This is the story of a trip to remember, written by
Sharon Lueck, my amazing sister, about her experience as a flight attendant,
bringing home a group of Marines returning from Iraq.
Prologue:
From: "Sharon"
Date: Fri, 23 May 2003 06:10
I got the call from the CRAF (Civilian Reserve Air Force) desk in Chicago, to fly to Frankfurt on Sunday. Indeed, it did dump plans all upside down, but there was no way I was going to turn down the opportunity. It truly will "complete the experience" as I'm fond of saying and I have no doubt that it will be the most memorable experience of my flying career.
We will ferry the plane to Frankfurt on Sunday, which will be an experience in itself. 18 flight attendants and 8 pilots on an empty 747! It's a double crew, as we are bringing two plane loads home on Tuesday, to Riverside. You could practically wear your pajamas, which I won't be surprised to see some do. There's no check in...just go directly to the departure gate. The crew is from all over the country, though coincidence would have it that the only other SFO flight attendant is a Portland commuter. After unloading in Riverside, we'll ferry the plane back up to SFO. Wouldn't you know that the flights to PDX on Tuesday evening are all oversold? AND, the Portland gal is senior to me, so would get the jumpseat? Oh well, can't worry about that today.
Date: Fri, 23 May 2003 06:10
I got the call from the CRAF (Civilian Reserve Air Force) desk in Chicago, to fly to Frankfurt on Sunday. Indeed, it did dump plans all upside down, but there was no way I was going to turn down the opportunity. It truly will "complete the experience" as I'm fond of saying and I have no doubt that it will be the most memorable experience of my flying career.
We will ferry the plane to Frankfurt on Sunday, which will be an experience in itself. 18 flight attendants and 8 pilots on an empty 747! It's a double crew, as we are bringing two plane loads home on Tuesday, to Riverside. You could practically wear your pajamas, which I won't be surprised to see some do. There's no check in...just go directly to the departure gate. The crew is from all over the country, though coincidence would have it that the only other SFO flight attendant is a Portland commuter. After unloading in Riverside, we'll ferry the plane back up to SFO. Wouldn't you know that the flights to PDX on Tuesday evening are all oversold? AND, the Portland gal is senior to me, so would get the jumpseat? Oh well, can't worry about that today.
I talked
to my friend Arliss, who has done one of these flights home and she says they
don't board enough food for the soldiers (don't know why this is), and the kids
are all looking for junk food. I'm going to hit up some of our local stores for
bulk candy to take along, as well as hitting the dollar store for some red,
white, and blue with which to decorate the plane. Have to get film and remember
to take both cameras.
I've not
been in Frankfurt that long before, on a layover, and think I'll have time to
do one of the Rhine cruises in the afternoon. If the weather is nice, it's
quite spectacular, as you cruise past a number of quite fabulous castles. It's
something I've wished I could do, for a long time.
Chapter 1
From: "Sharon"
Subject: Candy lady
Date: Sat, 24 May 2003 07:25
I took a break in my day yesterday to get ready for taking my CRAF trip. Arliss told me on her flight, the soldiers were begging for anything to eat. As a result, I took it in my head that I should take some stuff along. I decided that, being good patriotic companies, our local grocery stores could donate to the cause, so Fred drove me off in search of goodies. I think he was surprised that all of a sudden I became so embolden as to out right ask for things, but you know what? It didn't bother me at all.
First stop was at Safeway, next door to where I'd picked up my cleaning. Dang! Manager was in the "Friday Morning Meeting," and wouldn't be out for an hour. OK. The next stop was the fabric store, where I wanted to get some patriotic fabric to make basket liners. There I found the prize for the day, in a four foot American flag that has a white band across the bottom and in it, it says "United We Stand." Ohmygosh! It's beautiful!! When crews fly these flights, they decorate the plane and make posters and such. Well, my poster making skills aren't very good, but you do what you can do, right?
We then hit the Safeway near the fabric store, I gave my speech, and the store manager said "fill out this paperwork and wait for me here." The next thing I knew, she reappeared with a shopping cart full of boxes containing individual sized bags of things like Cheese nips, Wheat Thins, Mini Oreos, Cheese Crisps, and bags of individually wrapped chocolate. I gave her a big hug and already plan on a nice thank you with a picture of a GI chomping down her treats.
Next came Winco, where I was pretty much stonewalled. The manager said they didn't have any local authority to donate things, but I could call headquarters in Boise. I asked if we couldn't just call right then, which she did let me do, but the donation gal was late back from lunch, so would I call in 15 minutes? 15 minutes later I called, spoke to the same operator gal, who knew my story, who excitedly said the donor lady was in her office. Only problem was the donor lady didn't answer and only had her answering machine on. I left my message and my phone number, but they were never to be heard from again.
Finally, still looking for genuine candy bars, I made Fred stop at Albertson's, where I tracked down the manager. Right away he wanted to know how many stores I'd been to, so I told him "Only Safeway and here...because that's where I shop." "I never do this sort of thing, so you're who came to mind." (Winco doesn't count because they didn't deliver, right?)
That seemed to satisfy him and he began pondering. I thought he was trying to decide whether to give me stuff, but then he asked "how many soldiers?" "350" was my reply. Suddenly he said "go get a cart and meet me in front of the Butcher Block" and then he dashed off.
Fred was quick as a cat and had a cart before I knew what happened but before we even got to the back of the store, out comes "Rick," with a cart containing boxes of Nestle Crunch, Kit Kats, and Reese's Fast Break. He then apologizes for having us get a cart, because he already had one in the back! Like, I care?? The end result was that I got my chocolate.
"The Goods" are sitting on my table at this moment and the obvious challenge will be how to pack them all. I mean, it's a BIG stash. I have what we call our "Seoul Bag" which is a folding suitcase size bag, and I think if I pack minimum things for me, everything might fit into the suitcase and the Seoul Bag. Getting through security with two bags might also be a challenge, but I'm planning on throwing myself on their mercy there and going for a supervisor or our own operations, if necessary. Maybe I'll threaten to call the newspaper! Then there's the heat in the bay area. I'm worried that it might be too hot at Susan's, so I'm going to leave the Seoul Bag, with the chocolate in it, up in the inflight office until tomorrow. That will also avoid my trying to scam the security folks again!
After all this, I stopped by Pam's to have her make a hair bow (red, white, and blue ribbon) for me. The crew decorates themselves too! I now have to figure out how to make the basket liners. With time so short, I think I'll just have to do the pinking shear route.
Subject: Candy lady
Date: Sat, 24 May 2003 07:25
I took a break in my day yesterday to get ready for taking my CRAF trip. Arliss told me on her flight, the soldiers were begging for anything to eat. As a result, I took it in my head that I should take some stuff along. I decided that, being good patriotic companies, our local grocery stores could donate to the cause, so Fred drove me off in search of goodies. I think he was surprised that all of a sudden I became so embolden as to out right ask for things, but you know what? It didn't bother me at all.
First stop was at Safeway, next door to where I'd picked up my cleaning. Dang! Manager was in the "Friday Morning Meeting," and wouldn't be out for an hour. OK. The next stop was the fabric store, where I wanted to get some patriotic fabric to make basket liners. There I found the prize for the day, in a four foot American flag that has a white band across the bottom and in it, it says "United We Stand." Ohmygosh! It's beautiful!! When crews fly these flights, they decorate the plane and make posters and such. Well, my poster making skills aren't very good, but you do what you can do, right?
We then hit the Safeway near the fabric store, I gave my speech, and the store manager said "fill out this paperwork and wait for me here." The next thing I knew, she reappeared with a shopping cart full of boxes containing individual sized bags of things like Cheese nips, Wheat Thins, Mini Oreos, Cheese Crisps, and bags of individually wrapped chocolate. I gave her a big hug and already plan on a nice thank you with a picture of a GI chomping down her treats.
Next came Winco, where I was pretty much stonewalled. The manager said they didn't have any local authority to donate things, but I could call headquarters in Boise. I asked if we couldn't just call right then, which she did let me do, but the donation gal was late back from lunch, so would I call in 15 minutes? 15 minutes later I called, spoke to the same operator gal, who knew my story, who excitedly said the donor lady was in her office. Only problem was the donor lady didn't answer and only had her answering machine on. I left my message and my phone number, but they were never to be heard from again.
