their wives. The more competitive the guys, the more they thought the world revolved around them and the more they were likely to bitch. So bike racers and Teamsters complain more than graphic artists and copywriters, for example. (I worked on a Teamsters loading dock for four years during college.)

But in 2006, the guys my age were spreading out their complaints across three generations. These guys mostly have good jobs, adult children and at least one living parent. The new complaints: "My son with a degree in Art History is living at home and working at McDonald's." "My mother just broker her hip and wants to come and live with us. She hates my wife and bitches about everything." And a hundred variations on the theme.

I was not worried about my kids, but I realized I was right on track to be one of those 80-year-old ogres those guys were complaining about. Because an "independent" 80-year-old is a joke. Most 80-year-olds are experiencing the failure of many body parts, they need lots of medicine, etc. I know that I am going to be a dependent person when I am 80, maybe way sooner. So I decided I would start thinking that way now. Habits are so hard to make and break and I knew I better start now if I was not going to be that old codger who won't give up his car keys. And bicycle racing is a sport that seems to be OK for older people, but really falls don't get easier with age. I decided to start walking with my family.

Walking lasts as long as I have legs. and it gave me a chance to talk more with my family on the walks. So I cut down my riding and walked more. I also started to work out in the gym--again with my wife and kids. I was working toward some vague time 20 to 30 years away when I would lose my independence to injury and disease and trying to remake myself into someone who would not be a demanding SOB to take care of.

I didn't know at the time I would get a chance to check out my progress in less than a year.

Physical Therapy Going Well

I still have to wait for January 20 for my shoulder evaluation, but therapy is going well. Today I did five real pushups in addition to the incline pushups and other exercises they have me do. The pushups hurt, but not too much. I think I should be fine for the 20th. And if I don't do anything stupid between now and then, I should be a "Go" by Tuesday afternoon.

Dropping Off Bags at Fort Indiantown Gap

Yesterday my wife and I drove to Fort Indiantown Gap (40 miles away) to drop three of my five bags off. In the next few days they will be loaded and shipped to Oklahoma. Yesterday I dropped off two duffel bags and the footlocker--The DBag of a post earlier this week. That leaves just the backpack and one duffel bag to go with me on the 29th. The DBag weighed a lot. I have an extra laptop and a dozen books in the footlocker along with everything else I supposed to have in it. After all the rehab I have been doing, I'll have to be careful not to hurt myself moving my luggage!!

Attention K-Mart Shoppers--Fill your DBag

My wife and I are going to K-Mart today to get the last few items recommended on my Army PowerPoint slide: eyeglasses cleaning and repair kits, fitted sheets, handheld mirror, locks for duffle bags, foot powder, talcum powder, surge protector, extension cord, battery-operated alarm clock, etc. All of these items go in the footlocker--the fifth of the five bags that go with me: A backpack, three dufflebags and the footlocker. For whatever reason, the backpack is not counted as a bag and the others are called Bags A, B, C, & D (the footlocker). One of my kids seeing the printed listed noted that the PowerPoint printout for the footlocker started laughing and said, "Dad, this is a DBag?" DBag is a common insult among high school kids. When I was in high school, we used the same insult but didn't abbreviate. According to the Urban Dictionary DBag is most commonly a "playful insult" though it can be nasty. In the 60s I remember it only as a harsh insult. I suppose there is always something to learn about language even when stuffing a footlocker.

Enlistment Diary

During the coming week I will be on vacation, packing, cleaning up final details. I was looking at my enlistment diary and thought I should post some of my recollection of how I got here.

I left the Army reserve July 21, 1984. I completed all the classwork for an MA in American Studies and now had the opportunity to write a book for my Masters project. I needed more time. I could not quit my full-time job loading trucks at Yellow Freight, so I left the reserves. It wasn’t an easy decision. I liked the Army in some ways, but I wanted to get a job as a writer, so I had to cut something and the Army reserve was it.

At that point I knew I had served six years and ten months on active duty, two and one-half years in the Air Force and just over four years in the Army. I thought I had three years in the reserves, but it turns out I had 11 years, 2 months and 2 days of Federal Service. This would be important 23 years later.

I turned 50 during the very successful campaign to invade and capture Iraq and take Saddam Hussein from power. I was very proud to (formerly) have been part of the Army that won such a swift and sweeping victory. And I was envious. The Army I joined in 1972 was about to withdraw in defeat from a far-away jungle war. The Army that defeated the Japanese and the Nazis in World War II was unable to fight a limited war. Despite the great tactical victories in Iraq and Afghanistan, the situation after the major fighting turned bad.

In the fall of 2003 I looked at an Army Web site just to see the age requirements for re-enlistment. I satisfied myself I was too old to join by almost five years. I made jokes about it with my family. Probably too many.

In January of 2006, the military enlistment age went up from 35 to 40. I was three years older, still too old. Then in June of 2006, the age went up from 40 to 42. I was not sure, but now I could go back, but I just laughed at myself when I thought about it. The trouble was, I could not stop thinking about it.

More later.

Packing for the Big Trip

This week I started stacking all of my Army eqiupment in the living room. This weekend I'll start packing a backpack, three duffle bags and a footlocker for training in the US, then on to Iraq. I have a five-page PowerPoint presentation that tells me what goes into each of the five bags. Then I will have to decide what books I will take with me and where they will go--three per bag and ten in the footlocker? Three in each bag and let my kids send me one every other week? How about running shoes. One set in my A bag that goes on the plane to stateside training, one extra pair in stuff that gos by truck, two more for Iraq? We'll see how everything fits.

Junk Food in my Future

One way or another I am going to be eating junk food in the coming year. I watched a news segment recently about a guy who has eaten at least one Bic Mac every day for nearly forty years! He didn't look healthy. But it did remind me of one of my favorite jokes which I wrote down for no particular reason when I was in grad school.


(Should be Told With Exaggerated Gestures and Feeling)

Once there was a town in Western Pennsylvania that was so small it had only one school, one school bus, and one school bus driver--a nervous little man.

One day the school bus driver called up the superintendent at 6 a.m. saying, "It's time for me to pick up the kids and the bus won't start and its six o'clock. . .What am I going to do?"

