With my son, Tony, making final preparations with his Marine Corps Reserve Battalion to go to war in Iraq, my heart is just a bit heavy with a good-sized helping of concern.
On my lapel I wear a little round button. The button shows the gold anchor, globe, and eagle representing the United States Marine Corps. On a black background in gold lettering surrounding the seal are the words, “My son is a Marine”. I wear this button to show the pride I have in my son for serving during this tragic time of war and terror. Certainly, I am proud of what he is doing for America.
From time to time someone will casually ask what the status of my Marine is. So I tell them that he is preparing to join the battle in Iraq.
I get the feeling that most folks are not certain how to react to such news. I sometimes think that when I say my kid is going to Iraq it is the same as saying my kid is terminally ill. People just don’t seem very comfortable replying to the news.
Occasionally someone will ask me if I’m worried about my son. They then go on to talk about the son of someone they know at work, which has been wounded or even killed in Iraq. This is, of course is just exactly what I wanted to hear about. Especially as a prerequisite to voicing my thoughts on the question, “Are you worried?”
I am reminded of the callous news reporter, who shoves a microphone in the face of a distraught man and with cameras running asks, “So, How does it feel to have lost everything, your business, your home, your family and all earthly possessions in the giant tidal wave?” “Duh” What hell is this reported thinking? Does he think he will get some new and unexpected answer?
“Worried, Who me?”
After spending my entire adult life serving in the Armed Forces and spending many hours studying war, playing war games, debating war, learning about war and even teaching war to Army ROTC cadets, I can easily say that I probably know just a wee too much about war to be free of worries.
Let me put it this way, next time you watch Saving Private Ryan for a night of family entertainment, just slap a picture of your son’s face over one of the actors storming ashore the bloody Normandy beachhead. I suggest the guy that gets his arm blown off, hesitates, bends over, picks up the amputated limb and keeps running up the beach. Believe me; you will go through a shift in your thinking concerning watching graphic war movies as entertainment.
So, how do you prepare your kid for war? Is it sort of like preparing him for the first day at kindergarten, or his fist solo with the family car or even the first formal dance with a beautiful young woman?
I can help prepare him by buying all the equipment and gear that Congress decided not to provide him. Unfortunately, once I go beyond beef jerky, polypropylene underwear and a leatherman multi-tool, there is not much else I can afford to buy him. Too bad America could not afford to up-grade hummers sooner, or better yet, purchased explosion resistant, armored urban combat vehicles.
I can, and did throw him one big going away party. I have already begun to plan the welcome home party.
I can convince him to join my fraternity hoping that a “brother” might take him take in tow along their way.
I can ask God that the hearts of our enemies be softened. I agree with the words of Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir … that the violence will end when the parents of (the suicide bombers) learn to love their children more than they hate us…
Finally, I can hope and pray, sometimes even plead for his safety. “Dear Lord, please make my son bullet proof”! This might sound very irreverent, but it is the truthful way I feel.
I am grateful that I have a strong sense of hope, that no matter what the outcome, faith in God heals all wounds.
Most of what I could do to prepare him for war actually happened in his first eight years of life. Isn’t it true that in those years most people develop something called character?
In my opinion, more than anything else, character is the most important thing a man carries in to battle. Character flows from personal beliefs (like faith in God) and values (honor, duty, courage) and will do more than anything else to carry a person through the boredom, excitement, suffering, horror and sacrifice of war.
I believe my son is a man of good character. I’m certain those who know my son will agree that he is honest, compassionate; self disciplined and works hard to accomplish his goals. I hope his character is strong enough to bring him home unscathed. I have faith that he is in God’s hands
Part 2
It’s too late and there is not much point to discussing the morality or legality of our deposing Saddam Hussein. We did it. It is a done thing. Now we must work to make Iraq into a peaceful nation that will never threaten peace again.
Destroying the evil regime in Iraq and in Afghanistan has brought upon us, as a nation a great responsibility. We must build new nations to replace those we eliminated.
