RED Friday: Until They ALL COME HOME!

Today is RED Friday:
Remember
Everyone
Deployed
(Until they all come home...)

Now, I probably had the easiest duty in the world; stationed in Ludwigsburg and Stuttgart-Bad Canstatt, March 1972 - September 1975, with about a half-million other troops. Our main role was to make the Soviets think twice (or nine times) before they rolled the tanks through the Fulda Gap, and it worked. We had a tense moment when they detached my unit in preparation for a Middle East deployment in 1974, or thereabouts, but I guess the threat of the US muscle did the trick then as well. So, no tissue damage (apart from that inflicted when I drove the car into the river on October 15, 1973; but that's another story).

Even so...
Even so, although I ETS'd 2 SEP 75, I don't know how long it was before I really came home. For sure and certain, that ignorant, arrogant, sniveling 19 year old who got off the plane at Rhein-Main never came back. The very SLIGHTLY wiser 22 year old who replaced him was a much better citizen!
I jumped straight out of the Army into college, but it took a VERY long time before I could start a sentence with anything but "When I was in the Army..."

What I'm saying is that there is more to coming home than just putting on soft clothing and re-learning the language of civilians. I confess: for me, it was relatively easy. It still took time, though.

So, this morning, when I put on my RED shirt,  it is not only for those who are eating in mess halls across the oceans, who check duty rosters to see what the other "duties as assigned" might be, who even this very day might have some unexpected physical, emotional, or even spiritual trauma thrust upon them.
Those FIRST, of course. They are, after all, serving as guarantors of the freedom we have, resting here in relative comfort, relative safety. Whether they are facing active combat, or serving, as I did, as a promise of the lethality that can be unleashed on those insane enough to cross the line, they serve us.

But SECOND, I wear RED for those who have not yet been able to come home, all the way.

Remember everyone deployed; until they all come home.

Welcome Back!

Peace be on your household.

R. E. D. Friday again, 11/8/19

When I think about RED Friday, I remember my brother Garvin Ray Bell, who taught me about RED Friday. Ray, you passed into glory on my birthday, five years ago. As long as my brain can commemorate Red Fridays, I'll be thinking about you, and your beloved bride, Pepperr.

Today is RED Friday:
R emember
E veryone
D eployed...
UNTIL THEY ALL COME HOME!

This is written specifically with US troops in mind, but, with any necessary modifications, it may be applied to any nation's military.

Listen to me: while you read this in the comfort of your home, they are still out there.It does not matter whether or not you think the reasons for that are good or bad; they are our family.
Every one of them is someone's granddaughter or grandson, son or daughter. Some are husbands or wives, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers. Every one of them is a volunteer.
They joined up because they saw it as a path to a better way of life, personally, and probably because they had service in their blood.

So, on Friday, let it be a RED Friday. Wear something red, and Remember Everyone Deployed.
Until they all come home.

Peace be on your household.

The Little Old Man in Line

Greetings and blessings to you, internet friends and neighbors! And for all my kin folk out here, I love you, and you know that.

I wrote this six years ago this week. 

At the time, my 30-year-old first-born son was in Afghanistan. He had already received the wound that would force a medical discharge and 100% disability two years later, but he had yet to tell me about it. He was still trying to find a way to stay with his boys over there.

I wonder if that little old man is still with us? If he is, I'd like to assure him that we are still standing up for the same thing he did, now 75 years ago. We are keeping the faith, sir.

The little old man in line

He was a little old man, just like this one.

The little old man in line in front of me at the grocery store was bent over, and it took him a while to unload his shopping cart onto the conveyor. He shuffled forward, and greeted the cashier with a clear, pleasant voice. It took him a while to scan his credit card to pay for his groceries; then he had to retrieve his cane from the cart while the young lady (what do you call a female bagboy?) helped him move it to the door; it was a slow process. The cashier looked at me with some embarrassment; she had seen me watching him, and I read her mind: she was afraid I was put out over the little old man's slow movements. 

She rang up my few items, and I leaned over to her, and said, "I'll bet you any amount of money you want that he's a WWII veteran." She gave me a puzzled look; I said "Didn't you see the way he was standing?" She probably didn't see it, but I did. Even with the trembling and the cane, the little old man had seen service. "His generation saved our generation," I told her.

Her voice broke. For the first time, I realized she had an Eastern European accent. She said, "They come in here all the time, and I never know what to say to them." 

"It's a debt we will never be able to repay," I said.

I hobbled out to the parking lot. Even with my own limp and cane, I caught up with the little old man and his helper before we reached the parking lot.

"Excuse me, sir, but I have to ask you where you were 69 years ago."