"Calm down," said the superintendent. "The Sesame Street people are in town. Why don't you run over to the hotel and borrow their bus."

He asked. They loaned him the bus.

The first kids the driver picks up each morning are two little girls named Patty who live next door to each other. Actually these girls are not little. They are so fat that they have to sit on opposite sides in the front or the bus will tip over.

The next kid is Special Ross. Special Ross is the mayor's son, so he can sit anywhere he wants. So he sits on the floor in the middle of the bus.

The last passenger is Leonard Snead. Leonard Snead has bunions and his feet smell, so he has to sit on the back of the bus.

What do you have?

You've got two obese Pattys,
Special Ross,
Leonard Snead with the bunions on a Sesame Street bus. . .

November 9, 2001

The road to my enlistment is longer and more twisted than I thought. I got laid off from a dot-com job in 2001. Here's what I wrote the next week:

Friday, November 9

Can lightning strike twice in the same place? Certainly. Especially if the place in question is prone to storms. So, Friday, November 9, is a place in time I will try to avoid.
November 9, 1973, just after 9 a.m. was my first lightning strike. I was connecting wires to detonators at a U.S. Air Force missile test site in Utah. Someone turned on the power, and my world turned bright blue and white. Several minutes later I was strapped in an all-terrain ambulance headed for the first of six eye operations that would eventually restore my sight. Along with the eye operations, I had surgery to reattach two fingers on my right hand and to remove wires, screws and various pieces of metal from my face, arms and chest.
It was Friday. I had planned to ride my motorcycle up into the mountains for the weekend. My plans changed.
On November 9, 1973, I woke up an agnostic. Before the day ended, I believed in God and a few months later, I went the whole way to become a Christian. I would have preferred a smoother path to faith, but at 20 years old, I test-fired missiles for a day job and rode a motorcycle in mountains of Utah for recreation. I was not inclined to listen to a still, small voice—blindness was the right size for God’s megaphone.
Fast forward 28 years. Friday, November 9, 2001, just after 9 a.m., lightning struck at the same place in time. My supervisor took me to a vacant conference room to tell me I no longer had a job, effective immediately. Twenty-eight years before (almost to the minute) I had no faith and no obligations. This time I had faith, a house, a wife, four children and am part of a faith community. Now that I am listening to Him more closely, God can be more subtle. The moment of crisis is over and I can still see just fine. All my fingers are attached and when I shave I don’t feel metal scraping.
But I was not listening as well as I could. The long hours and hectic pace of my job frustrated many of the good impulses I had to serve people in need. If it was my job that tied my hands, then God just cut the ropes clean through.
For most of the year since I started my current job, I have felt uneasy, felt I should be doing something else. But good pay and great co-workers made it hard to leave. Now I am more free to listen. And I can exercise faith in a way I never have before. I worked summers and weekends since age 12 and have never taken more than two weeks off in the 36 years since. Work has defined me. In recent years, I have tried to keep work locked in a compartment away from the rest of my life. I have had some success at this, but at the expense of commitment to my work.
Now I have the opportunity to find work that either serves people in need more directly, or that keeps me closer to home and more involved with my family and community. Wherever God leads me in the coming weeks and months, I’ll be thankful for the time I have had to think, reflect and to reconnect with friends.
But I will also be careful. Friday, November 9, happens again in 2007, 2012 and 2018 before the next 28-year interval ends in 2029. One thing I am sure of: If I am still alive on Friday, November 9, 2029, I am staying in bed.

What Me Worry?!

OK. The most likely outcome of my shoulder evaluation will be: Sergeant Gussman is a Go for deployment. But I have nagging doubts. I am dealing with a bureaucracy and I am currently a No Go. To do nothing is the default setting for paperwork of any kind. So on the 20th I will take the results from my surgeon's evaluation directly to the "No Go Counselor" (really--that's a job title) handling my paperwork.
I'll continue to be optimistic--and make sure my paperwork is correct.

My Wife's Holiday Letter. . .Is Amazing

My wife's letter to family and friends:

One of my resolutions for 2008 to was refrain from complaining about being busy.  That’s a surprisingly hard resolution to keep, I discovered.  Like many people I know, I like to brag about being indispensible and overworked, so when people ask me what I’ve been up to lately, I have to bite my tongue to curb my own self-importance.  And just like dieters who find that people urge them to have one more helping just-this-once, I kept bumping into well wishers who fondly greet me with a, “So, have you been very busy lately?”  I finally learned to respond, “My life has been rich and full.”

Which it has. 

This year I taught a bunch of fun courses, ran a summer workshop, organized the Grand Opening of Bonchek College House here at Franklin & Marshall, and did other things at work that made me happy and kept me out of trouble.  I have one more semester as the don of the House, and then I’ll go on sabbatical.  In spite of the fact that I promised not to complain about being too busy this year (Is it 2009 yet?  Can I complain now?), I admit that I’m looking forward to May when I’ll have time to read, spend time with friends, and do math again.  In the meanwhile, I’ll continue to be grateful that my life is rich and full. 

Children one-through-four are doing well.  Lauren and Io have gone their own ways.  In the order that I listed them, but not the other way around, they are halfway through their sophomore years at Juniata and Bryn Mawr; they are majoring in social work and classic languages; they are playing soccer and acting in the “Rocky Horror Club”; when they’re home for the holidays they enjoy shopping in New York and going square dancing with their fathers. No, definitely not the other way around!  Lisa is running fast, perhaps to catch up with her sisters.  She’s applying to colleges and enjoying her senior year of high school.  And Nigel is wiggling and squirming his way through third grade, learning his multiplication tables and telling anyone who asks him about his favorite subject:  “Math”.  So I must be doing something right.


Greetings, and Happy 2009!

The quest for child number five in our family is still plodding along.  We’ve filled out all the paperwork, including financial statements, life histories, and a dozen criminal background checks.  We attended classes, photographed our family as it currently exists (see the picture here), and had our home study. When they ask us what kind of child we’re looking for, we say “hyper, to keep up with Nigel.”  Now we’re just waiting for the social workers to type up the final reports and enter us into the system.  The wheels continue to grind slowly. 