In the aftermath of WWII America was committed to building new nations from the ashes of its enemies. Our success is apparent in that former members of the Axis powers never again threatened peace.
I can think of very few tasks of such great historic importance as nation building. Generations will be effected by how we accomplish building a new Iraq. It is truly a great undertaking that only a great people can hope to accomplish.
Remember the words of President Teddy Roosevelt, which went something like this… We must dare to be great and we must realize that greatness is the fruit of toil and sacrifice and high courage!
We call them “America’s Greatest Generation”, in recognition of the toil, sacrifice and high courage Americans’ used to win the Second World War. The title “great” isn’t earned by taking things easy.
I have no question of the toil, sacrifice and high courage of our Armed forces in Iraq and Afghanistan, but I wonder how hard the American people are really working to support them. President Bush said we are in a struggle in which “civilization is at stake”. Is anything less at stake today than there was in 1941?
Remember December 7th, 1941? In the days following Pearl Harbor, America committed to win the war at any cost.
Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld said that “You go to war with the army you have”. We began World War Two with horse drawn artillery, a few medium range bombers, and single shot rifles. Less than four years later we ended that war by dropping an atomic bomb that in 1941 was only a science fiction fantasy, from a bomber that was only a drafting table concept.
Unlike the Second World War, after four years of fighting terrorism we still are not able to provide our troops with equipment or manpower needed to keep them safe let alone win the war. Artillery units are leaving their howitzers behind and being retrained as infantry to patrol Baghdad, Administrative Reserve units are called to service to fill in combat duties, and enlistments are being forced into overtime to keep up troop strength. Major supply routes are still unsecured from insurgent attacks. We found ourselves short on body armor, and still without an armored vehicle suitable for prolonged urban combat, hence the up-armored hummers. .
A generation ago our nation was caught up in the struggle against world communist domination. Liberty was at stake. President John F. Kennedy said; “ that we will pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, in order to assure the survival and success of liberty”. The commitment we made then is no less than the commitment we must make now. Have we made such a commitment to fight terrorism? Could our lack of providing our armed forces the manpower and equipment they need stem from a lack of true commitment to “pay any cost, bear any burden”?
My son, the marine has committed himself to fighting this war against terror. He will toil and struggle and show high courage. In the end he will be a great man. I hope all of America is willing to do the same. Our future as a great people depends upon it.
Next time someone asks about my marine button I might reply with; “Hey, what is your son doing for America?”
On Vacation with my friend, Errol in Groton, Connecticut
I finally made it to the Coast Guard Academy’s Admissions Office in Waesche Hall in New London, Connecticut. I figured that with my zeal for the Coast Guard and previous eight years of service as a Petty Officer I‘d be sure to getting all the necessary waivers to bring me into the class of 2023. Then history would be made as the first 68-year-old graduate. Man! Was I ever wrong! They said I was too fat, too old, too deplorable physically, too many health problems (Hey, now isn’t a heart with four stents stronger than one with none?). REQUEST DECLINED, TOTALLY REJECTED! I was broken hearted.
We left the admissions office, walked across the lobby of Waesche Hall and into the smallest military museum I’d ever been to. The Coast Guard has been around since 1790, participated in every war, does so many missions mandated by congress that I assumed the official museum located on the academy grounds would be a grand day long adventure! It took me two hours. My name was not mentioned once! Not once! Being electrocuted on Yap Island (failing to use a “dead man’s stick” to test that 440 volt 3 phase main power was off, had nothing to do with it!), frozen on Lake Michigan (minus 23 degrees is not CG issue Speedo weather) and lost in New York City at 3AM (being drunk had nothing to do with it) doesn’t seem to get a guy into the history books.
I admit to learning a few things about America’s oldest military service. Such as during WWII Coast Guard Cutters sank more Nazi U-boats than the mighty U.S. Navy. I also learned Waesche Hall and the new National Security Cutter Waesche are named for Admiral Waesche, Commandant during the second world war. “Admiral Waesche saw his small peacetime fleet swell with Coast Guardsmen manning more than 750 cutters, 3,500 miscellaneous smaller craft, 290 Navy vessels, and 255 Army vessels. The Coast Guard participated in every major amphibious operation.” (www.history.uscg.mil/) He also introduced the helicopter to Its first military usage and created the Coast Guard Auxiliary.
