The Berzerkeleys are at it again. In a recent editorial in the Berkeley Daily Planet former Berzerkeley Councilmember Mark McDonald slanders military recruiters and leaders. He presents three fallacies that I’d like to correct him on.
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“In the last 7 years, have you consulted with a mental health professional (psychiatrist, psychologist, counselor, etc.) or have you consulted with another health care provider about a mental health related condition? If you answered “Yes,” provide the dates of treatment and the name and address of the therapist or doctor below…”

This is one of the questions on Standard Form 86, the security clearance questionnaire for national security positions. It is used as a basis for granting access to classified government information and determining one’s allegiance and suitability for such sensitive positions.

But, until recently, Question 21 above posed a morale dilemma for many Soldiers about whether or not to seek the help they sorely needed.
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Okay, so I couldn’t liveblog the VOTH event like I had planned. I learned something the past few days: the more you pay (or Vets For Freedom pays) for a hotel, the more expensive the extras become. The Sheraton National Hotel where we stayed wanted $9.95 per day for internet access!! In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a cheap homie! I ain’t paying ta blog. Heck, I don’t even get paid to blog!

Instead, I opened up my Microsoft Word and began typing away. Below is my after action review of the Vets For Freedom, “Vets On The Hill” event. I hope you enjoy reading about it as much as I loved living it!!
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The headlines are all the same, just worded differently:

Pentagon says no link between Iraq and Al Qaeda
Pentagon Report Finds No Direct Saddam-al-Qaida Connection
Hussein’s Iraq and al Qaeda not linked, Pentagon says
Pentagon Report Fails to Link Saddam, Al-Qaida

There two types of reporters in the MSM these days: lazy and agenda-driven! If it weren’t for “executive summaries” the media would never have anything to report.
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No, the two aren’t related - as far as I know. These are two issues that have been on my mind lately and I don’t feel like writing two separate posts about it.
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I’m not one to normally complain about the Army. I take it all in with a grain of salt realizing the Army is just a huge bureaucracy and move along. I love the Army. I love everything about it. I love the discipline; I love the order; I love the opportunities; I love the benefits.

But, I don’t love it when the Army gets completely stupid and loses its identity:
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Congress is screwing with our military budget which is going to greatly affect how we can supply, man, and equip personnel on the front lines. More affected will be those of us back home as funds are diverted from installations and Soldier programs here. Defense Secretary Robert Gates is threatening to send pre-Christmas furlough notices to thousands of base employees and close child-care and family-counseling programs early next year. What this means is that these employees will be sent home unpaid for a determined (or undetermined) amount of time. These are employees that ensure Soldiers and spouses are taken care of as well as providing much needed services to assist with military operations. I blame the Democratic Congress - just as much as I blamed the Republican Congress back in 1995.

I remember being in language school in November 1995 undergoing the arduous task of becoming the best darn Army linguist known to man!! It was about one month after the OJ Simpson trial had mesmerized the entire US population as the murderer was declared innocent. Much like the Democrats today, the Republicans were including unrelated spending items in an unrelated government budget. Democrats wanted to raise the legal debt ceiling of the federal government and Republicans wanted to abolish government agencies that were redundant. Also included in the spending bill at the time were Medicare issues. Many of the teachers were sent home and we Privates went about the business of painting rocks, mowing grass, and plucking weeds on Fort Ord.
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Almost, but I think the military (along with other service oriented organizations) are the last of a dying breed.

Today, I went to the PX to see if they had a Wii in stock. For Christmas this year, we’re buying the family a Wii with a couple of games. We did a big Christmas last year and since we’re moving this year, we decided to save a little money and just get something for the whole family. They did have ONE Wii in stock, but I’m not ready to spend $249, especially with an upcoming move and the uncertainty of not having found a house yet. VAMC came through with an approved loan in record time and shipped me out all the paperwork expeditiously. I just need to fill out all the paperwork and return it. So, purchasing a game system right now is not on my list of priorities.

