Staff Sergeant Summerall, KIA 26 Feb 91
Specialist Alaniz, KIA 26 Feb 91
Sergeant Londono, KIA 23 March 04
And Cutty...Cutty I only knew for about two months when I was on temporary duty at Fort Bragg but he had a big influence on me. He was from New Orleans and was more than willing to talk about his hometown when I told him I'd always wanted to visit. He would go on and tell me all about the city and its people, the sights, the fun, the music, the beauty and debauchery. After our talks, I'd see him in the office bopping his head or drumming lightly on his desk as he worked...and I knew right then he was caught up in the music and memories of The Big Easy. It was because of him I eventually visited New Orleans, fell in love with it and moved there. Thanks, Cutty...right at the end of one adventure you got me started on the path to another.
"Vivos voco, mortuos plango"....an inscription I saw on a church bell in Italy.
Translates to: I call the living, I mourn the dead.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
More From IAVA
Dear President-elect Obama,
Congratulations on your victory. Both you and Senator McCain are true patriots, and you each ran a remarkable campaign. While I'm sure you're relieved that the election is over, now is the time to bring all Americans together, get to work, and focus on the next four years of governing.
As the nation's leading new veterans organization, it is crucial to IAVA that you keep Iraq and Afghanistan veterans high on your list of priorities. With aggressive action, you can send a strong message to America that as Commander-in-Chief, you are committed to truly honoring our nation's newest generation of heroes. Here's how we think you can best accomplish that:
1. Convene an urgent Presidential Summit of Leading Veterans
As you consider nominations for appointed positions within the VA, you should convene a leadership summit of leading veterans' groups from across the country, including IAVA. Candidates for appointed jobs within the VA should have a proven track record of innovation and reform, and should be ready to address the urgent needs of new veterans.
2. Advance-fund VA Healthcare
Year after year, the VA budget is passed late, forcing hundreds of veterans' hospitals and clinics to ration care. IAVA believes that veterans' health care should be funded one year in advance and we ask you to present to Congress an advance-funded VA budget that continues to match the Independent Budget recommendations made by leading Veterans Service Organizations.
3. Implement GI Bill Transferability
While the new GI Bill was passed several months ago, the Department of Defense has yet to release guidelines for the transferability of GI Bill benefits from servicemembers to their spouses or children. You should direct the Secretary of Defense to issue the appropriate guidelines, so that GI Bill transferability can be implemented by August 2009.
4. Issue a National Call for Mental Health Professionals
The military and the VA need innovative strategies to recruit and retain more mental health professionals to combat the high rates of PTSD and major depression among returning troops. You should issue a national call, urging mental health professionals nationwide to serve our troops and veterans. Those who answer the call should receive incentives and benefits for serving this patriotic cause.
With more troops returning home from the wars everyday, you'll need to hit the ground running. IAVA is committed to serving as a resource for you and your administration going forward.
We look forward to working with you and the new Congress to support Iraq and Afghanistan veterans and their families.
Sincerely,
Paul Rieckhoff
Iraq VeteranExecutive Director and Founder
Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America
Congratulations on your victory. Both you and Senator McCain are true patriots, and you each ran a remarkable campaign. While I'm sure you're relieved that the election is over, now is the time to bring all Americans together, get to work, and focus on the next four years of governing.
As the nation's leading new veterans organization, it is crucial to IAVA that you keep Iraq and Afghanistan veterans high on your list of priorities. With aggressive action, you can send a strong message to America that as Commander-in-Chief, you are committed to truly honoring our nation's newest generation of heroes. Here's how we think you can best accomplish that:
1. Convene an urgent Presidential Summit of Leading Veterans
As you consider nominations for appointed positions within the VA, you should convene a leadership summit of leading veterans' groups from across the country, including IAVA. Candidates for appointed jobs within the VA should have a proven track record of innovation and reform, and should be ready to address the urgent needs of new veterans.
2. Advance-fund VA Healthcare
Year after year, the VA budget is passed late, forcing hundreds of veterans' hospitals and clinics to ration care. IAVA believes that veterans' health care should be funded one year in advance and we ask you to present to Congress an advance-funded VA budget that continues to match the Independent Budget recommendations made by leading Veterans Service Organizations.
3. Implement GI Bill Transferability
While the new GI Bill was passed several months ago, the Department of Defense has yet to release guidelines for the transferability of GI Bill benefits from servicemembers to their spouses or children. You should direct the Secretary of Defense to issue the appropriate guidelines, so that GI Bill transferability can be implemented by August 2009.
4. Issue a National Call for Mental Health Professionals
The military and the VA need innovative strategies to recruit and retain more mental health professionals to combat the high rates of PTSD and major depression among returning troops. You should issue a national call, urging mental health professionals nationwide to serve our troops and veterans. Those who answer the call should receive incentives and benefits for serving this patriotic cause.
With more troops returning home from the wars everyday, you'll need to hit the ground running. IAVA is committed to serving as a resource for you and your administration going forward.
We look forward to working with you and the new Congress to support Iraq and Afghanistan veterans and their families.
Sincerely,
Paul Rieckhoff
Iraq VeteranExecutive Director and Founder
Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Another Alert Type Thingie
Some Americans watching tonight's Presidential debate may not have the opportunity to cast a vote for their candidate: troops and veterans from Ohio.
Right now, a legal fight in Ohio threatens the right of servicemembers and veterans to cast their votes with absentee ballots. IAVA has filed a brief asking the Ohio Supreme Court to protect the voting rights of all citizens, and we need your support.
Add your name to IAVA's petition, demanding that the state of Ohio count all the votes of servicemembers and vets.