Next day we went to the Navy Submarine Museum featuring the 1st nuke sub the U.S.S. Nautilus. It was closed. So, we went to Fort Griswold, where British troops bayoneted surrendering Americans in Revolutionary war. The Fort was open but too steep a walk for me and my 2/3rd foot. We went into New London to see Fort Trumbull Historic Site, Closed. Then to the historic Customs House where the first hearings for disposition of slaves that revolted aboard the slave ship Armistead was held (also an excellent movie). Open but closing in ten minutes.
Right down the street was an awesome looking tattoo parlor in an old store front. I think from the 1870’s. I was either getting a tattoo of a rose with “Joan” written on it or of a Hulu dancer on my belly, so she’d dance when I pulled my belly in and out. CLOSED for remodeling.
It was now getting towards dinner time. We decided to drive the scenic route up into Rhode Island to find a local place to eat. We stopped at an Italian restaurant in Westerly, Rhode Island overlooking the Pawcatuck River, Very nice. At about 6:50 I remembered we were going to attend a Masonic Lodge meeting. But it was an hour drive away, plus time to go back and change clothes, so we choose to just relax at our cottage.
That long drive really gets a man thirsty. First thing I did when we got in was to open the refrigerator to grab an icy bottle of my favorite caffeine free diet pop. (some readers are probably thinking I’m being sarcastic, but I’m not!). “Hey’, says I, “this bottle is really warm!” The refrigerator was kaput. Next day we watched intimidating black clouds roll in. The winds picked up making flags stand out like a starched sheet. And then the lighting and the rain, lots of rain. So much rain we stayed inside and watched TV and wrote post cards. But I forgot the address list.
That night as I closed the folding closet door it came of its track. It fell hitting me in on my handsome head.
Not the best vacation but it was an adventure in a place I’d never been to before.
Last Spring my 15 year old daughter, Anna, was running hurdles for her middle school track team. I happened to be a spectator at one race. It was the day that she made a name for herself and added to the history of Niederriter fame.
From the moment the “crack” of the starters pistol began the race, I knew this was going to be a special day for the Niederriter family. Anna sprung off the starting line and barreled down her lane. She cleared the first few hurdles like a deer leaping across a meadow. She took on the next hurdle like she was riding a super charged pogo stick.
Then the trouble began.
Her foot just grazed the top of the next hurdle. The hurdle wobbled ever so slightly and Anna went on her way. However, this brief contact with the hurdle set into motion a chain of events like a string of dominoes falling down. Indeed, people still talk about the day that my daughter set a new mile stone for the sport.
The action picks up at the next hurdle. With her perfect rhythm delayed a teeny, tiny bit, she misjudged her distance to the next hurdle.
Wham!
She kicked the top of the hurdle with enough force to knock it to the ground. This caught the attention of the crowd. All eyes were on her as she recovered and kept hurling down the track. She sprung up into the air and it seemed all was going well….
Ka-Wham!
She struck the hurdle with the full force her five foot, six inch body could muster. I still remember the horrid feeling that gripped my heart as I watched my sweet little girl became a living bowling ball. Legs, arms and blond hair were all tangled up with the hurdle as they tumbled towards the finish line.
A hush fell on the stadium as Anna weaved right and left, knocking down and entangling more hurdles. Distracted by the commotion, the other runners began to crash into their hurdles and plunge into the growing ball of rising dust.
Coaches, equipment handlers and teammates fled in all directions, running for their lives! An official, in desperation began firing the starter’s blank pistol at Anna!
Suddenly, all was still.
As the dust settled, a figure emerged from the mêlée, Anna came out from the dust cloud, her blonde hair bobbing on her shoulders as she jogged across the finish line, just like nothing had happened!