Finally, still looking for genuine candy bars, I made Fred stop at Albertson's, where I tracked down the manager. Right away he wanted to know how many stores I'd been to, so I told him "Only Safeway and here...because that's where I shop." "I never do this sort of thing, so you're who came to mind." (Winco doesn't count because they didn't deliver, right?)
That seemed to satisfy him and he began pondering. I thought he was trying to decide whether to give me stuff, but then he asked "how many soldiers?" "350" was my reply. Suddenly he said "go get a cart and meet me in front of the Butcher Block" and then he dashed off.
Fred was quick as a cat and had a cart before I knew what happened but before we even got to the back of the store, out comes "Rick," with a cart containing boxes of Nestle Crunch, Kit Kats, and Reese's Fast Break. He then apologizes for having us get a cart, because he already had one in the back! Like, I care?? The end result was that I got my chocolate.
"The Goods" are sitting on my table at this moment and the obvious challenge will be how to pack them all. I mean, it's a BIG stash. I have what we call our "Seoul Bag" which is a folding suitcase size bag, and I think if I pack minimum things for me, everything might fit into the suitcase and the Seoul Bag. Getting through security with two bags might also be a challenge, but I'm planning on throwing myself on their mercy there and going for a supervisor or our own operations, if necessary. Maybe I'll threaten to call the newspaper! Then there's the heat in the bay area. I'm worried that it might be too hot at Susan's, so I'm going to leave the Seoul Bag, with the chocolate in it, up in the inflight office until tomorrow. That will also avoid my trying to scam the security folks again!
After all this, I stopped by Pam's to have her make a hair bow (red, white, and blue ribbon) for me. The crew decorates themselves too! I now have to figure out how to make the basket liners. With time so short, I think I'll just have to do the pinking shear route.
From: "Sharon"
Subject: Memorial Day
Date: Wed, 28 May 2003 15:03
I've realized that I cannot put all of this into one day's writing, as we had to go out and about and now, having just returned, I simply must go to bed for a while. I think I was on a 24 hour adrenalin rush and it's caught up with me. More of this amazing experience tomorrow. lu, me
**********
Without a doubt, for me, Memorial Day will never, ever, be the same. I've tried to start this writing several times already this morning, because I'm feeling I simply cannot do justice or honor to the experience I've just had. Yet if I wait, I know the thoughts and memories will slip away from me and that would be even worse than writing an inadequate recounting.
It turned out that we were bringing home the Marine 1st Battalion LAR (Light Armored Reconnaissance.) These were the men you saw nightly on TV, who were the leading edge, the front men, the spear tip, in every action that took place. These were the men who were out front every step of the way.
Let me back up though, to the beginning of the trip, which was our ferry trip into Frankfurt. You'll remember, I was hauling a TON of plane decorations, as well as snacks and candy for the return trip with the troops. I sailed through PDX security, without even the flicker of an eyelash from them, though I did set off the alarm, with the ONLY piece of metal on me being my watch. "New Machine," was their explanation.
I staggered up to inflight with my heavy bag of goodies, and left the thing under my supervisor's desk, with a note, before heading down to Susan's. As we know, Susan is not a person who sews, and I should have reminded myself of that when she assured me that "of course I have pinking shears." Trying to make the tray liners with ancient, wax covered shears proved a disaster, from which I was rescued by Susan's sister, Barbara, who made an emergency run with replacement equipment, which functioned properly with crisp clean cuts.
Returning for my Seoul bag, I was met by a gaggle of supervisors who were astounded at the weight of my bag. To be honest, if I'd realized how heavy it was going to be, I might have given this adventure a second thought, but I was waaaay too far down the pike to turn around now. In an effort to do their part, they did scuffle up a luggage cart for me though, which was a good thing, as I'm not sure I could have made it all the way over to international without it.
My next challenge was to get through SFO international security. I think they must have stationed old Wakenhut people at the entrance, for they started waving their arms and shouting "No can bring! No can bring!" I don't know if they simply didn't want to listen, or didn't have the English skills to understand what I was saying, but we had a definite power struggle going on here, with them determined to keep me out and me determined to get in...with ALL my luggage! I simply refused to turn around and go all the way back to the United counters, where they were trying to send me. In the end, I was rescued by a United agent who said "we TOLD you we would have 20 flight attendants for the CRAF ferry and that they were to be allowed through with excess baggage." Being sure to still get their pound of flesh, they managed to get their last word in by refusing entry of my cart.
Now a first class seat on an empty 747, is truly a wondrous thing. Occasionally, I would walk the entire circle of the plane, simply to revel in its emptiness. The double flight attendant crew (two 747's returning home, each carrying 1/2 the battalion) visited, laughed, ate, watched movies, and slept. I do believe it might have been flight attendant heaven.
This vision was shattered though, when we arrived in Frankfurt, only to be parked far from the terminal (we were "military" after all). Now I was faced with two flights of stairs to get down to the tarmac, a climb on and off the bus, two flights of stairs back up to the terminal, and a 1/4 mile walk to the ground transportation.
I must interject here that a good part of my crew, had no business flying a CRAF flight, as they didn't "get it." Not one other person brought goodies, decorations, gifts, or even ideas. This is simply unheard of for one of these flights. It turned out alright though, as most of them were feeling pretty guilty by the time the trip was over. At this point though, they were simply feeling I was weird, so there wasn't a lot of help schlepping this stuff.
The stay in Frankfurt was wonderful, with lunch at my favorite restaurant The Kloster Hoff, and a cruise down the Rhine River to see the castles, but that tale will be told on another day.
I think the crew started to realize the significance of our situation, when returning to the airport, we were taken to the Rhine Maine, or military side, of FRA. We passed through multiple check points, staffed with German Military Police, and wound our way past several machine gun-equipped, sand bagged barriers.
Passing through security we were lead outside, to be escorted on the walk to our plane...1/3 of a mile away. I just kept telling myself "another step, another step." You know how bad this was? I blew the bearings in the wheels on my suitcase. Part way there, one of the gals could see I was struggling offered to change bags with me for a bit and I didn't hesitate to accept her offer, even for a moment.
"Ohmygawd!" she screeched. "Why didn't you tell us how heavy this was?" Almost the entire crew then took turns hauling the freight and requested military help in getting back up those dang stairs. Honestly, I wouldn't have made it all by myself.
The Marines we were to transport were all off the plane on a four-hour layover, but our plane was full of their gear and their desert sand dust. Honestly, the whole plane had a tan cast to it and you could smell the sand. There were packs and helmets, and rifles piled EVERYwhere.
About four of the other gals were now into the program and began helping to decorate, while it was obvious the rest of the crew thought we were way over doing it. This attitude changed abruptly, when the Marines reboarded the aircraft and began to exclaim in delight. I had an instant reward when I saw these dirty, dusty, obviously exhausted men's faces light up at the sight of all my red, white a blue. Suddenly the crew all had donned the lapel ribbons I'd made, as the Marines reboarded with their "Hoorah," "Americans!!" They later commented that the Frankfurt flight attendants were "efficient," but that's all. What a thrill it was for me to see them so happy at my efforts.
Date: Wed, 28 May 2003 22:21
To: Sharon
From: Rhonda
Subject: And?
You're just torturing me! So did they like the candy??? I must say, the story is off to a good start. In fact, I read it outloud to Bill and the boys because I loved it so much. We are wishing you could publish a book of your flying adventures. A retirement project, maybe?
Subject: Memorial Day
Date: Wed, 28 May 2003 15:03
I've realized that I cannot put all of this into one day's writing, as we had to go out and about and now, having just returned, I simply must go to bed for a while. I think I was on a 24 hour adrenalin rush and it's caught up with me. More of this amazing experience tomorrow. lu, me
**********
Without a doubt, for me, Memorial Day will never, ever, be the same. I've tried to start this writing several times already this morning, because I'm feeling I simply cannot do justice or honor to the experience I've just had. Yet if I wait, I know the thoughts and memories will slip away from me and that would be even worse than writing an inadequate recounting.