He gave me a funny look. What the heck is this gray haired, bearded pony-tailed cripple asking me? He started to answer. "well, let's see, I'm..."

He was going to tell me how old he was, and figure it out from there. I stopped him.

"June, 1944."

He smiled, and looked at me full in the face. "In the Navy."

"I knew it," I said. "I could tell by the way you stand."

"Well, I used to stand a lot taller..."

"You stand just fine, sir. Thank you for your service. Your generation saved my generation, and we won't ever be able to pay you back. We're doing our part, though; my oldest son is in Afghanistan now, and I was in the 582 Med Company." 

"Good for you, young man" the old sailor replied, with a trace of moisture in his eyes, and a bit of a quiver in his voice.

"Thank you, sir, and thank you again for your service."

"And thank you as well," he said.

And I hobbled off to my truck, and he shuffled off to his Buick; and I looked at the young lady who was helping him with his groceries. Her eyes were glowing, and she studied the little old man as if she had never seen a man before in her life.

And maybe she hadn't REALLY seen one before; but she will remember this day, and I will; and so will the little old man, and hopefully he will tell someone he loves that we haven't forgotten him and all those other boys who saved civilization.

Peace be on your household.

Today is Veteran's Day. Welcome Back!

Today is Veteran's Day.

OldNFO has a beautiful moving tribute here.

I wish to honor my grandfather, William Jordan Paulette. He was born on August 3, 1899, and ran away from home to join the Army. I looked for, but cannot find, the only picture I have of him in uniform. His job was to take care of the mules, and the picture is of a squad of young men and a single grizzled sergeant standing at horse stable. Small generic French mutt is included in the photograph.

He landed in France on this day, 100 years ago, the day the Armistice was signed. He told me that when Bill Paulette landed, that was one too many Bills in France, so Kaiser Bill left.

He told me about catching the Spanish Influenza, and going to the hospital. I would have been a child, or at most a teenager, at the time of the conversation, so I had no idea how awful that epidemic was, and so I didn't know the significance of that; but he said he would wake up in the morning, to find that the two boys on either side of him had died in the night, and their bodies had been taken away while he slept.

While he was away, purportedly at risk from warfare, his much-loved older sister Cora was safe at home. She also caught the flu, and died, while he was away.

In a way, the war did kill him, but it took 57 years to do it. It was in the army that he took up the cigarette habit, and my main memory of him is sitting in the porch swing,  smoking unfiltered Pall Malls. He developed emphysema, and had his first heart attack in 1962. He had his second heart attack in March of 1975, while I was in the Army in Germany. Because he was in loco parentis to me (I had no other father for the first five years of my life), the Red Cross arranged for me to fly back on emergency leave, and I spent several days visiting him in the hospital until his condition had stabilized enough that I returned to duty. He had his third heart attack on the first day of spring, March 20, 1975, and he passed that night, with his adored wife Bessie holding his hand, and whispering to him of everyone he loved, while he whispered, 'help me, Bo' (his pet name for her).

He was not the first veteran in my family; I know that one of my multi-great grandfathers, Mr. Norris, was enlisted in an element of the Confederate Army, but I know nothing of his service.

My grandfather was, however, the first link in a chain of service that has extended unbroken to this present day.

Generation Two covered WWII and Korea. My father was in the Army Air Corps during WWII; I have a picture of him taken in 1944 in his uniform, wearing his A1C stripes and his qualification badge as a door gunner for a B17. We still have that badge, a bullet with wings.

My father had four other brothers, two of whom saw service in WWII. My uncle Cecil was a career Navy man; uncle Andrew Lee was a Marine with experience on Okinawa.

Uncle Bill Andy, William Jordan Paulette's only son, was in the Air Force in Korea in the early 1950s. I do not know the dates of his service, but he was born August 21, 1931, so it's conceivable that his time was during the Korean Conflict.

The third generation was the Viet Nam era, and we had several serve, My first cousins Dennis , Uncle Cecil's son, flew helicopters in Viet Nam. Andrew Lee's son Andy, a few years older than me, was drafted and also went to Viet Nam. My brother-in-law, Bob Kimsey, was a generator operator/repairman in the Georgia Army National Guard. I was an Army medic in Germany. My cousin Barry was in Special Forces, but I know nothing else of his duty.

And generation four is represented by my son, SGT Eli Jordan Patterson, US Army (ret) with service in Afghanistan, and my son-in-law Sam Blackstone, US Navy. There are more, including his cousin Ben Tillman, a Citadel graduate like his father, but my son is the only one I have pictures of.