Neil and I took an inadvertent one-year break from reading books to each other, because we got caught up (I am embarrassed to admit) in watching DVDs from two old television series.  We have also been spending time running and walking together in the evenings, which is less embarrassing to admit – or it would be, if I were in a little better shape.  I pretty much manage to keep up with my guy, and that’s saying something because keeping up with Neil isn’t particularly easy to do through all the plot twists in his life. 



If you recall, when we last left our hero Neil, he had recovered from a devastating bicycle accident and joined the Pennsylvania National Guard.  In this year’s series, Episode 1 opens with Neil getting news that his unit will head out for Iraq in January 2009.  There ensues the physical fitness test, which Neil passes despite his advanced age and recent injuries.  In Episode 2, Neil, who joined the military partly to escape materialism, gets a packing list for overseas and realizes that he can take two bicycles and his espresso machine.  Jubilation follows.  Then, in Episode 3, our hero begins to have shoulder problems—his loyal viewers discover that the old bike accident tore up his shoulder more than his doctors originally realized, and he has surgery to repair his rotator cuff.  He heals well, and is running and on the bike again in no time.  Episode 4 opens with a new physical fitness test.  Can Neil pass?  Alas, no: he’s declared “non-deployable” because his shoulder isn’t yet healed enough to do 22 push-ups.  But wait!  He’s actually “temporarily non-deployable”!  He gets a chance to try again on January 20, just before his unit heads out.  Like any good television show, the season ends on a cliff hanger:  will Neil go to Iraq?  Will his espresso machine go, too?  If so, will he leave it there and come back as frugal as his wife? Tune in again next year to find out!

Lancaster has been a hot-bed of political activity this year; our little Norman Rockwell-esque town got to host many visiting political dignitaries, including Chelsea Clinton, Barack Obama, and the team of McCain/Plain.  Nigel spent the year doting on Obama, and in fact he goes to sleep on an Obama pillow at night now, and Nigel’s mother (me) was so inspired by Obama’s acceptance speech that I memorized the Gettysburg Address, even though the world will little note, nor long remember, that I did so.  Rather, it is us who shall be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us: that our Nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom.  Three cheers for government of the people, by the people and for the people!

Hugs and kisses, and wishes for a rich and full New Year!

---------

That's it! Best wishes for the New Year.

Some Forms are Worth Filling Out

I am just two generations away from my grandparents getting off a boat from the Old Country, so I like helping immigrants.

I've heard the critics: Who? How many? From where? Focusing on who gets in, we can lose sight of how our own lives are changed by those who fulfill their dream of coming to America.

In December 1994 when death squads exacted revenge for generations-old offenses in the former Yugoslavia, Vladislav and his 9-year-old daughter Branka escaped Bosnia and came to Lancaster to find a new life.

They came to America with a suitcase and a passport each.

At the time they arrived, Branka's mother was being held in an internment camp: a prisoner-of-war camp for civilians.

Almost as soon as they arrived, Vladislav went to work at any job he could find.
No job was too dirty or menial.

Through local churches and relief organizations Vladislav and Branka got money for rent and food and they also got help with the many papers that people who struggle with English are asked to "Read and Fill Out Completely."

Vladislav needed money and was determined to earn all he could. He knew that to get his wife out of detention and out of Bosnia, he would need money. His house, his cars, and all he had before the war were wrecked and burned before he left Bosnia.

Slowly, steadily, he saved money. A year later as Christmas of 1995 approached, he was beginning to sound confident.

The calls and faxes were paying off.

He believed Branka's mother would be in the United States sometime in 1996. Vladislav was also delighted with his latest job.

He had found a place near Lancaster that paid him $1 each to tie together handmade Christmas decorations. He said they hired women who would make 10 or 15 and then go home.

As it turns out, the fir branches cut the hands of the workers and it was difficult to wear gloves. Vladislav showed up early each Saturday morning and stayed till they sent him home.

One day he made 200.

The next day at church he was grinning. His hands looked like they had been stuck in a blender, but he couldn't have been happier. The following year Branka's mother came to America--he got her out of the internment camp.

Vladislav got a full-time maintenance management job.

He wanted his daughter to go to a private school so she could go to a good American college. So he asked me to help him get her into the school my daughters attended.

I filled out all the paperwork for financial aid that would allow Branka to attend Lancaster Country Day School and put my name down as the contact person.

Vladislav kept careful records of his income and expenses so the multi-page form had all the proper information, including his first federal tax return.

Several weeks later I got a call from the agency in Princeton that makes financial aid decisions.

The polite woman on the phone verified the applicant information, the parents' current employment status — all the routine questions — then asked me with evident curiosity and some skepticism about an item under "additional expenses."

The item: "Phone calls, faxes and transportation expenses to get applicant's mother released from Bosnian Prisoner-of-War Camp $4,417.12."

She asked if this was true.

I said it was.

"I must tell you," she said, "I personally always disallow 'additional expenses.' People try to say trips to Disneyworld are educational experiences. But getting the applicant's mother out of a prisoner-of-war camp is nothing I've ever seen before. You may tell them we are granting the full amount."

Branka's application reminded that financial aid administrator why she got into her job in the first place.

And I have never had more fun filling out a form before or since.

The Engagement Present

Another story about my family and Fort Indiantown Gap

All around us are married couples obviously mismatched but just as obviously devoted to each other. The basketball player married to a woman barely five feet tall. The flight attendant married to a guy who will only travel on the ground. A stage actor wed to an accountant.

My father was a boxer, a soldier, a Teamster and a AAA league baseball player. He grew up in Boston in a big Jewish family and was a big guy with hundreds of friends. The brothers were a loud bunch. My mother was a quiet woman who read a lot and preferred quiet. She grew up on a farm outside a small town in western Pennsylvania. Meeting her future in laws she said, “Everybody talks and nobody listens.” When they married she was 24 and he was 39. Somehow they stayed together until my father died 37 years later. It was the war that brought them together in Reading, Pennsylvania. But it was the romance wrapped up in my father’s engagement present that helped to keep them together despite all their differences.