It turned out that we were bringing home the Marine 1st Battalion LAR (Light Armored Reconnaissance.) These were the men you saw nightly on TV, who were the leading edge, the front men, the spear tip, in every action that took place. These were the men who were out front every step of the way.
Let me back up though, to the beginning of the trip, which was our ferry trip into Frankfurt. You'll remember, I was hauling a TON of plane decorations, as well as snacks and candy for the return trip with the troops. I sailed through PDX security, without even the flicker of an eyelash from them, though I did set off the alarm, with the ONLY piece of metal on me being my watch. "New Machine," was their explanation.
I staggered up to inflight with my heavy bag of goodies, and left the thing under my supervisor's desk, with a note, before heading down to Susan's. As we know, Susan is not a person who sews, and I should have reminded myself of that when she assured me that "of course I have pinking shears." Trying to make the tray liners with ancient, wax covered shears proved a disaster, from which I was rescued by Susan's sister, Barbara, who made an emergency run with replacement equipment, which functioned properly with crisp clean cuts.
Returning for my Seoul bag, I was met by a gaggle of supervisors who were astounded at the weight of my bag. To be honest, if I'd realized how heavy it was going to be, I might have given this adventure a second thought, but I was waaaay too far down the pike to turn around now. In an effort to do their part, they did scuffle up a luggage cart for me though, which was a good thing, as I'm not sure I could have made it all the way over to international without it.
My next challenge was to get through SFO international security. I think they must have stationed old Wakenhut people at the entrance, for they started waving their arms and shouting "No can bring! No can bring!" I don't know if they simply didn't want to listen, or didn't have the English skills to understand what I was saying, but we had a definite power struggle going on here, with them determined to keep me out and me determined to get in...with ALL my luggage! I simply refused to turn around and go all the way back to the United counters, where they were trying to send me. In the end, I was rescued by a United agent who said "we TOLD you we would have 20 flight attendants for the CRAF ferry and that they were to be allowed through with excess baggage." Being sure to still get their pound of flesh, they managed to get their last word in by refusing entry of my cart.
Now a first class seat on an empty 747, is truly a wondrous thing. Occasionally, I would walk the entire circle of the plane, simply to revel in its emptiness. The double flight attendant crew (two 747's returning home, each carrying 1/2 the battalion) visited, laughed, ate, watched movies, and slept. I do believe it might have been flight attendant heaven.
This vision was shattered though, when we arrived in Frankfurt, only to be parked far from the terminal (we were "military" after all). Now I was faced with two flights of stairs to get down to the tarmac, a climb on and off the bus, two flights of stairs back up to the terminal, and a 1/4 mile walk to the ground transportation.
I must interject here that a good part of my crew, had no business flying a CRAF flight, as they didn't "get it." Not one other person brought goodies, decorations, gifts, or even ideas. This is simply unheard of for one of these flights. It turned out alright though, as most of them were feeling pretty guilty by the time the trip was over. At this point though, they were simply feeling I was weird, so there wasn't a lot of help schlepping this stuff.
The stay in Frankfurt was wonderful, with lunch at my favorite restaurant The Kloster Hoff, and a cruise down the Rhine River to see the castles, but that tale will be told on another day.
I think the crew started to realize the significance of our situation, when returning to the airport, we were taken to the Rhine Maine, or military side, of FRA. We passed through multiple check points, staffed with German Military Police, and wound our way past several machine gun-equipped, sand bagged barriers.
Passing through security we were lead outside, to be escorted on the walk to our plane...1/3 of a mile away. I just kept telling myself "another step, another step." You know how bad this was? I blew the bearings in the wheels on my suitcase. Part way there, one of the gals could see I was struggling offered to change bags with me for a bit and I didn't hesitate to accept her offer, even for a moment.
"Ohmygawd!" she screeched. "Why didn't you tell us how heavy this was?" Almost the entire crew then took turns hauling the freight and requested military help in getting back up those dang stairs. Honestly, I wouldn't have made it all by myself.
The Marines we were to transport were all off the plane on a four-hour layover, but our plane was full of their gear and their desert sand dust. Honestly, the whole plane had a tan cast to it and you could smell the sand. There were packs and helmets, and rifles piled EVERYwhere.
About four of the other gals were now into the program and began helping to decorate, while it was obvious the rest of the crew thought we were way over doing it. This attitude changed abruptly, when the Marines reboarded the aircraft and began to exclaim in delight. I had an instant reward when I saw these dirty, dusty, obviously exhausted men's faces light up at the sight of all my red, white a blue. Suddenly the crew all had donned the lapel ribbons I'd made, as the Marines reboarded with their "Hoorah," "Americans!!" They later commented that the Frankfurt flight attendants were "efficient," but that's all. What a thrill it was for me to see them so happy at my efforts.
Date: Wed, 28 May 2003 22:21
To: Sharon
From: Rhonda
Subject: And?
You're just torturing me! So did they like the candy??? I must say, the story is off to a good start. In fact, I read it outloud to Bill and the boys because I loved it so much. We are wishing you could publish a book of your flying adventures. A retirement project, maybe?
From: "Sharon"
To: "Rhonda"
Subject: OK, OK!
Date: Thu, 29 May 2003 06:54
Whassa matta with you girl? Can't you wait and be patient while the story unfolds? You hafta know, right now, if they liked their candy? Well, of course they liked their candy, you silly girl! Well, OK...they LOVED their candy. But for the details, you'll have to wait for the rest of the story.
Actually, I'm doing this as much for me, as for you guys. It was obviously a huge emotional experience for me and I just can't bear the thought of losing the memory of it to time. I'll probably end up writing a lot more than you guys are interested in reading but I know that years from now, I'll be glad I did.
Ted and Holly came over last night and they both cried when they saw my flag. (You haven't heard that part of the story yet either.) I had to adamantly tell Holly "NO!" to keep her from calling the Columbian, saying they would love to do this story. This was just such a personal experience that I don't like the idea of the public stomping around in my emotions and private memories.
As to writing stories of flying, I don't think they're publishable, but putting them into a form for future generations might be a good thought. Wouldn't you love to read some of our grandmother's life experiences? I occasionally remember stories I haven't recalled in years and need to put them down in even a one liner form, so I don't forget them forever.
To: "Rhonda"
Subject: OK, OK!
Date: Thu, 29 May 2003 06:54
Whassa matta with you girl? Can't you wait and be patient while the story unfolds? You hafta know, right now, if they liked their candy? Well, of course they liked their candy, you silly girl! Well, OK...they LOVED their candy. But for the details, you'll have to wait for the rest of the story.
Actually, I'm doing this as much for me, as for you guys. It was obviously a huge emotional experience for me and I just can't bear the thought of losing the memory of it to time. I'll probably end up writing a lot more than you guys are interested in reading but I know that years from now, I'll be glad I did.
Ted and Holly came over last night and they both cried when they saw my flag. (You haven't heard that part of the story yet either.) I had to adamantly tell Holly "NO!" to keep her from calling the Columbian, saying they would love to do this story. This was just such a personal experience that I don't like the idea of the public stomping around in my emotions and private memories.
As to writing stories of flying, I don't think they're publishable, but putting them into a form for future generations might be a good thought. Wouldn't you love to read some of our grandmother's life experiences? I occasionally remember stories I haven't recalled in years and need to put them down in even a one liner form, so I don't forget them forever.
From: "Sharon"
Subject: Memorial Day, Part 2
Date: Thu, 29 May 2003 06:24
OK...here's part 2. Tomorrow will come the stories.
******
I was surprised at how quickly the Marines filed back on to the plane and got into their seats, despite having to climb over the equipment. As you've heard me complain in the past, civilians whine and cry when their seatmate has so much as a brief case sticking an inch into "'their" space.
Looking out at the cabin full of uniforms, I felt rather silly preparing for my safety demo assignment. After they've been through the devil's teeth, I should be telling them how to be safe? The first thing we address is a how-to on the seat belt. There was no way I could bring myself to teach them how to fasten their seat belt, so I waved it around a bit and called out "buckle 'em up!" Click! Click! Click! Click! Civilians don't know how to do this either.