Being that this is a fair and balanced letter, I have allowed Anna to comment on the previous bit. She claims that I mostly made it all up, but admits to having fallen down, once, after knocking down a single hurdle.
Just yesterday (back in the summer of 2009) Andy (my son, age 24) asked if he could borrow my ‘95 Camaro to go to work. He works at a pizza joint and usually, but not always delivers Pizza. I don’t allow him to ever deliver in any of my cars. So, I had some real trepidation in lending him my Camaro. But being the nice farther, the ‘sucker’ dad, I am, I Said, “You can use it.” But I gave him this one simple rule: he was in no way to use it for delivery.
“OK” says my son.
“And” using a stern voice, “I’m almost out of gas so you need to put some gas in on the way to work”
“Sure Pops”. He replied. Then off
he goes. The roar of the Camaro’s, high performance
engine faded away as he left our otherwise quiet neighborhood.
Three hours later he calls me.
With a calm unemotional voice Andy
says: “Dad, your car stalled. I think it is out of gas”
“Well’ says I, “Did you
put gas in it like I said?”
“NO”.
“Is the gas gauge on empty?” I asked,
restraining my growing anger.
“YES”.
“Then I’ll be there in a
few minutes. Where are You?”
“On a side street, near the DQ
on Sprague Road”
That is only three miles more distant than his pizza place is. I wondered, “Why was he driving out there? Perhaps on a DELIVERY!!” My heart rate then begins to rise and with it my blood pressure.
Did I mention I was being heavily medicated to control my high blood pressure? My body retains excess water that squeezes my blood vessels increasing blood pressure. I take diuretics or water pills to compensate. Those water pills ensure my bladder is always full and needing to be emptied. This frequently happens when I’m at the movies, like just when Darth Vader confesses he is Luke’s father. I’ll whisper to my sweetheart: “Anything important happen while I was gone?” Then there are the Vasodilators that relax blood vessel walls to let blood flow with less restrictions. This drug also seems to affect my love life. My high cholesterol builds up fatty speed bumps in the vessels slowing blood flow, so, I take statin drugs and niacin to treat that. But the statin drugs cause restless legs syndrome, so I take a drug, ropinirole to treat that. I take aspirin and anticoagulants to reduce the risk of ‘thrombosis’. That’s doctor talk for blood clots that can stick tighter at those fatty speed bumps that stop blood flow to important places like my brain. Sometimes I suffer an angina attack. Like when I’m breathing cold air or too much physical labor or emotionally upset like from a son that doesn’t obey “Pops”. It’s a painful tightening feeling in my chest. Some victims describe angina as a elephant sitting on their chest. I take Beta Blocker drugs to reduce the onset of angina.
I grabbed our lawnmower’s three-gallon
gas jug and meet Andy at my disabled car. Glug, glug, glug, gas goes in, but
car still won’t start. I called a tow truck, took Andy and his red pizza
warming bag back to his Pizza joint, then returned to my car to wait an hour
for the tow truck.
My car, as you know is very special. It has what they call a high performance, small block V6 engine. Indeed, the engine has ‘tuned port, sequential fuel injection” that produces high horse power and squeal out torque.
Craig Hot Rod
The fuel pump for this monster power engine is computer controlled. A high flow fuel pump feeds fuel into three different gasoline lines going up to the engine. The computer then precisely measures and injects the fuel into each cylinder. Now this next part is sort of important so read slowly for maximum comprehension. The fuel pump is cooled by the gas flowing through it. With no gas flowing, it won’t cool, then the pump seizes up and the car won’t run.
The mechanic had to drop the exhaust, loosen
and drop the gas tank to remove the pump, change the fuel filter, bleed the 3
gas lines and put it all back together…400 dollars’ worth of labor.
Question? What is 189 over 107?
Answer: 189 over 107 is my blood pressure as measured within about an hour of getting the repair bill. I wonder what it would have been without all those medications?
“Craig” my wife says, “You cannot let things get to you like this” So, I guess I should take yoga and Zen meditation courses to learn how to actively control my blood pressure and of course, it’s really all my own fault for buying a specialty car in my mid-age, then trusting my son to buy gas and not deliver pizza.