Scene: U.S. Army Administrative Offices, Prisoner of War compound, Reading, Pa., spring 1945. The camp, now the Reading Airport, was home to 600 German prisoners of war, mostly former members of the Afrika Corps. Guarding them is a Military Police (MP) company commanded by Capt. George Gussman. Civilian clerks and typists handle most routine administrative duties.

Bang! The thin door slammed open at the push of a burly soldier in the white helmet of an MP. In a moment, the buzz of the busy office dwindled to silence. Even on an Army base with a prison camp, a squad of MPs marching into an administrative office cut the buzz of conversation and the clackety-clack of typing. The first two MPs flanked the door, rifles at ready. Four more soldiers marched in behind, the last man carrying a wooden ammunition crate.

Without a word, they marched in close order to the back of the open office space and the gray metal desk of pretty, dark-haired typist. The sergeant at the front of the line called “Detail halt!” He faced the astonished typist and said, “Are you Arnetta Boul?”

The hush was complete. Arnetta was was a graduate of a one-room school in Mercer, a small town south of Erie. A wartime job on an Army base north of Reading got her off the farm and on her way to the life she only saw in magazines. She tried to answer but only nodded yes.

He coworkers, mostly typists and clerks, didn’t move. The MP with the wooden crate faced left, took two steps, faced right and set the box on the desk. “Compliments of Capt. Gussman, ma’am.”

The detail faced about without another word and filed out of the building. When the door closed the other typists ran to Arnetta’s desk. “Open the box.” “What’s in it?” “Is there a note?”

There was a note. Her name was typed on the envelope. The note inside was written in the in an oddly beautiful hand that made her smile and blush. It said:

Darling Arnetta,
Please accept this small token in honor of our engagement. With Love,
George

She flipped the wire closures, raised the lid and saw Hershey bars. Hundreds of Hershey bars. Rationing made chocolate, sugar, tires and all sorts of things hard or impossible to get. Arnetta loved chocolate, but allowed herself almost none since the war started. Almost all the chocolate went to soldiers. Gold was scarce also. George had proposed to her the previous weekend giving her a band from one of his cigars and promising a real ring as soon as the war ended. What more could she expect during this time of national self-sacrifice? She said yes.

George made a vague promise of an engagement gift, but this was stunning even for the garrulous commandant of the POW camp. Her doubts vanished.

Inside the crate was an official packing list. “Confiscated: 608 chocolate bars from prisoners in Reading barracks.” Now she knew how he did it. The rowdy German prisoners had driven the two previous commandants to beg for transfers. The prisoners knew their rights and lost no opportunity to petition their American jailers for privileges. Then, all of a sudden, they got a commander who straightened the place up.

Capt. Gussman was the fourth of six sons of a Russian Jewish couple that escaped the pogroms of the Czar in the 1890s. He was 38 years old and had joined the Army just a year before he was too old to serve. German prisoners from the Reading camp worked on local farms and were paid five cents per day. Most of the prisoners bought American chocolate and cigarettes with their wages. One of the prisoners caused trouble for the guards on the farm work detail, so Gussman suspended the farm work. He also declared Hershey bars contraband. When no prisoners turned in their chocolate, Gussman led the guards in a search of the barracks. They confiscated 608 Hershey bars. Gussman made very clear who was in charge of the camp, and, despite the privations of war, he presented his bride-to-be with an engagement gift only Milton Hershey or a very rich man could match.

George and Arnetta were married at the base chapel, Fort Indiantown Gap on July 31, 1945. The legend of this amazing gift of plenty during an era of scarity lived on in their marriage and in their children. It is stories like this that keep us going; these stories are gifts of plenty that carry us through the inevitable times of need.
------
I wrote this story for my kids. My Dad died before they were born and my Mom died five years in her 80s after a long illness.

From the Books & Culture Weekly Newsletter

John Wilson sends a weekly on-line newsletter about books and his bi-monthly book review magazine Books and Culture. He just posted my latest article (with Brigitte Van Tiggelen) on line.

FROM THE NEWSLETTER:
In two French-themed articles from the November/December issue of Books & Culture, David Hoekema of Calvin College celebrates the centenary of composer Olivier Messiaen, while Brigitte Van Tiggelen and Neil Gussman tell a story of "Technology in Translation." Neil, a regular reviewer for B&C, re-enlisted in the Army in 2007 and will be deployed to Iraq in January. Most of his fellow soldiers are young enough to be his kids. You can follow his story on his blog, Back in the Army Now (at 54).

Obsessed with the News

Russian soldiers in trenches

For the Holidays, some stories about my family. First, my paternal grandfather. I am obsessed with the News. I got that from Grandpa. Every morning I listen to the news. I read the newspaper on the train. I get a dozen Google news alerts every day in my e-mail. Am I obsessed with the news? 

Probably, but I have a good reason. My parents were daily news junkies. In my father’s case, his devotion to the news came from avoiding the mistakes of my grandfather, whose ignorance of world events led to the worst year of his life. Grandpa started his life in the Ukraine more than a century ago; he trapped ermine so he could make enough money for the bribes and the one-way ticket out of Tsarist Russia. He was one of the fortunate few poor Jews who escaped the slaughter of a million Jews by the Cossacks in the 1890s. 

In America he met my grandmother Esther, and together they started both a fruit business and a family. By 1910 the business grew and Grandpa had dealers in Egypt, Palestine, and Southern Europe. In the spring of 1914, Grandpa decided to visit his business associates. He sailed to Europe in much better accommodations than he arrived in two decades before. Grandma was nervous about the trip. She would be raising six boys by herself while Grandpa sailed to Europe. The boy’s names showed how comfortable the couple had become in America. The oldest were named Abraham and Emmanuel. The next four were named Ralph, George, Lewis, and Harold. 

While in Egypt, Grandpa decided to visit his old home near Odessa in the Ukraine. He arrived in August 1914, and, as usual, was not paying attention to the news. Shortly after he arrived, war was declared across Europe. The Jews in Russia who had survived the pogroms of the previous century were now drafted into the Russian army. Jews were not given any training as soldiers; they were simply dressed in Russian uniforms and sent into battle ahead of the “real” Russian soldiers to explode mines and make the Germans use up their ammunition. With the help of some old family friends, Grandpa escaped, but not by sea. 