While I was there an elderly man rolled in on his scooter looking at different accessories in the computer section of the Power Zone (the electronics department of the PX). The gentleman was a WWII vet, as evidenced by the hat he proudly wore as he rolled through the aisle. As he came upon the printer ink section, he began deliberately scanning the selection for just the cartridge he needed. The rack is stacked very high so I paid attention to which ones he was looking for. Thankfully all the ink cartridges I ever need are at my level (probably knee level to most folks). I was just standing around waiting for the employee to bring the key so I could see what the Wii came with standard so I could figure out what accessories I’d need when I was ready to buy. While I waited, I watched this man intently, silently thanking him for his service as he rolled slowly closer.

His eyes focused on the one he needed and he began the task of positioning his cane so he could stand and place his purchase in the cart. I gently ordered him to remain seated and asked what it was he wanted from the rack. After pointing out the proper items, I handed them to him.

“Anything else I can help you with,” I asked. “Nope, that was it. Thank goodness chivalry isn’t dead. I was beginning to give up hope,” he replied.

It’s a sad state of affairs when a member of the greatest generation feels like he’s about to give up hope on our generation. I’m glad that I could restore some of that. The man is a retired Sailor and WWII vet himself. He helped provide security in Greenland in 1942. Chances are, he probably saw my grandfather at one point and didn’t even know it. I’m a big fan of the movie, Pay It Forward. I love the premise of helping people and getting nothing in return except the satisfaction of knowing that someone else will be helped in turn. Even if they don’t, as a Soldier I feel like I have an obligation to help those who can’t help themselves. There’s a great story that I got emailed from a good friend that sort of goes along these lines. It’s a tear jerker, so you’ve been warned. It’s called, “The World, It Is A Changin’” by Roger Dean Kiser:

The wife and I left Modesto, California, headed to Brunswick, Georgia, to start a new job had taken several weeks earlier. As finances were tight, we sold what little we had accumulated over the past five years, in order to make the three-thousand mile trip. With only about two-hundred dollars in pocket, there would be no fancy meals and maybe, just maybe, one night at a motel to take a shower and get a good night’s sleep. The remainder of the time it would be a cheap burger at McDonalds and sleeping in the small car. Though tired, it always seemed to perk me up, just a bit, as we left state after state behind. When boredom set in, I turned on the C. B. radio and listened to the truckers yell and scream at one another. When the language would get a little coarse, I’d reach over and turn off the radio.

About half way through Texas, I reached over to turn off the radio when I heard, “Is there anyone out there kind enough to help us?”

“Get off the trucker’s channel, idiot,” yelled a truck driver. I reached over, picked up the microphone and said, “What do you need?” “We are stranded at mile marker 576, east-bound side,” said a man. I watched for the next mile marker sign, which read 574. “I’m at 574 east-bound. What do you need?” “Can you two idiots get off the trucker’s channel?” said the trucker again. I got no reply from the stranded man. As I reached mile marker 576, there stood a black man beside an old brown van. I pulled up behind his vehicle, got out and walked toward him. As I passed the van, I looked in and noticed about five elderly people. “What’s the problem?” I asked. “Not sure. I can’t find my wallet. I think I left it in the washroom at a restaurant about thirty miles back,” he told me. “What do you need?”

I asked. “You got any extra gas?” “Just a minute,” I said, as I turned and walked back to my car. I explained the situation to my wife. “Dad, we have just enough money to get us to Georgia, maybe. We can’t afford to help anyone else,” she replied. “I can’t just leave them stranded.” “Do what you got to do, Hon,” she said, shaking her head. I walked back to the van, pulled out my wallet and handed the man twenty dollars. “You follow us back to the restaurant and I’ll give you the money back,” said the man. “I can’t afford to go backwards, I just can’t,” I told him. He took my name and new address and promised to send me the money when he reached his home in Jackson, Mississippi. I followed them to the next gas station and waved as they pulled up to the pump. Then we drove back onto the freeway and continued our journey. “Are we going to make it, Dad?”