There's a part of the safety demo when the purser says, "Please take the safety card out of the seat pocket in front of you and follow along as we explain the safety feature of this aircraft." Of course no regular passengers ever do this (except perhaps my own family members), as I'm sure they think they're way too cool. We end up "performing" to an empty house so to speak, as the regulars are either carrying on a conversation at the top of their voices or have their noses buried in their reading material. I almost fainted when the heads of the entire cabin disappeared because they were ALL leaning over to pull out their safety cards! To top things off, every eye stayed glued on the entire demo and no one said a word. Now THAT was a first!
Take-off!!! The cabin filled with a cacophony of male voices yelling, cheering, and shouting as the moment of take-off occurred. Their voices rose far above the roar of the engines and it gives me goose bumps even now, as I recall the unique sound. These exhausted, dirty men knew that it was real and they were truly headed home.
I had been warned by a lot of folks, that this would be a rowdy group, but nothing could have been further from the fact. I don't know if it was because they were so exhausted or because they were so disciplined, but you couldn't have asked for a more fabulous group. Some of them slept most of the way, with blankets wrapped over their heads. We had card games, for which we pulled out the queen carts to serve as card tables. Of course there were movies. At some point in the flight, most of them also disassembled and cleaned their weapons. A toothbrush and some baby wipes were the tools of choice and I was told that you did this four to six times a day when they were in the field. "I take care of my gun and my gun will take care of me."
However, WE turned out to be what they wanted for their inflight entertainment. Real, non-military, Americans. In essence, we were "first contact." It was obvious that they were hungry for our company, to talk to or just be with. Right after our first service, I was on my way to the first class galley for supplies, when I saw a captain walking to the galley coming from the first class cabin. As we approached each other, he raised his arms out towards me and kept walking. Somehow it seemed just right, to find myself enfolded in his dusty arms. When we parted, his eyes were moist and he said "I haven't had a hug in five months...." Unabashed, unembarrassed, these Bad Boys from the Mean Machine came looking for the "hug lady." "Mudbuck." "Black 8." "Ski." "Bama." "Ack Ack." The nicknames went on, but shyly they'd approach, with a questioning look and then get their hug. Those that didn't hug, simply wanted to touch. One would take my hand, another pat my arm. Some would throw an arm around my shoulder. This went on throughout the flight. These genuinely tough guys, all needed their Mom!
Remember that sand dust I mentioned earlier? Well, it wasn't long before I looked like I'd been fighting in Iraq as well, and this effect was increased any time I patted a shoulder or arm in return, as the sand dust would billow out of their clothing. They all talked about how they went for three and a half months with no showers and indeed, the Captain on the trip over had warned us that the Marines wouldn't smell very nice. However, you know that sweat smell that 9-year-old boys get when they've been playing hard? That's what these guys smelled like! It felt so natural to have all that son smell and the room a mess!
Usually, since you're guaranteed there are no terrorists aboard a CRAF flight, the Captain leaves the cockpit door open and invites any of the guys who want to, to visit the flight deck. This trip was different however, as there was a Marine prisoner, accompanied by MP's sitting in the forward section of the upper deck. They ordered no flight deck traffic, as they said that there were men aboard who would kill this prisoner, if given the chance. Seems the prisoner had attacked and shot a fellow Marine several days earlier and was now on his way to a court marshal. The ferocity of loyalty to each other and raw hatred for someone who betrayed that loyalty was startling as I watched facial expressions ripple from warm camaraderie to one of abomination, when speaking of the incident.
Subject: Memorial Day, Part 2
Date: Thu, 29 May 2003 06:24
OK...here's part 2. Tomorrow will come the stories.
******
I was surprised at how quickly the Marines filed back on to the plane and got into their seats, despite having to climb over the equipment. As you've heard me complain in the past, civilians whine and cry when their seatmate has so much as a brief case sticking an inch into "'their" space.
Looking out at the cabin full of uniforms, I felt rather silly preparing for my safety demo assignment. After they've been through the devil's teeth, I should be telling them how to be safe? The first thing we address is a how-to on the seat belt. There was no way I could bring myself to teach them how to fasten their seat belt, so I waved it around a bit and called out "buckle 'em up!" Click! Click! Click! Click! Civilians don't know how to do this either.
There's a part of the safety demo when the purser says, "Please take the safety card out of the seat pocket in front of you and follow along as we explain the safety feature of this aircraft." Of course no regular passengers ever do this (except perhaps my own family members), as I'm sure they think they're way too cool. We end up "performing" to an empty house so to speak, as the regulars are either carrying on a conversation at the top of their voices or have their noses buried in their reading material. I almost fainted when the heads of the entire cabin disappeared because they were ALL leaning over to pull out their safety cards! To top things off, every eye stayed glued on the entire demo and no one said a word. Now THAT was a first!
Take-off!!! The cabin filled with a cacophony of male voices yelling, cheering, and shouting as the moment of take-off occurred. Their voices rose far above the roar of the engines and it gives me goose bumps even now, as I recall the unique sound. These exhausted, dirty men knew that it was real and they were truly headed home.
I had been warned by a lot of folks, that this would be a rowdy group, but nothing could have been further from the fact. I don't know if it was because they were so exhausted or because they were so disciplined, but you couldn't have asked for a more fabulous group. Some of them slept most of the way, with blankets wrapped over their heads. We had card games, for which we pulled out the queen carts to serve as card tables. Of course there were movies. At some point in the flight, most of them also disassembled and cleaned their weapons. A toothbrush and some baby wipes were the tools of choice and I was told that you did this four to six times a day when they were in the field. "I take care of my gun and my gun will take care of me."
However, WE turned out to be what they wanted for their inflight entertainment. Real, non-military, Americans. In essence, we were "first contact." It was obvious that they were hungry for our company, to talk to or just be with. Right after our first service, I was on my way to the first class galley for supplies, when I saw a captain walking to the galley coming from the first class cabin. As we approached each other, he raised his arms out towards me and kept walking. Somehow it seemed just right, to find myself enfolded in his dusty arms. When we parted, his eyes were moist and he said "I haven't had a hug in five months...." Unabashed, unembarrassed, these Bad Boys from the Mean Machine came looking for the "hug lady." "Mudbuck." "Black 8." "Ski." "Bama." "Ack Ack." The nicknames went on, but shyly they'd approach, with a questioning look and then get their hug. Those that didn't hug, simply wanted to touch. One would take my hand, another pat my arm. Some would throw an arm around my shoulder. This went on throughout the flight. These genuinely tough guys, all needed their Mom!
Remember that sand dust I mentioned earlier? Well, it wasn't long before I looked like I'd been fighting in Iraq as well, and this effect was increased any time I patted a shoulder or arm in return, as the sand dust would billow out of their clothing. They all talked about how they went for three and a half months with no showers and indeed, the Captain on the trip over had warned us that the Marines wouldn't smell very nice. However, you know that sweat smell that 9-year-old boys get when they've been playing hard? That's what these guys smelled like! It felt so natural to have all that son smell and the room a mess!
Usually, since you're guaranteed there are no terrorists aboard a CRAF flight, the Captain leaves the cockpit door open and invites any of the guys who want to, to visit the flight deck. This trip was different however, as there was a Marine prisoner, accompanied by MP's sitting in the forward section of the upper deck. They ordered no flight deck traffic, as they said that there were men aboard who would kill this prisoner, if given the chance. Seems the prisoner had attacked and shot a fellow Marine several days earlier and was now on his way to a court marshal. The ferocity of loyalty to each other and raw hatred for someone who betrayed that loyalty was startling as I watched facial expressions ripple from warm camaraderie to one of abomination, when speaking of the incident.
Date: Thu, 29 May 2003 22:11
From: Rhonda
Subject: What Can I Say?
No, I can't wait and be patient, I won't, I won't. Honey is quite impressed with your story, too. But we think you're wrong about your publication potential. I suppose this means you have to get an agent and an editor? Honey says that glow is your halo.
From: Rhonda
Subject: What Can I Say?
No, I can't wait and be patient, I won't, I won't. Honey is quite impressed with your story, too. But we think you're wrong about your publication potential. I suppose this means you have to get an agent and an editor? Honey says that glow is your halo.