The only way he could get out of Russia was through Finland. He walked more than 1,000 miles north across Russia as winter fell on this most forbidding of countries. Months later he reached a bridge to Finland and crossed at night under a hail of machine gun fire. Many others died around him, but Grandpa reached Finland sick and freezing. Back in Boston, Grandma had waited frantically for nearly a year before she got a terse telegram saying that her husband was alive and on his way back to America in a cargo ship. 

Grandpa lived 17 years after his escape from Russia until 1932. He never traveled again. My father and all my uncles became news junkies during the year Grandpa was missing and remained well informed on national and international events for the rest of their lives.

39th Anniversary of My Driver's License

Today, December 19, is the 39th Anniversary of My Driver's License. Our company holiday party is tonight so I get a chance to celebrate it. Can you believe some people don't celebrate their driver's license anniversary?
Some of my better cars:
1972 Mustang CJ

1969 Torino Cobra


















1965 Chevelle SS

There were also a LOT of junkers.

Cell Phones Change Army Paperwork

Those of you have have read Joseph Heller's Catch 22 know that in any big bureaucracy that paperwork is reality--real life is 2nd place. Today I got a call from our admin NCO saying the battalion was asking for a list of Non-Deployable people so they could start replacing them. I had told 1st Sgt and Sgt Major about the plan for the surgery and that I would be ready to go on the 29th. But the HQ guy with a No-Go list in his hand was Army reality. Our admin NCO called me, verified some facts and got me off their list. Before cell phones, I might have been replaced before they could reach the right people. Paper is reality in the Army.

The best instance of Catch 22 in my life is the reason I am a resident of Lancaster PA. I grew up in Stoneham Massachusetts. I enlisted in 1972, got out in 1974 then decided to go back in the military in 1975. The recruiters in Lancaster offered me a much better deal than the one in my actual home town, so I signed up in Lancaster. I needed a local address so I used PO Box 334, Brownstown PA. Four years later when I was ready to go to college, I assumed I should apply to schools in Mass. The education office said No--you are a resident of PA. My parents were still living in the house they bought when I was 4 years old, but my DD Form 4 (enlistment contract) said Brownstown PA so I was a PA resident. Actually this turned out great because it meant I could go to Penn State U at resident rates and the next year, in 1980, PA decided to give tuition bonuses to soldiers who served during the Viet Nam War. I ended up with most of college paid right through a masters degree. All because of how I filled out a form.

Real Physical Therapy Begins Today

PHYSICAL THERAPISTS AT WORK circa 1500

After three weeks of range of motion and stretching exercises, I started today doing strengthening exercises--rowing motion, arm exercise bike, resistance bands, small weights, and other exercises to begin to build my weak shoulder back up. Most of the exercises felt good. But the last one was a simple elbow lift lying on my back with a four-pound weight. Joe the Therapist (no relation to Joe the Plumber) said to do 15. By 12 I was in serious pain. And my shoulder was stationary. At that moment I remembered why PT is so important. The therapists know every muscle and can isolate and strengthen specific muscles. Every time I have had therapy, that has meant there are some exercises with little or no weight that seem like nothing and hurt like blazes. The therapists know exactly where the problem is and how to fix it--which means they can turn a 4-pound weight into a torture device. The best part, though, was that outside of that one motion, nothing hurts very much.

Shoulder Looks Good

Today's visit with my surgeon went great. He said my range of motion is good so far. He said there should be no problem signing off that I am ready to go in January. My next appointment is January 20. I will call my "No Go Counselor" tomorrow and make sure I have everything they need. Getting the evaluation on January 20 should give me time to see an Army doctor if something goes wrong at the last minute.

After the doctor appointment, I went to the gym and did the round of machines. For the last week or two I have used the machines with no weight. Today I changed to lifting some weight. Next physical therapy appointment is Wednesday. Everything is looking good.

Out Early and Another Article

We were finished with medical processing at 2pm on Thursday. We had a roll call formation at 330pm, dinner from 5pm to 630pm and that was it for the day. I got to spend another night in an open bay barracks, but there was nothing left to do but clean the barracks. We got up at 5am and cleared our stuff out of the barracks. By 630 we were back from breakfast and cleaning the barracks. At 745 I was on my way to work in Philadelphia, just over 100 miles away. Someone else answered for me in final roll call so I could go back to work.

Also, I got a PDF file of an article that I wrote for a monthly magazine called TACTICS, published by the Public Relations Society of America (I am a member). I was writing for other people in my profession about why I would enlist. Click on the story to make it bigger.

Non-Deployable (for now)

Today we went through another round of medical screening. We got more shots and another dental x-ray. For most of us, the visit with the doctor took about two minutes. Mine was longer. I had to explain the surgery, the rehab and my projected time for recovery. The doctor marked my processing folder "No Go" and sent me down the hill to my "Non-Deployable Soldier" counselor. She went through all the steps I need to get myself declared fit for deployment and gave me the form my surgeon will have to fill out to say I am healthy again. Given the rehab schedule, it looks like I will be very close to my deployment date when the surgeon says yes or no.

I think I'll skip breakfast tomorrow. Eating Army--today it was eggs, sausage, pancakes, and cereal--is make my UnderArmor feel tighter across my stomach.

Paperwork Processing Complete

Today we went through a pre-deployment paperwork review. When critics crab about the inefficiency of government, they could use pre-deployment processing as an example. There were 11 stations which we could complete in any order, except station 11 where we signed out. So it would that the smart move to get through quickly would be to get as many stations as possible completed. But that would be wrong. The first people out of the building and on their way to lunch or the barracks were those who followed the whispered tip of going to station 7 first. Station 7 is ID card processing. Last May when we went through the same processing in a different building, the story was the same: go to station 7 first, get done up to an hour faster.

In May station 7 had four technicians at four computers with four cameras. Two of them worked. Today, there were four technicians, with four cameras and, you guessed it, two of them worked--at least for the first hour. The complaints were exactly the same--the camera interface was unstable and if something went wrong the whole system needed to be rebooted. A for-profit business with a bottleneck and competitors would straighten the bottleneck.