The other day, I watched a documentary, in which retired Army General Petraus said that only 1% of our citizens had served in the military. I have a hard time believing that number is so small, given the folks I have been privileged to be related to.

Be that as it may, to all those named here and the millions more not mentioned: Happy Veteran's Day, and WELCOME BACK!

1922 Bill and Bessie Paulette

The following are the pictures I have of some of the veterans mentioned in this blog. Obviously, not all mentioned are here.

Patterson Boys, 1941

J R Patterson, Sr, 1944

My Basic Training Company, 1972

Better days in uniform, 1975

Papa Pat, Kenneth and Alicia, and
SGT Eli Jordan Patterson, US ARMY (ret) 

Peace be on your household.

Stopping Violence At The Border?

I don't follow the news. If there is anything I'm missing that would make me a better person, then I apologize, and will consider repenting; but truly, it's a policy I like.

Despite my intentional ignorance,  I discovered there is a caravan of at least 4000 people (some estimate as many as 7200), mostly Hondurans, on the road in southern Mexico.

The walk. They have been on the road for over two weeks, averaging 30 miles per day. They say they are heading for the US border. If they go to McAllen, Texas, which is the closest crossing to where they are now, it's going to take them another month, IF they can maintain the same pace.

If 30 miles per day doesn't sound like much of a challenge, because you drive that to work every day, consider this: that's approximately the same PACE the Army requires for  passing Special Forces assessment: 18 miles in 4 hours, 30 minutes. The Army requires it be accomplished while carrying a 50 pound rucksack, but the point is this: 30 miles per day, for 45 days, is going to kill some people.

They aren't the only group on the road; another 2,000 broke through the border between Guatemala and Mexico on Sunday, and 300 more left San Salvador the same day. Those trips, if completed, are on par with the trip from Honduras.

The 'X' is where they are now; the 'O' is where they are going.

It's a thousand miles.

Why would you do that to yourself if you didn't have to?
Media sources such as The Los Angeles Times  and Associate Press' Sonia Perez D report interviews with members of the caravan, complaining of a high rate of crime, specifically out-of-control violence.
An earlier caravan in April of this year prompted a CNN report of gangs extorting a 'war tax' from civilians, and a US Department of State report issued at that time stated Honduras has one of the highest murder rates in the world.  The civil environment that supports that is described by the Canadian government as follows:

Demonstrations and strikes occur regularly in cities throughout the country and often result in significant traffic disruptions and minor vandalism. In Tegucigalpa, demonstrations are known to target the National Congress, Central Park, Presidential Palace, United Nations offices and the United States Embassy. Demonstrations often transit along Centroamerica Boulevard, La Paz and Los Próceres avenues, and Suyapa Boulevard.

Anti-corruption demonstrations occasionally take place on Fridays in Tegucigalpa.

WHO IS GAINING FROM THAT VIOLENCE?
and
WHO IS GAINING FROM THIS CARAVAN?

These are non-trivial questions.

The easy answer is to point to the narcotics traffic, and let it go at that. They surely do have a great amount of culpability; they have created an entire system, from international, organized crime, all the way down to the extensive street gangs in the cities.

However, that begs the question: Why NOW? The crime problem in Honduras has existed for YEARS. If the only reason for this massive caravan is to escape crime, then what's the reason for this sudden upsurge?

El Niño is one reason. The Central American 'Dry Corridor' is experiencing the worst drought in 10 years. Farmers can usually bring in two crops per year; now, they aren't sure they can get one. That has struck hard at the economy. There are some outlets reporting this as 'climate change,' essentially parroting the World Bank position that human-generated climate change is real, responsible, and reversible. While not consistent with the understanding of the  El Niño Southern Oscillation (ENSO) as a VERY long-term climate influence, it does have the benefit of making for good copy.

And thus we have the first of those receiving benefit from the caravan: those using the plight of the farmers to promote their agenda on 'remediating' climate change.

A bad television interview. Another answer to 'Why Now?' (that appears to me to be somewhat buried) is, at best, an example of very sloppy journalism. Bartolo Fuentes is a former politician and a lifetime human rights activist, a critic of the Honduran government who has devoted himself to help migrants/refugees. He has regularly assisted with previous - small scale!- caravans, including the one last April. Another SMALL caravan was in the works; small, that is, until an interview broadcast on state-aligned television station HCH. An unidentified woman was quoted as saying Fuentes was going organizing a caravan of migrants north,  and pay for their food and transportation. Overnight, the group swelled from 200 to 7000. A repudiation of the report by Fuentes did nothing to change the momentum; the people were going, and that was that.

A second beneficiary of the caravan: a pro-government news organization that wished to embarrass a person who was critical of government policies.