*BREAK*BREAK*
I was just interrupted by a
timid, "Mom, are you going to read us the story tonight???" Awwww, of
COURSE. The boys soaked it right up, with the attention like that of the
marines at the safety demo. So now I really do need to get my little self into
bed. G'nite, and many good bytes. l, sosr
From: "Sharon"
Subject: Memorial Day Weekend 2003. Part 3
Date: Fri, 30 May 2003 07:09
Crew rest break? You think I want a crew rest break when I'm having the flying experience of my life? I simply wanted to slap the aft purser silly, when his first order of the day was to set up the crew, half and half, on two long breaks, rather than in thirds, for three shorter breaks. Here I had friends who would have killed to be where we were, and this dope was most worried about how long his rest break would be. In fact, Arliss had told me that most crew don't take breaks on the CRAF trips, so I was surprised when only the purser and myself were the ones who stayed up. Honestly, I would have stayed up, if the trip was twice as long. I felt as though any time away would have been another man and another story that I would miss.
John, or "JJ" was right across the jumpseat from me, sitting in the exit row seat by the window. Sitting next to him was Tom, who was proudly introduced as "the driver." And, before long, Gary was dragged up to meet me and introduced as "the gunner." This pattern was repeated over and over again, as the eight wheeled tanks that were the spearhead of the war each had a three man crew. The commander, the driver, and the gunner. These men literally ate, slept, and fought together for the whole five months. Throughout the flight, commanders would tell their story and then go find their crew for me to meet. My heart, even now, fills with emotion as I think of the love and pride these men had for each other and how important it was for them to be sure I met their "brothers."
John, who I dubbed "Jump Seat John," much to his delight and that of his friends, described how each tank has a commander who stands sticking out the top of the tank. Hello..".Is that like being a target, I ask?" "Well yes," comes the answer, "but fortunately for us, they mostly can't shoot accurately." Oh boy, is that supposed to make me feel better? Next comes the driver, who is completely inside the tank , driving from a screen display and following the orders of the commander. Lastly is the gunner, who is jammed way down into the tank, almost laying his back, in a sit/recline position, and he too works from a video screen. It is at this point that I figure the USA is safe for several generations to come, for there are no kids in the world who are as skilled as ours are, at video games. Only now, the video games are deadly and the score is for real. There is no "replay."
Asking JJ how he felt about going home, I was startled to hear him say that he was a bit afraid. After he'd been through so much, of what could he possibly be afraid? A three-month-old baby girl! His new daughter was born in February and Mom would have her at Camp Pendleton for his arrival. "I'm afraid to hold her," he says to me. "I've never even seen her." "She won't know me." "What if I'm not a good enough Dad?" (Oh gee, should I have sent out hankies with these writings?) An Iraqi Guardsman was a piece of cake for this man , but a three month old baby was another story all together. Once again, I am awed by the contrast of the Mean Marine and the Gentle Hearts.
"Ack Ack" probably spent the longest time with me. He was a sergeant, who commanded a platoon of 65 men. At 39, he was a veteran who was on his fourth deployment and said he was now probably pushing his luck. "How many times can I do this," he mused. Through his many stories there was one major theme however. After each story he'd say "I promised their wives I'd bring them all back alive and I did it." "Every man I took over is on this plane today." "I'm bringing them ALL home." "I did it." "I promised their wives....." Often with tears in his eyes, he was a complex mix of ferocity, pride, relief, and a sense that the Gods of luck had been with him.
Ack Ack was funny as well, saying he had a veteran Mom too. SHE knew what to send in those care packages. Sox, Spaghettio's, tuna, AA batteries, baby wipes, and bubble gum. The latter is for the bubble gum competition. How many pieces of bubble gum can you get into your mouth? Well, I met the champion bubble gummer who managed 91 pieces at one time! I told you those Marines were tough!
Receiving, or rather, NOT receiving the care packages and letters was a major conversational theme. It seems that they went almost three months with no mail, as the delivery system simply didn't keep up with them. Ultimately, they received tons of mail late in the battles and started receiving their care packages just at the time they were being told to divest themselves of their belongings, for the trip home. There was a sadness in this part of the tale, as they all admitted to being lonely and down and really needed the support of their families at that time. They also said they could tell what CNN was reporting about their needs. Cases and cases of baby wipes showed up as well as fifty-pound cases of Chap Stick!
Those baby wipes may have been the Secret Weapon, as they were used for everything. In addition to cleaning a gun, they will clean utensils, almost anything in your "kit," and your body too. With no showers for almost the first three and a half months, they learned to use the baby wipes on the run, for faces, under arms, and privates ("oh 'scuse me Ma'am, I shouldn't have said that.") Their first bath came from the Tigress River, which is where they were also told to fill their water bottles. That turned out to be a real disaster, as the water was bad and the whole Division was sick to their stomach and suffered from diarrhea for two days. Perhaps it was because they were filling the same water bottles, over and over again, for the whole three months, as well? They joked that the bad water was Iraq's real bio weapon!
I asked few questions, preferring to let them tell me what ever came pouring forth. The one questions I did ask most of them though was "were you surprised that the Iraqis did not use chemical weapons?" However, to a one, they all said there HAD been nerve agent attacks. This was a puzzle to me, as of course here at home we've been told the contrary. They described hurriedly donning their suits on a regular basis when hearing the yell from other troops "chemicals!" They insisted that tests came back positive. Indeed, they were all gulping handfuls of pills not only for the malaria, but for chemical exposure as well. I was impressed that not one of them mentioned the heat. Can you imagine how hot it was to begin with and then have to don one of those suits? Tough!
Pulling out his map, Sergeant Clemons, from Alabama, told about being ambushed at Ba Qubah, on the way to Tikrit. Yes, remember I told you these were the out front men. He commands a mortar tank and described loading the round into the mortar gun. I commented that you'd have to get your hand back out of the way really fast, wouldn't you? It seems you don't pull your hand back, but rather it's all in one movement. "You drop the shell and in the same downward movement, grab your butt cheek." "Oh, sorry Ma'am!" "You grab your wallet!" Good naturedly, he let me take a picture of him grabbing his "wallet!"
His tale of being ambushed was riveting, as he drew diagrams in my book of how it happened. Lured by a "bait" car, which came from the opposite direction, stopped to fire on them, and U-turned to dash away, the troops quickly found themselves surrounded. There were Iraqis shooting from both sides of the road, with more Iraqi troops closing in behind and mortar troops lobbing shells from out front. "Bullets "pinged" all over our tank, as we pulled off the road to set up our mortar." "Gunny had to climb out the back of the tank to set up our radar stake, with no cover at all." "We should be dead," he told me solemnly. This took place in the middle of the night and they had to fight their way out in retreat. A look of satisfaction came over his face though, when he described how he "showed 'em" the next morning. At this point he told of their "confirmed kills," which is something that many of them told of. Always, I would denote a sense of defensiveness in this piece of information, revealing the conflict of having to kill, or be killed.
Subject: Memorial Day Weekend 2003. Part 3
Date: Fri, 30 May 2003 07:09
Crew rest break? You think I want a crew rest break when I'm having the flying experience of my life? I simply wanted to slap the aft purser silly, when his first order of the day was to set up the crew, half and half, on two long breaks, rather than in thirds, for three shorter breaks. Here I had friends who would have killed to be where we were, and this dope was most worried about how long his rest break would be. In fact, Arliss had told me that most crew don't take breaks on the CRAF trips, so I was surprised when only the purser and myself were the ones who stayed up. Honestly, I would have stayed up, if the trip was twice as long. I felt as though any time away would have been another man and another story that I would miss.
John, or "JJ" was right across the jumpseat from me, sitting in the exit row seat by the window. Sitting next to him was Tom, who was proudly introduced as "the driver." And, before long, Gary was dragged up to meet me and introduced as "the gunner." This pattern was repeated over and over again, as the eight wheeled tanks that were the spearhead of the war each had a three man crew. The commander, the driver, and the gunner. These men literally ate, slept, and fought together for the whole five months. Throughout the flight, commanders would tell their story and then go find their crew for me to meet. My heart, even now, fills with emotion as I think of the love and pride these men had for each other and how important it was for them to be sure I met their "brothers."