When we get to our pre-deployment training station and do all of this paperwork again, I will go to station 7 first.

Travel Day

In the Army accountability is everything. It is one of the reasons the Army will never be a "flat" organization in the modern sense. Every leader needs to be able to tell someone above that he knows where his people are. So each team leader (in charge of 3 or 4 soldiers) can tell the squad leader (with 10) where his people are. Three squad leaders tell the platoon sergeant where their squads are. The platoon sergeants know the whereabouts of their 40 soldiers. Several platoons make a company (100 to 200) and then a battalion (600), a brigade (2000) a division (6000 to 10,000) and so on.

So we arrived today at 2pm to sign in. We had a roll call formation at 3pm. We had dinner at 5pm. And that was our day--except those who did not mark their duffel bags. They reported in the morning to mark their baggage.

This whole day was devoted to: "All present and accounted for."

Short Day Getting Ready to Go

We were done just after 3pm today. We had a short day of marking bags and footlockers and filling out paperwork. At least I did. Many went out to the range for qualification, but i still am not allowed to lift anything heavier than a coffee cup. And it was a tough day to shoot--30mph winds and a temperature that just reached freezing. And we will all be back Tuesday to once more go through paperwork and medical checks to be sure we are healthy enough to go to Iraq.

Getting Ready to Pack Up the Motor Pool

Today I finished the electronic inventory of our Conex (8 by 8 by 12 foot container) box full of special tools for maintaining Army vehicles. Sometime in January we will be packing all of our equipment for Iraq, this weekend we are finishing paperwork and putting things in places ready to be packed. The thousands of tools I am responsible for are now in my Mac and on a backup drive. They will also be on a PC in the motor pool and in my house, and on a thumb drive before the weekend is over.

I also started doing my post-accident exercise program from last year. I was not allowed to lift more than five pounds then. Now I am not supposed to life more than a coffee cup. So I did ten reps on every machine in the F&M gym tonight, but with no weight at all. I did that for a month last year. It's weird, but it kept me flexible until I was ready to actually lift weights.

Pre-Deployment Processing Again

Next week from Tuesday to Friday I have yet another round of pre-deployment paperwork and medical processing. I thought this round would be something different but it is the same thing as the last round. The bad thing for me is that I hoped the next time I would see an Army doctor would be after we began pre-deployment training in February. That way my shoulder would be healed up ior at least far enough along that I could pass a PT test. That way when they asked about the shoulder I could offer to take and pass a PT test on the spot. I can't do that next week. Hopefully I will have until mid-January to get enough rehab to do 21 pushups (the minimum to pass at my age) and I could show up and pass a PT test. I now have official Stop-Loss orders and deployment orders. I don't want to get stuck here on a paperwork technicality at this point.

Back on the Bike

At physical therapy today I asked about riding the bike. The therapist said the reason I can't ride the bike is because I will put weight on the shoulder. Actually, I put more weight on the shoulder when I am riding an exercise bike because there is no wind on my chest. And since they allowed me to ride an exercise bike, I assumed it would be OK to ride a bike. So I rode 22 miles, including a few miles with the Friday 1 pm ride. It has been so long, 30 days, since I rode, that when Jan Felice said to meet at his house at 1 pm, I completely forgot that Scott Haverstick and other Friday riders would be there. I was riding the 1-speed bike in sneakers so I only stayed on to the far side of Millersville. I also ran 5k with my wife and did 100 sit ups. Life is getting better.

Back to Running and Sit Ups

Today my therapy went from passive to active which meant my exercise could start to do the same. Since the day of the surgery on October 30 all I have done for exercise is walk. I walked a lot, 180 miles, but I missed running. Today I ran two miles and did 80 crunches, so I really feel like I am starting to recover.

In the Sunday News Again--And on Video

This morning's Lancaster Sunday News has another article on my enlistment, this time with video. If you click on the video tab at the top of the article it takes you to this video:

I'll be "Hollywood" again at December drill.

Meat Gazer

This morning at formation Top said the big task for today and tomorrow would be cleaning weapons. When the weapons, vehicles and barracks were cleaned and turned in on Friday, we would be done.
And, Oh yes, the following individuals fall out to the right of formation as I call your name, it is time for a random drug test--the piss in a bottle test. After the formation Top said, "Since you can't clean weapons with one arm, you can escort the men taking the test." So I went to the desk and signed the long form with tiny type that said I promise to monitor each person taking the piss test.
For the next three hour I walked back and forth from the men's locker room with the men filling small plastic bottles 3/4ths full. A female sergeant had to escort the women being tested.
As I walked down the 100-foot hallway from the drill floor with one of my charges, we passed a female sergeant from another company--a former marine. She saw me walking down the hall with a guy holding the plastic bottle. I said hello to her. She smiled and said, "So you are the Meat Gazer today." I don't remember what they called the Meat Gazer 30 years ago, but for the rest of the morning I was Sergeant Meat Gazer. I checked on line and there are twelve slang definitions for the two-word description of my job this morning.
In the afternoon printed maintenance forms in the motor pool and was very happy my other task was complete.

And Now the Real Orders

The Stop-Loss orders were electronic. Today at noon I was the first one in our unit to get a copy of our actual orders for deployment. I now have the official three pages that makes me part of Operation Iraqi Freedom. I also called Jon Rutter, the Sunday News reporter, back this morning to let him know about the Stop-Loss orders and to tell him that the generic Army term for someone like me who issues tools from a central supply point is "The Tool Bitch." Since my recent promotion, I am actually sergeant tool bitch. Jon said he will check with the editor of the Sunday News to see if he can actually use that term in a story. I guess we'll see on Sunday.



Today's work was a continuation of the last two days. I added several more worksheets to my FRS inventory, but I have hundreds more tools to go before I have the complete, searchable inventory I want to have for Iraq. If I get really slick I'll have a spreadsheet of everyone in the unit and I will be able to sign out the tools electronically.

Tomorrow and Friday we are likely to stay late to clean guns and barracks.