“I don’t know,” I said, biting my bottom lip. Leaving Texas, we had about sixty dollars in pocket. We knew there would be no bath and good night’s rest at a motel. As we continued through Louisiana the traffic became heavy. All at once my wife screamed. When I looked up I saw furniture falling off a pickup truck driving in front of us. I swerved to the right, as quickly as possible, but still ran over something. I got out of my car and walked to the front to see what damage had been caused. Beneath the car was a small stereo system. It had cut through my right tire, which was now flat. I walked to the trunk to get my jack and spare tire. I was shocked to see that it was also flat. Generally I check and recheck everything before a trip. As I walked back to the front of my car, I saw the pickup truck had reloaded what could be salvaged and that the man was getting back into his vehicle. I knew he saw our flat tire, but nevertheless he drove away. The wife and I sat on the side of the road for several hours, waiting for the police. It was almost dark when they finally arrived.

The police advised us that there was nothing they could do, other than call a tow truck. We knew we could not afford to pay for such a service. After the police left we sat in the car wondering what to do. “HONK, HONK” went the sound of a horn. When I turned around to see what was happening; there was that same brown van, which we had given gas money to. “Well, I see we aren’t the only ones having a little bad luck today,” said the man, leaning into my window. “No spare,” I told him. “Well, can’t fix the problem sitting there,” he said. He reached over, took my keys out of the ignition, walked to the trunk of the car and took out the jack. I watched him jack up the car and take off the flat. I didn’t know what to say and was too embarrassed to tell him that we did not have enough money to buy a new tire and still have enough gas to make it to Georgia. After he took off the tire he looked at me and said, “Go sit in the car and I’ll be right back.” I got into the car and watched them drive away.

“How we going to pay them, Dad?” “I don’t know. We’ll just pay them for the tire and the repair to the flat.” “What we going to do for gas?” “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” I said, almost on the verge of screaming. The van returned an hour later. I got out of the car noticing that both tires were brand new. “I’m sorry, but I should have told you. I don’t have enough money to pay for two tires.” The man said not a word as he placed the tire on the car. He acted as though he did not hear me. “I’m sorry but I…” “I heard you the first time,” he said. When the tire repair was complete, he placed the jack and new spare in the trunk and closed it. “Follow us to the gas station,” he ordered, like an army sergeant. We followed them to the next off ramp and into the gas station. He got out of his van and began filling our tank. When done he walked up to the window and said, “I’m hungry, lets eat.” I looked at the wife, who was now speechless, for the first time in her life. We followed them to a restaurant several blocks down the road. As we got out of the car, I looked at him and said, “Thank you for your help, but I cannot accept any more.” The man said not a word. He turned and walked back to his
van. He opened the side door and took out a large wooden chair. Then he opened the passenger side door and out stepped the largest black woman I had ever seen in my life I swear, the ground almost moved when she walked. The two of them walked up and stopped in front of me.

The man, looking at me straight in the eyes, opened the folded chair and then stepped back. The big woman sat down, pointed at me, and said, “Johnny tells me I need to spank your little white butt. Is that going to be necessary?” In total shock, eyes opened wide, I replied “No ma’am,” shaking my head vigorously. “GOOD,” she said, giving me a very stern look. She smiled, got up and walked toward the restaurant, as did the other people in the van. The man walked back to the van and replaced the chair. It must have been almost 10 p.m. when we finally ate. Half way through the meal Johnny excused himself and was gone for more than twenty minutes. When he returned, he laid a motel key in front of me. “I’m sorry but I…” “MAMA,” said Johnny in a harsh tone. As the large woman started to stand up I motioned for her to sit back down, that a spanking was not necessary.

As we ate, Johnny began tapping his spoon against his glass. When everyone quieted down, he raised his water and said, “I would like to make a toast. This is the way America should be,” he said, almost choking on the words he had just spoken. Everyone took a sip of water and sat there quietly, smiling and nodding their heads to the affirmative. After eating, we all walked to the motel next door to the restaurant. I shook Johnny’s hand, and the large woman hugged both me and my wife. When the wife and I got up the next morning, their van was gone. A white envelope was left on our windshield. Written were the words, “Thank You, and May God Bless.” Inside was a twenty-dollar bill, folded in the shape of a cross.

I don’t write this because I want/need a pat on the back. My purpose in sharing this experience is that you’ll be motivated to find someone you can go out of your way to help, whether or not they ask for it. It’s also to make you aware that there are people out there we don’t know with a history we’ve never heard. One simple act of kindness may be the only thing holding that person together when their personal life is trying to tear them apart.