John, who I dubbed "Jump Seat John," much to his delight and that of his friends, described how each tank has a commander who stands sticking out the top of the tank. Hello..".Is that like being a target, I ask?" "Well yes," comes the answer, "but fortunately for us, they mostly can't shoot accurately." Oh boy, is that supposed to make me feel better? Next comes the driver, who is completely inside the tank , driving from a screen display and following the orders of the commander. Lastly is the gunner, who is jammed way down into the tank, almost laying his back, in a sit/recline position, and he too works from a video screen. It is at this point that I figure the USA is safe for several generations to come, for there are no kids in the world who are as skilled as ours are, at video games. Only now, the video games are deadly and the score is for real. There is no "replay."
Asking JJ how he felt about going home, I was startled to hear him say that he was a bit afraid. After he'd been through so much, of what could he possibly be afraid? A three-month-old baby girl! His new daughter was born in February and Mom would have her at Camp Pendleton for his arrival. "I'm afraid to hold her," he says to me. "I've never even seen her." "She won't know me." "What if I'm not a good enough Dad?" (Oh gee, should I have sent out hankies with these writings?) An Iraqi Guardsman was a piece of cake for this man , but a three month old baby was another story all together. Once again, I am awed by the contrast of the Mean Marine and the Gentle Hearts.
"Ack Ack" probably spent the longest time with me. He was a sergeant, who commanded a platoon of 65 men. At 39, he was a veteran who was on his fourth deployment and said he was now probably pushing his luck. "How many times can I do this," he mused. Through his many stories there was one major theme however. After each story he'd say "I promised their wives I'd bring them all back alive and I did it." "Every man I took over is on this plane today." "I'm bringing them ALL home." "I did it." "I promised their wives....." Often with tears in his eyes, he was a complex mix of ferocity, pride, relief, and a sense that the Gods of luck had been with him.
Ack Ack was funny as well, saying he had a veteran Mom too. SHE knew what to send in those care packages. Sox, Spaghettio's, tuna, AA batteries, baby wipes, and bubble gum. The latter is for the bubble gum competition. How many pieces of bubble gum can you get into your mouth? Well, I met the champion bubble gummer who managed 91 pieces at one time! I told you those Marines were tough!
Receiving, or rather, NOT receiving the care packages and letters was a major conversational theme. It seems that they went almost three months with no mail, as the delivery system simply didn't keep up with them. Ultimately, they received tons of mail late in the battles and started receiving their care packages just at the time they were being told to divest themselves of their belongings, for the trip home. There was a sadness in this part of the tale, as they all admitted to being lonely and down and really needed the support of their families at that time. They also said they could tell what CNN was reporting about their needs. Cases and cases of baby wipes showed up as well as fifty-pound cases of Chap Stick!
Those baby wipes may have been the Secret Weapon, as they were used for everything. In addition to cleaning a gun, they will clean utensils, almost anything in your "kit," and your body too. With no showers for almost the first three and a half months, they learned to use the baby wipes on the run, for faces, under arms, and privates ("oh 'scuse me Ma'am, I shouldn't have said that.") Their first bath came from the Tigress River, which is where they were also told to fill their water bottles. That turned out to be a real disaster, as the water was bad and the whole Division was sick to their stomach and suffered from diarrhea for two days. Perhaps it was because they were filling the same water bottles, over and over again, for the whole three months, as well? They joked that the bad water was Iraq's real bio weapon!
I asked few questions, preferring to let them tell me what ever came pouring forth. The one questions I did ask most of them though was "were you surprised that the Iraqis did not use chemical weapons?" However, to a one, they all said there HAD been nerve agent attacks. This was a puzzle to me, as of course here at home we've been told the contrary. They described hurriedly donning their suits on a regular basis when hearing the yell from other troops "chemicals!" They insisted that tests came back positive. Indeed, they were all gulping handfuls of pills not only for the malaria, but for chemical exposure as well. I was impressed that not one of them mentioned the heat. Can you imagine how hot it was to begin with and then have to don one of those suits? Tough!
Pulling out his map, Sergeant Clemons, from Alabama, told about being ambushed at Ba Qubah, on the way to Tikrit. Yes, remember I told you these were the out front men. He commands a mortar tank and described loading the round into the mortar gun. I commented that you'd have to get your hand back out of the way really fast, wouldn't you? It seems you don't pull your hand back, but rather it's all in one movement. "You drop the shell and in the same downward movement, grab your butt cheek." "Oh, sorry Ma'am!" "You grab your wallet!" Good naturedly, he let me take a picture of him grabbing his "wallet!"
His tale of being ambushed was riveting, as he drew diagrams in my book of how it happened. Lured by a "bait" car, which came from the opposite direction, stopped to fire on them, and U-turned to dash away, the troops quickly found themselves surrounded. There were Iraqis shooting from both sides of the road, with more Iraqi troops closing in behind and mortar troops lobbing shells from out front. "Bullets "pinged" all over our tank, as we pulled off the road to set up our mortar." "Gunny had to climb out the back of the tank to set up our radar stake, with no cover at all." "We should be dead," he told me solemnly. This took place in the middle of the night and they had to fight their way out in retreat. A look of satisfaction came over his face though, when he described how he "showed 'em" the next morning. At this point he told of their "confirmed kills," which is something that many of them told of. Always, I would denote a sense of defensiveness in this piece of information, revealing the conflict of having to kill, or be killed.
From: "Sharon"
Subject: Memorial Day weekend, Part 4
Date: Sat, 31 May 2003 20:52
Subject: Memorial Day weekend, Part 4
Date: Sat, 31 May 2003 20:52
"Oh,
Ma'am!" "This is delicious!" Well, that was another first for
me. Someone actually raving about airline food? Unheard of! Of course, this
gives us a clue about the food they'd been eating for the last five months.
My group had gone over on the USS Pearl Harbor, where they were fed until they practically burst. I rather think that maybe they were being fattened up for the long run. Upon arrival in Kuwait, while they waited for the military action to begin, they were given "MREs" (Meals Ready to Eat.) Gourmet food, this was not. However, knowing that iffy food is better than no food, the Marines told of how they would squirrel away one MRE a day, to take with them for when the supply lines couldn't reach them. Under the ammo, behind the gun, and hey! If you unscrew the floorboards, there's an empty space to put more in there too! They always kept ahead on the food, thus assuring they would never get caught without.
As things wound down, they began giving their excess to the Iraqi people, who mobbed them everywhere they went. But this was only after the Marines had been in their locale for a few days. Initially, the towns would be deserted as the Iraqi people hid in their homes, being terrified of the "American Monsters." Slowly, they began to emerge, until they were sure that the American's weren't going to kill them. From this point, they would then begin to show the troops where the stashes of weapons were and where the Bathists were hiding.
This acceptance quickly turned into a mob rush, once they figured out that the Marines were OK guys and that they would give the people foods and supplies. That was "a little bit scary" according to "Short Shot." He told of a tightening of the gut when the people ran towards them, for you "never knew just who was in that crowd and what they might be hiding." They saved all their candy bars for the kids and were rewarded with smiles and laughter. But, when they ran out of candy, watch out! Those same smiling kids would retreat, screaming curses ("or at least it sounded like curses") and then they'd begin throwing rocks!
The adults apparently were much the same way. Once they came out, they were very friendly, waving and smiling. But, after a few days went by, they became surly and menacing. It seems that the Iraqi people perceive the USA as omnipotent. A country that can do ANYthing. RIGHT NOW! The Marines lamented that they couldn't turn on the water and they couldn't restore the power, RIGHT NOW! But, it was impossible to get the people to believe that. The people seemed to think that the Marines were withholding the utilities as some sort of punishment. Bewilderment was on the young faces who told me these tales. They thought they had done everything right, but the populace had turned on them so quickly. These guys had been trained to fight and indeed they had...successfully. But, they were not trained to handle the mercurial moods of the crowds and how to deal with a culture that perceives over the top emotionalism as macho.