Hanging Files

Today while most of the company was out on the range, I made hanging file folders for personnel and annual maintenance records. I also had a two-hour break to talk with Jon Rutter of the Lancaster Sunday News. He came to Fort Indiantown Gap to do another article about how things are going with my pre-deployment training. He came with a photographer and a videographer, so I did most of the interview in front of a video camera. Since we could not go to the range, I brought the news crew to the motor pool to see the coolest tool box in the Army, the FRS, and the truck it rides on, the PLS. They seemed to be having fun, especially the videographer who took a ride in the PLS.

Stop Loss Orders

Because of the surgery and missing the first two weeks of training, I forgot about Stop-Loss orders. Soldiers who are about to deploy, usually 90 days from the deployment date, receive Stop-Loss orders. These orders mean soldiers cannot transfer, retire or otherwise leave the unit until after the deployment has ended.
I (and everyone else in my unit) got Stop-Loss orders on October 26. Lately I have been so busy the deployment has seemed unreal. Stop-Loss orders make the deployment much more real than it was yesterday.

More Paperwork

I spent most of today updating a spreadsheet and labeling file folders for annual maintenance forms. It's the kind of thing I can do with one arm. At Physical Therapy, the therapist (His name is Joe, I guess I could say Joe the Therapist.) said the purpose of the sling is to REST my arm, not so I could figure out how many things I can do with a sling on. I had some stiffness in my shoulder that Joe associates with over-active patients. Go figure.

While I was working on some forms I overheard two sergeants discussing who was going out to check the status of a particular HumVee. SGT Inert--a grumpy truck driver in his 40s who flunked all three events in the PT test--yelled across the maintenance bay for SGT Speed--a mod-20s woman who just Maxed the PT test and finished 2nd overall in the run--to go out and check on the HumVee. She is senior in date of rank and told him to "Get his lazy ass out in the cold and do it himself." As soon as SGT Inert was out the door, the soldiers he usually yells at (from the seated position) were pumping their fists and saying, "Yes!"

First Good night's Sleep!!

Maybe the worst part of the surgery is the trouble I have had sleeping. I usually sleep on my right side so for the past two weeks I have been waking up several times a night--usually when I try to roll onto my right side and wake up from the pain rush. Last night I managed to sleep three hours uninterrupted, then two more until the alarm woke me at 4:45am. Maybe it was the long day at the motor pool that made me tired enough to sleep at night.

Today was another day updating maintenance forms at the motor pool. Dinner was really interesting though. I ate with another old sergeant--our chief cook--who has a daughter in college. He said there is a scholarship available for the children of Army national Guard soldiers who are getting deployed. I will be going to the education office at lunch tomorrow to pick up three of those forms. The chef in camouflage also told me that when he was deployed last he took college courses on major bases like the one we are going to. He said they look for people with graduate degrees among the soldiers deploying to teach classes in Iraq. I am also going to look into the possibility of teaching writing and literature in Iraq. That would be an interesting line on my resume.

First Day Back--PT Test

When I showed up this morning for my first day back to pre-deployment training everyone was in PT gear. The PT test started immediately after morning formation. They already had enough graders so I read the Task, Conditions and Standards--the 200 or 300 words that begin each event and say what each soldier has to do and how it has to be done to pass the test. Standing and watching in a sling, I really wished I could have been taking the test. Especially the run. The two fastest runners came in at 14:17 and 14:18. If I had been able to run I could have stayed with them, they ran together from lap 2 till then end at a good pace. Oh well.
I spent the rest of the day in the motor pool revising vehicle inspection forms for a file we are setting up for deployment. It's something I can do with one arm.
I also issued some tools and went back to being the tool bitch--as much as I can with one hand. When I showed up in the morning a lot of people welcomed me back and asked how I was doing. It really is good to be back. But in the motor pool a few soldiers seemed very happy I was back signing out tools. One said the guy who replaced me for two weeks didn't like the job. "He really put the Bitch in Tool Bitch Sgt G."

Training in a Sling

Tomorrow morning at 0700 I will be in formation and getting ready for the final week of the three-week pre-deployment training. I missed the first two for surgery recovery but should be able to at least watch the training on the last week. Jon Rutter of the Lancaster Sunday News will be coming to our training site on Tuesday to see how things are progressing toward deployment. I was supposed to be in my second week of Warrior Leadership Course this week, but the surgery ended that. On the bright side of that, our training NCO said I may be able to go to WLC while we are in Iraq. The course would not be in the Middle East but in Germany. So I would get an extra two weeks in a place with trees and grass.

Like Fasting at a Buffet

When I scheduled the surgery, my one regret was missing the first week of training. We were supposed to do individual weapons qualification--rifles and pistols--the first three days of training then the next three days were to be the light (M249 SAW) and heavy (M2 HB .50 cal.)machine guns and the M19 belt-fed grenade launcher.

I just found out we are firing those weapons next week--the week I return to limited duty in a sling. So next week I will be watching everyone else in my unit fire the M2, M19, and M249 while I watch--as much fun as watching other people eat while you are fasting. Firing a machine gun is not a one-arm activity.

"Limited to one-arm activity. . ."

Just before the surgery I asked my doctor for a letter to send to my unit because I was (am) scheduled for three weeks of training beginning two days after the surgery. The unit wanted me to observe training if I could, even if I could not participate. So the doctor wrote a letter stating that my full recovery should be the primary goal and I would be wearing a sling for six weeks, but he thought after two weeks I "should be able to ride to the field in a truck." But he made clear: "He will be limited to one arm activity for the first six weeks." I faxed the letter to the unit operations sergeant pointing. He read the letter while I was on the phone and burst out laughing at that restriction. When I do go back to duty I am sure somebody is going to making loud suggestions as to what activities I can do with one arm--and how they will prepare me for next year.

Not Sleeping

Last night I ate dinner late, had coffee with dinner, very much enjoyed myself and was on a 2-mile walk from 1:15 am to 2 am. I got to sleep at 3 am. When I get injured, the LAST thing that recovers is my sleep it seems. I haven't slept well since the surgery. All the more frustrating because the rest of the recovery really is going well. Physical Therapy is tiring. Maybe I will sleep better next week.