Autumn has arrived. Soon there will be a flourish of activity all across America to prepare for Veteran’s Day celebrations.
I know what I’m doing for Veteran’s Day.
I’ll head down to the small cemetery where my father now lies. I’ll trim the grass and weeds that are trying to take over his headstone. Then I’ll clean the dirt from the lettering, so that all might see that he was an Army Sergeant during World War II.
I’ve listened to quite of few speeches given at Memorial Day and Veterans’ Day ceremonies. Usually an elected official is the speaker. I suppose it’s in their job description to give speeches. I’m glad I don’t have to give the speech. The task of writing and presenting a speech worthy of the selfless service and sacrifices of our war veterans is a great challenge.
It seems politicians just can’t resist the temptation to wrap their speech around their politics. For instance, when the city threw a “welcome home” ceremony for my son’s US Marine Reserve Battalion (The 3/25 Battalion, Brook Park, Ohio), A congresswoman warned the Iraq war veterans; “I hope your expectations are not too high…we still have a lot of work to do here.”
Was she telling my son not to expect too much from the nation that 37 men of his battalion had given their lives for? Was this an expression of her gratitude?
Then our congressman spoke. He seemed to be thanking the Marines for fighting a war that we had no business fighting. Thanks for your service, even if it was for a vain cause.
After hearing these speeches I have put some thought into who should be the speaker. I’d like to hear from someone with the wisdom of Benjamin Franklin, the nobility of Washington, the elegance of Webster, the Humor of Bob Hope, the simplicity of Lincoln and the compassion of a mother.
The speech should begin by describing how beautiful America is. Truly our land is unsurpassed in its many natural wonders. No other land has ever produced the bounty of earth as America has. I hope the speaker would then praise our forefathers who came to America in search of a better life. They pursued that goal with an intensity and passion that would enable them to bring freedom and prosperity to their children.
Then perhaps the speaker would lay down a foundation for the remainder of the speech to be built upon. He would talk about America’s values of freedom, liberty and equality. He would thank God for our right as individuals to be free from oppressive governments and show gratitude that our government is “of the people, by the people and for the people.”
Then the speaker would shift from America’s great values to it noble virtues; selfless service, self reliance, honor, love of God and country, but most importantly, courage. At this time it would be proper to speak of American heroes who exemplify these virtues. Americans such as, Nathaniel Hale, Clara Burton, and Col Lawrence Chamberlin would be mentioned. But as heart touching and inspiring as this orator might be, I want something more from them.
I would like my speaker to be someone who knows what it is like to spend sleepless nights worrying about a loved one serving in a combat zone. I want to know how may tears they shed upon hearing news that a neighbor’s son has just been killed or maimed. I’d expect the speaker to have spent many hours volunteering for the USO or the Red Cross to make life easier for our troops. Perhaps the speaker had to shrink away from a newspaper because the headline was just too painful.
I have some extra qualifications for politicians who might still be in the running as a speaker. I want to know if they changed their vote to support the war after committing our troops to fight in it. Have they done everything possible…. opened the treasury, cut red tape, forsaken pork barrel spending, and told our military leaders to “forget the cost , just buy whatever is needed to win the war.”
Did they tell those same leaders to pursue every advantage our technology, industry, and natural resources can provide to safeguard our troops and bring a swift and enduring victory? Did they ask Americans to make any sort of sacrifice of time or money to support the troops? Finally, the speaker should never have made apologies to returning warriors for their service or implied that America isn’t worth fighting for.
So who should be the speaker? I’m guessing it will be a soccer mom with a bumper sticker that reads, Proud Mother of a… Marine, Soldier, Airman, (take your pick). Who else would have the wisdom of Benjamin Franklin, the nobility of George Washington, the elegance of Daniel Webster, the humor of Bob Hope, the simplicity of Abraham Lincoln and the compassion of a mother, worthy of giving tribute to our veteran’s on this, their special day?
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