What we perceive as disciplined and controlled is, in the Middle East, considered to be feminine and weak. Neighbor, Don, who worked in Iran for some time, and who is a fairly quiet sort, had a terrible time getting his people to do what he wanted them to do. Watching their interaction and what appeared to be their out of control behavior, he figured out he should simply have a temper tantrum the next time a problem arose. Sure enough, when he climbed right up on the table, stomped, and shouted, everything got done. He'd proven he was the boss.
However, our Marines were between a rock and a hard spot. Do nothing and it egged on the crowd because they thought they smelled weakness. Have a grand, bullying, hissy fit and wouldn't the TV have had a field day with that??? "That was maybe the toughest part, Ma'am, because there was nothing right to do."
As they made their way North through the country, they all talked about the presence of Sadam. Posters, murals, fountains, mosaics. "You could hardly go 30 feet without another picture of the guy" one young man told me. "We pulled down hundreds of statues and shot the faces out of even more pictures." " At first, the people would show us which ones to do and we would do it at night, but as time went on, the people themselves would come out and do the destruction work in wild crowds."
To a one, the Marines were impressed with the palaces. "Ski" told me "why he had furniture just like you see on Antique Road Show!" "Everything was marble," he went on. "I never saw so much marble!" And huge...they were all impressed with the size of these palaces and that one man could have so many. Their judgment of Sadam was clear, as they described the lavishness of his palaces, while literally around the corner were slums and hovels. Ooooh! Did they ever take evil pleasure in showering in the palace!!! Never mind these were the first showers in months, they were bathing in gold and marble baths! Take that, Sadam!!
My group had gone over on the USS Pearl Harbor, where they were fed until they practically burst. I rather think that maybe they were being fattened up for the long run. Upon arrival in Kuwait, while they waited for the military action to begin, they were given "MREs" (Meals Ready to Eat.) Gourmet food, this was not. However, knowing that iffy food is better than no food, the Marines told of how they would squirrel away one MRE a day, to take with them for when the supply lines couldn't reach them. Under the ammo, behind the gun, and hey! If you unscrew the floorboards, there's an empty space to put more in there too! They always kept ahead on the food, thus assuring they would never get caught without.
As things wound down, they began giving their excess to the Iraqi people, who mobbed them everywhere they went. But this was only after the Marines had been in their locale for a few days. Initially, the towns would be deserted as the Iraqi people hid in their homes, being terrified of the "American Monsters." Slowly, they began to emerge, until they were sure that the American's weren't going to kill them. From this point, they would then begin to show the troops where the stashes of weapons were and where the Bathists were hiding.
This acceptance quickly turned into a mob rush, once they figured out that the Marines were OK guys and that they would give the people foods and supplies. That was "a little bit scary" according to "Short Shot." He told of a tightening of the gut when the people ran towards them, for you "never knew just who was in that crowd and what they might be hiding." They saved all their candy bars for the kids and were rewarded with smiles and laughter. But, when they ran out of candy, watch out! Those same smiling kids would retreat, screaming curses ("or at least it sounded like curses") and then they'd begin throwing rocks!
The adults apparently were much the same way. Once they came out, they were very friendly, waving and smiling. But, after a few days went by, they became surly and menacing. It seems that the Iraqi people perceive the USA as omnipotent. A country that can do ANYthing. RIGHT NOW! The Marines lamented that they couldn't turn on the water and they couldn't restore the power, RIGHT NOW! But, it was impossible to get the people to believe that. The people seemed to think that the Marines were withholding the utilities as some sort of punishment. Bewilderment was on the young faces who told me these tales. They thought they had done everything right, but the populace had turned on them so quickly. These guys had been trained to fight and indeed they had...successfully. But, they were not trained to handle the mercurial moods of the crowds and how to deal with a culture that perceives over the top emotionalism as macho.
What we perceive as disciplined and controlled is, in the Middle East, considered to be feminine and weak. Neighbor, Don, who worked in Iran for some time, and who is a fairly quiet sort, had a terrible time getting his people to do what he wanted them to do. Watching their interaction and what appeared to be their out of control behavior, he figured out he should simply have a temper tantrum the next time a problem arose. Sure enough, when he climbed right up on the table, stomped, and shouted, everything got done. He'd proven he was the boss.
However, our Marines were between a rock and a hard spot. Do nothing and it egged on the crowd because they thought they smelled weakness. Have a grand, bullying, hissy fit and wouldn't the TV have had a field day with that??? "That was maybe the toughest part, Ma'am, because there was nothing right to do."
As they made their way North through the country, they all talked about the presence of Sadam. Posters, murals, fountains, mosaics. "You could hardly go 30 feet without another picture of the guy" one young man told me. "We pulled down hundreds of statues and shot the faces out of even more pictures." " At first, the people would show us which ones to do and we would do it at night, but as time went on, the people themselves would come out and do the destruction work in wild crowds."
To a one, the Marines were impressed with the palaces. "Ski" told me "why he had furniture just like you see on Antique Road Show!" "Everything was marble," he went on. "I never saw so much marble!" And huge...they were all impressed with the size of these palaces and that one man could have so many. Their judgment of Sadam was clear, as they described the lavishness of his palaces, while literally around the corner were slums and hovels. Ooooh! Did they ever take evil pleasure in showering in the palace!!! Never mind these were the first showers in months, they were bathing in gold and marble baths! Take that, Sadam!!
From: "Sharon"
Subject: Memorial Day Weekend. Final
Date: Sun, 1 Jun 2003 08:06
Subject: Memorial Day Weekend. Final
Date: Sun, 1 Jun 2003 08:06
"Oh,
dang!" That's what I thought when one Marine told me that water was so
scarce they didn't even brush their teeth! He told me "everyone here needs
dental work when we get home." And I brought bags loaded with
candy? You'll remember that earlier I mentioned that friend, Arliss, told me
they didn't board enough food for the guys. True. She also mentioned that they
had really missed junk food. True. So now that I had dragged all these goodies
with me, this guy was telling me that their teeth were falling out of their
head?
Hmmm, I wonder if you get a purple heart for suffering through dental procedures? I know I always feel like I should get a bravery medal, every time I have to go to the dentist, but some how I don't think my guys would think that counts.
You should have seen the faces as I rolled my suitcase up the aisle, laid it down, unzipped it and opened it up. You know that when a person opens their suitcase, all eyes look to see what's inside. Haven't we all experienced this when security opens your suitcase in front of your fellow travelers? (If you were really lucky, your unders were waved around for everyone to see, as well.)
The exclamations were audible, as I lifted out my one thin layer of clothing to reveal the entire oversize suitcase full of "big bag Mini Oreos!" But, their eyes could not believe when I dragged up the Seoul bag and unzipped it to reveal it was totally packed with bags and bars of goodies as well!
One of my flying partners came up to help me pack bins with the goods, trying to evenly distribute our assortment. A basket each for first class, and upper and main deck business, and six bins full for coach. One of the guys came up to pose with the "goods" so I can send a thank you to the store managers and figured he could have first choice as his reward. No problem! I gulped a tad when he took fist fulls, as there was enough for everyone to have one piece. Silly me. I thought those guys would take only ONE piece?
Bless their hearts, two of the gals in coach (Mc Donald ladies, I might add) took it upon themselves to load up the beverage cart, put the candy bins on top and did a full service, round robin style, through the entire coach cabin. Most graciously, they also broadcast as they went, that I was the one responsible for both the decorations and the candy. Oh my! "HOOrah!" greeted me, every time I entered the coach cabin. I'll tell you, you haven't been cheered, until you've been cheered by the Marines! The photos show some happy guys, waving their chocolates. I could empathize completely. Five months with no chocolate? They were right. War is hell!
In the end, because some of the guys were sleeping, we had just enough. The goods were gone to the last bag, though I have no doubt that if I'd had more, they would have finished that up as well. Our purser also announced where the treats had come from and my coach ladies insisted that I got louder cheers than the landing did. I don't know about that, but I knew for sure, that my efforts had been more than worth it and my reward priceless.
You'll recall that I discovered a stray "United We Stand" flag at the fabric store, which I later hung just inside the entry door. This was a hugely popular item and commented on often. I then got the brilliant (to me) idea that I could have the guys sign the flag. I glitched a tad on if there might be a flag desecration issue, but remember all the firemen who signed flags after 9/11, I figured "what the heck."