Physical Therapy Starts Tuesday

The stitches came out yesterday and the doctor says I can start doing gravity exercises--letting my army hang and moving it in circles. He showed me pictures of all the various repairs he made. The rotator cuff was badly torn and he could fix that completely. He fixed tears in two other ligaments and did something to encourage cartilage to grow back in my shoulder joint.

Physical Therapy starts Tuesday. It's easy stuff next week. Then from Saturday to Friday of the week after (15-21) I can go to my unit's final week of training. Then Thanksgiving week I get the kind of therapy that really hurts. I am hoping to be out of the sling by the first week in December and back on the bike.

McCain's Concession Speech Tonight

Senator John McCain's concession speech tonight was a picture of grace and good will. In this speech he quieted the boos from his supporters and said, "America First" in the most sincere and stirring way possible. McCain talked about supporting the new President and coming together keep America the greatest nation on earth.

When tomorrow dawns, the whole political world will be second guessing and blaming John McCain, especially the conservative talk radio hosts who live by tearing down others. I grew up in 50s when racial epithets were part of normal conversation. The right wing will be predicting the doom of America in the coming months and years, but I am proud and amazed the country I grew up in could have changed enough to elect Barack Obama President.

My Practical Daughter

I have two daughters who are sophomores in college. My youngest daughter is a high school senior visiting colleges and until this week was pretty sure about where she was going to college next year. That changed with a visit to Williams College in Massachusetts this weekend. They have a winning cross country team and she thought the team was bright and fun to be with. she liked the dorms, the campus, the dining halls--pretty much everything about the visit. She returned late last night. I first heard about the visit this morning. She is applying early decision by the end of this week. I first heard about Williams when she called me this morning.

Lisa said with two sisters in college, the only problem she has is she'll need financial aid in her senior year. She said, "It looks like if you go back to Iraq in 2011, I'll be able to do the whole four years on the money you and mom already saved." Only Lisa would say that among all the kids. Later she said, "I was kidding. Mom will figure a way to get the senior year money." I make different jokes with each of my kids. Lisa is the best at deadpan humor.

Feeling Better

I spent much of today in bed. I had a lousy night, but managed to get some sleep today. But I did not feel I had to get up and walk around every hour. I walked less today. I walked Nigel to school, walked to Starbucks in the afternoon and walked with Annalisa this evening. In between I could read and just lie still--a big improvement. So while the country lines up to vote tomorrow, I will try to get some stuff done for work and do some reading. Thursday I get the stitches out and get a reading on how soon I can start physical therapy.

Next History Article

This week's issue of Books & Culture has an article by Brigitte Van Tiggelen and I about the history of Chemical Engineering in DuPont and the US. If you click on it, it gets bigger.

Walking Back to Health

My surgery got me four repairs for the price of two. I was supposed to get a rotator cuff repair, plus another ligament. Dr. Perezous found a third torn ligament and also repaired the joint itself. What a deal! My daughter Lisa walked with me to the surgery (2.25 miles) at 5:15 on Thursday morning. I was done by 11 and home at Noon. I felt good in the afternoon and walked around the neighborhood (1.75 miles). My wife Annalisa and I walked three miles near dinner time. Lisa and I walked to Starbucks and back in the evening (3 miles) bringing me to 10 miles for the day.

I don't sleep very well because I usually sleep on my right side. So I have spent most of the last four days wither walking or sleeping.

Annalisa and I walk at least two miles each day I am in town anyway, so I have been able to walk between 7.5 and 12 miles the last three days. It helps to get me off the pain killers. I got a lot of prayers and good wishes and my recovery is going very well. Thanks much. The tough part is still to come--the Physical Therapy.

Six Things I Have Never Told Anyone

This game just in from the memery. First rules, then game-time:

1. Link to the person who tagged you.

2. Post the rules on your blog…

3. Write six random things about yourself…

4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them…

5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog…

6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up…

Disclaimer: I talk and write for a living. I tell everything about myself at some point. So the six things will be things most people don't know.

1. I asked for my cell phone in the trauma unit after my big crash last year even before the operation to replace my seventh vertebra. When I tell people I can't live without mean cell phone, I mean it.
2. Ring tones. When my family calls it's "Jesus Walks" by Kanye West. When work calls, "I Hate Myself for Loving You" by Joan Jett.
3. I re-read Machiavelli's The Prince every four years.
4. I read medieval poetry. Dante's Commedia and Le Chevalier au Lion by Chretien de Troyes are among my favorite books.
5. I grew up in Stoneham, Massachusetts, a suburb of Boston. When I was 12 I rode my bicycle to the Subway at Sullivan Square in Charlestown and took the MTA to Boston to play pinball machines. I got robbed, but the guy who stole my money left me a Subway token. So I got home. Hungry and sore.
6. As far back as I can remember, the scariest person in my family was my Great Aunt Pearl--5 feet tall, 400 pounds, dyed red hair and sweaty. The first time I came home on leave after basic training, my Dad took me to see Aunt Pearl. He smirked. I didn't know where to look. Aunt Pearl ran a Porno shop in Mattapan.

My six tags:
Chrissy Conant aka Chrissy Caviar, her list will be amazing.

The Science Cheerleader She wants the whole world to know and love science the way she does.

Big-Tobacco won't even tell his name and he shouldn't, but I'm passing this on anyway.

Captain Hogwash can make a list from the other side of the world (New Zealand).

Meredith Gould is a prolific and funny author.

And finally, David M, who writes and compiles Thunder Road a vast source of Web info.

Surgery Went Fine!

I just got out of surgery. Everything went fine. The doc ended up fixing two ligaments and the joint itself. Right now the pain killers are still working & I feel great. I am sure it will be worse later when the nerve block wears off.

Off Line Beginning Thursday

On Thursday I get shoulder surgery. The surgeon said to take a bath Thrusday morning because my right arm will be taped to my side for at least 48 hours. I am not supposed to move it--so I am not going to smell very good. It also means typing is out of the question, at least until Monday when therapy starts. Right now lifting my arm the wrong way hurts, so it will be good to the ligaments fixed.