Anybody else?

Those who know more about politics will have to come up with the answer for that. It  does appear to have become a political football, and a factor in the upcoming elections.  Who will ultimately gain from the events? Don't know.

It smells bad, though.

Who's job is it to fix it? That question brings me to my end thought, which has to do with an oath I took on September 7, 1972 ,when I joined the Army, and similar oaths sworn by our elected officials:

"I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God."

Whether it is proper for our nation of immigrants to CHANGE the immigration laws is something we may discuss. However, there is nothing in our CURRENT law that permits immigration-by-walking-across-the-border. There are things that have to happen, and it is needful that our elected officials keep to the letter and spirit of the oath.

People getting shot at the border? No, let's not have that.  Maybe some people need to get shot; from what I've read, that sounds like it ought to be considered as a part of the solution. I just don't think any of those people are marching among the 7,000.

As I pointed out earlier, at the rate they are travelling, it's going to take this group another 30 days to get to Texas. Can we get this thing figured out by then? Please?

Peace be on your household; and on us all.

Why No Dragon Award Review Today, and Why it Matters

Greetings, all friends and neighbors out there in Internet Land!

In order to calm your fears and expectations, I want you to know that you will PROBABLY not get a blog post or Amazon review today for a 2018 Dragon Award Finalist. I have started reading my next book, which is 'Warhammer' by Shayne Silvers, but I have serious doubts that I'm going to be ready to review it today.

Reason: "I have engaged in a great work, and I cannot come down" (Neh. 6:3).

What is this great work, you ask? Well, I'll tell you.

If you have been reading this blog for very long, you probably know that I am a veteran. Yup, I am Generation 3 of 4 (so far) of enlisted Army veterans, going back to WWI.

You may also know that my firstborn son represents Generation 4, although he is not the ONLY member of his generation in my family to serve. He's not fond of me telling his story, but you need to know this: He suited up, and he showed up, and he had a really bad day in 2013 at Shindand Air Base in Afghanistan. Consequently, he was medically retired a few years ago, and has spent much of the time since then, along with his wife, and kids, and friends, and medics, and some pretty fantastic veterans' groups, discovering how he can make a difference in the lives of others, after having been dealt a pretty bad hand.

And that has lead him to start a community-based group that is reaching out to service members who are deployed. He is concentrating at this point on people who, in civilian life, are cops, firefighters, and EMT types, Tomorrow, he will be assembling the first six packages to go out to them.

Each package is going to have three components: letters; Reminders Of Home; and personal care items. Some of the people may be stationed in air-conditioned barracks in rear-echelon areas; others might be way out in front operating in very small teams. Regardless, they will all receive the same three components in their packages.

Letters: these are going to be letters from people back home to remind the deployed individual that they are not forgotten. There is no standard format; only requirement is that they are meant to uplift and encourage.

ROH (Reminders of Home). These are some item that will be a tangible connection to home, something that the service member can hold in their hand, or put in a pocket. Books, keychains, whatever; it's an ROH.

Personal Care Items. These are MOSTLY going to be used by the troops deployed so far forward that they don't have access to regular showers and bathrooms. Hand sanitizers, wet wipes, that sort of thing.

My son knows that my daughter and I have a small, small, small business called 'The Chained Bullet' that sells recycled ammo, made into keyrings, zipper pulls, necklaces, whatever. He told me I was going to supply him with a set of keyrings made from a .30-06 round.

And so instead of reading this afternoon,  I made these:

These eight .30-06 keychains are going to be shipped overseas tomorrow.

Cool, you say, but why does THAT matter?

It matters because in a week, or 10 days, or whenever I finish the Dragon Award series, and my son finalizes the arrangements and paperwork on his organization, you will be able to contribute to this outreach yourself! And I'll post the details on how that works, as soon as it's available. I can tell you that everything is going to be processed by the charitable corporation, so tax deductions can be taken for donations.

Some of the people reading this have offered me personalized copies of their books before, and I haven't been able to accept those, because it's a violation of the Terms of Service on Amazon for a reviewer to receive anything of value in exchange for a review. (The ONLY exception to that is the industry-standard practice of supplying a copy of the book in exchange for a fair review.) Since an autograph or personal message increases the value of the book, I have not been able to accept those kind offers. However, anything sent in to go to the deployed troops will be run through the charitable organization, and tax deductions apply.  And I'll be talking to people who are smarter than I am to make sure, BEFORE any requests are made, that everything is done properly.

Tomorrow, I expect to resume my Dragon Award series. Right now, I've got to get ready to go to church, and I have to go drop the keyrings off at my son's house. 

Peace be on your household.