There was no hesitation to sign at all and the final product is overwhelming. One young man came to me specifically to let me know that he had signed on the second star because "I'm from Pennsylvania and we were the second state."
My only regret is that I didn't move the flag to coach sooner. The coach purser complained that the guys would congregate and get in the way and he didn't want it back there. Since he was sitting in the galley, reading his paper, after his looong break, this irritated me greatly, but I went off about my business, encouraging the guys to go forward to sign. Finally, I thought to myself "screw you, aft purser!" I pulled down the flag and marched it back to coach, hanging it in three locations for 20 minutes at a time, before preparing for arrival. Sure enough, the guys lined up to sign and "got in the way." 100 signatures later, I couldn't have been happier!
Oh! The notes they wrote! I saved the reading of them until I was home and could savor taking them in. So, at the end of this adrenalin rush day, when I was ready to finally collapse, I got one more huge jolt. Here are some of the messages they wrote:
*"Thanks for the Ride Home! Your smile makes us feel at home."
*"It's people like you that keeps our country great. Thank you for everything."
*"Thank you for your support. May God always keep you safe in the sky."
*"It's an honor to defend you. Thank you for all your support."
*"Thank you for bringing us home to our families and loved ones."
*"Thanks for the lift. This is the best food I've had since I left California!"
*"For those who fight for it, freedom has a taste the protected will never know."
*"Thanks for the best ride imaginable...going home!"
*"Thanks for putting up with us."
*"Your support has defined how United we've stood!"
*"Some say it is our efforts that make our country great. I say it is "Your Support" that makes our efforts possible."
(Is it hankie time, again?)
What I did not know was that it is tradition that, upon arrival home and on the taxi in from the runway, that a Marine is selected to fly a flag out the top hatch in the cockpit. The plane is always met by media and dignitaries and this makes a grand entrance, so to speak. I guess the captain is to have the flag, but for some reason he didn't. He comes looking for me, saying he's going to use my flag but "don't you have anything bigger?" Hello! Bigger???? You kidding??? In the end, MY flag was flown from the top of the plane, with LCPL Koenemann having the honors. Truly though, I was the honored one, for having the opportunity to escort these men home, and it is I who am grateful and give great thanks to these American Heroes.
Post Script: After watching our Marines excited faces as we landed and shaking hands and hugging as they left the aircraft, we sent the remainder of our supplies of bottled water and UA peanuts down to the unload crews who were removing the equipment from the hold in 103 degree weather.
We were refueled and on our way back to SFO within an hour and a half. To cap this amazing experience, I had the never-to-be-had (these days) opportunity to ride in the cockpit. What a perfect way to end one of the most special days of my life. Without question, this day was the highlight of my soon to end flying career.
Hmmm, I wonder if you get a purple heart for suffering through dental procedures? I know I always feel like I should get a bravery medal, every time I have to go to the dentist, but some how I don't think my guys would think that counts.
You should have seen the faces as I rolled my suitcase up the aisle, laid it down, unzipped it and opened it up. You know that when a person opens their suitcase, all eyes look to see what's inside. Haven't we all experienced this when security opens your suitcase in front of your fellow travelers? (If you were really lucky, your unders were waved around for everyone to see, as well.)
The exclamations were audible, as I lifted out my one thin layer of clothing to reveal the entire oversize suitcase full of "big bag Mini Oreos!" But, their eyes could not believe when I dragged up the Seoul bag and unzipped it to reveal it was totally packed with bags and bars of goodies as well!
One of my flying partners came up to help me pack bins with the goods, trying to evenly distribute our assortment. A basket each for first class, and upper and main deck business, and six bins full for coach. One of the guys came up to pose with the "goods" so I can send a thank you to the store managers and figured he could have first choice as his reward. No problem! I gulped a tad when he took fist fulls, as there was enough for everyone to have one piece. Silly me. I thought those guys would take only ONE piece?
Bless their hearts, two of the gals in coach (Mc Donald ladies, I might add) took it upon themselves to load up the beverage cart, put the candy bins on top and did a full service, round robin style, through the entire coach cabin. Most graciously, they also broadcast as they went, that I was the one responsible for both the decorations and the candy. Oh my! "HOOrah!" greeted me, every time I entered the coach cabin. I'll tell you, you haven't been cheered, until you've been cheered by the Marines! The photos show some happy guys, waving their chocolates. I could empathize completely. Five months with no chocolate? They were right. War is hell!
In the end, because some of the guys were sleeping, we had just enough. The goods were gone to the last bag, though I have no doubt that if I'd had more, they would have finished that up as well. Our purser also announced where the treats had come from and my coach ladies insisted that I got louder cheers than the landing did. I don't know about that, but I knew for sure, that my efforts had been more than worth it and my reward priceless.
You'll recall that I discovered a stray "United We Stand" flag at the fabric store, which I later hung just inside the entry door. This was a hugely popular item and commented on often. I then got the brilliant (to me) idea that I could have the guys sign the flag. I glitched a tad on if there might be a flag desecration issue, but remember all the firemen who signed flags after 9/11, I figured "what the heck."
There was no hesitation to sign at all and the final product is overwhelming. One young man came to me specifically to let me know that he had signed on the second star because "I'm from Pennsylvania and we were the second state."
My only regret is that I didn't move the flag to coach sooner. The coach purser complained that the guys would congregate and get in the way and he didn't want it back there. Since he was sitting in the galley, reading his paper, after his looong break, this irritated me greatly, but I went off about my business, encouraging the guys to go forward to sign. Finally, I thought to myself "screw you, aft purser!" I pulled down the flag and marched it back to coach, hanging it in three locations for 20 minutes at a time, before preparing for arrival. Sure enough, the guys lined up to sign and "got in the way." 100 signatures later, I couldn't have been happier!
Oh! The notes they wrote! I saved the reading of them until I was home and could savor taking them in. So, at the end of this adrenalin rush day, when I was ready to finally collapse, I got one more huge jolt. Here are some of the messages they wrote:
*"Thanks for the Ride Home! Your smile makes us feel at home."
*"It's people like you that keeps our country great. Thank you for everything."
*"Thank you for your support. May God always keep you safe in the sky."
*"It's an honor to defend you. Thank you for all your support."
*"Thank you for bringing us home to our families and loved ones."
*"Thanks for the lift. This is the best food I've had since I left California!"
*"For those who fight for it, freedom has a taste the protected will never know."
*"Thanks for the best ride imaginable...going home!"
*"Thanks for putting up with us."
*"Your support has defined how United we've stood!"
*"Some say it is our efforts that make our country great. I say it is "Your Support" that makes our efforts possible."
(Is it hankie time, again?)
What I did not know was that it is tradition that, upon arrival home and on the taxi in from the runway, that a Marine is selected to fly a flag out the top hatch in the cockpit. The plane is always met by media and dignitaries and this makes a grand entrance, so to speak. I guess the captain is to have the flag, but for some reason he didn't. He comes looking for me, saying he's going to use my flag but "don't you have anything bigger?" Hello! Bigger???? You kidding??? In the end, MY flag was flown from the top of the plane, with LCPL Koenemann having the honors. Truly though, I was the honored one, for having the opportunity to escort these men home, and it is I who am grateful and give great thanks to these American Heroes.
Post Script: After watching our Marines excited faces as we landed and shaking hands and hugging as they left the aircraft, we sent the remainder of our supplies of bottled water and UA peanuts down to the unload crews who were removing the equipment from the hold in 103 degree weather.
We were refueled and on our way back to SFO within an hour and a half. To cap this amazing experience, I had the never-to-be-had (these days) opportunity to ride in the cockpit. What a perfect way to end one of the most special days of my life. Without question, this day was the highlight of my soon to end flying career.
Post Post Script July 4, 2014:
One of my most treasured possessions, this flag
was part of the decorations with which I festooned our 747, bringing home
troops from Iraq. A number of the Marines of the 1st Light Armored
Reconnaissance Battalion decided to sign it to express their gratitude for
bringing them home with flair. Of course our thanks were to THEM.
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