As the law stands now, citizens must be registered to vote for 30 days before the election, which allows voters to register and submit an absentee ballot at the same time, as long as it happens 30 days before the election. A lawsuit brought against the Ohio Secretary of State is trying to prevent the two actions from happening at the same time. If the law is changed, thousands of veterans and active duty troops could be disenfranchised.
Our troops serving overseas could be denied the very freedoms they are fighting so hard to defend. We hope the court in Ohio rejects this last minute, politically-motivated ploy that could complicate the voting process for our veterans and deployed soldiers.
Sign IAVA's petition demanding that the state of Ohio deny this challenge to the law.
This is not a partisan matter. Regardless of who they cast their ballots for, thousands of servicemen and women could find their votes thrown out. We owe these and all servicemembers an absentee voting process that is fair, predictable, and clear.
Help fight this threat to our democracy.
Thank you for standing with us.
Sincerely,
Paul Rieckhoff
Iraq Veteran
Executive DirectorIraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America
Right now, a legal fight in Ohio threatens the right of servicemembers and veterans to cast their votes with absentee ballots. IAVA has filed a brief asking the Ohio Supreme Court to protect the voting rights of all citizens, and we need your support.
Add your name to IAVA's petition, demanding that the state of Ohio count all the votes of servicemembers and vets.
As the law stands now, citizens must be registered to vote for 30 days before the election, which allows voters to register and submit an absentee ballot at the same time, as long as it happens 30 days before the election. A lawsuit brought against the Ohio Secretary of State is trying to prevent the two actions from happening at the same time. If the law is changed, thousands of veterans and active duty troops could be disenfranchised.
Our troops serving overseas could be denied the very freedoms they are fighting so hard to defend. We hope the court in Ohio rejects this last minute, politically-motivated ploy that could complicate the voting process for our veterans and deployed soldiers.
Sign IAVA's petition demanding that the state of Ohio deny this challenge to the law.
This is not a partisan matter. Regardless of who they cast their ballots for, thousands of servicemen and women could find their votes thrown out. We owe these and all servicemembers an absentee voting process that is fair, predictable, and clear.
Help fight this threat to our democracy.
Thank you for standing with us.
Sincerely,
Paul Rieckhoff
Iraq Veteran
Executive DirectorIraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Prescient
This letter is from the anthology War Letters by Andrew Carroll. The author, Bill Hunt, was writing to the former career soldier David Hackworth who became a widely published author and columnist and a military affairs analyst and was known for saying the hard things, the tough love things...the things people might not want to hear about their own military and foreign policy.
It was written from one Vietnam vet to another during the height of the buildup to Operation Desert Storm.
I think a lot of what it says resonates loud as hell today.
==========================================
And in the end all wars are about dying. When the dying is about honor it is somehow OK, even to, and maybe especially to, the dead. Only the folks back home have the luxury of viewing war as about living.
As a war vet, I can’t ask a young soldier to go into combat unless the mission is something I personally feel equals the value of my own life.
So, where’s the honor? Well, if the President asked me to walk point all the way to Baghdad in order to secure the release of a single hostage, I’d say yes……If the President convinced me that Iraq was about to attack Israel and I needed to be the sacrificial lamb, I’d say maybe. But I would want a lot more. Israel has been a real problem lately. My personal blood would require one heck of an explanation……Oil?
No, Mr. President. This ultimate value of crude on the world market will never go higher than about $60 a barrel. That’s because alternative fuels can be produced more cheaply than that, and we the people, if not the President, are starting to understand that. We really need a national energy policy that requires energy independence. We’ve needed it for years. I’m not going to die for oil.
To liberate Kuwait? Well, frankly, Mr. President, is Kuwait some flowering democracy? Can you get the Emir to go on TV and talk about the new constitution that provides rights for all citizens? Perhaps the Emir will call for an election after I liberate the place? If I die in Kuwait, will they stop calling me an infidel? An do you really expect meto go in with Syria on my flank?
Then, shall we just protect Saudi Arabia? Well, yes, Mr. President, with serious reservations. I think I could be friends with the people of Saudi Arabia, in time. But our presence may very well bring on a smoldering unrest, and even civil war. If that happens, Mr. President, you’ve got to promise me one thing. Promise me we’ll get the hell out. The one thing I leanred in Vietnam is that you don’t mess around in someone else’s civilwar. Not unless you’re nuts.
As an American citizen I feel pretty helpless in the face of foreign policy that I know is short sighted or patently wrong. Nothing I’ve said here will change what happens in the Middle East one iota. It’s all happening too fast.
Bill Hunt, November 28, 1990,
from War Letters, p. 445-446.
It was written from one Vietnam vet to another during the height of the buildup to Operation Desert Storm.
I think a lot of what it says resonates loud as hell today.
==========================================
And in the end all wars are about dying. When the dying is about honor it is somehow OK, even to, and maybe especially to, the dead. Only the folks back home have the luxury of viewing war as about living.
As a war vet, I can’t ask a young soldier to go into combat unless the mission is something I personally feel equals the value of my own life.
So, where’s the honor? Well, if the President asked me to walk point all the way to Baghdad in order to secure the release of a single hostage, I’d say yes……If the President convinced me that Iraq was about to attack Israel and I needed to be the sacrificial lamb, I’d say maybe. But I would want a lot more. Israel has been a real problem lately. My personal blood would require one heck of an explanation……Oil?
No, Mr. President. This ultimate value of crude on the world market will never go higher than about $60 a barrel. That’s because alternative fuels can be produced more cheaply than that, and we the people, if not the President, are starting to understand that. We really need a national energy policy that requires energy independence. We’ve needed it for years. I’m not going to die for oil.
To liberate Kuwait? Well, frankly, Mr. President, is Kuwait some flowering democracy? Can you get the Emir to go on TV and talk about the new constitution that provides rights for all citizens? Perhaps the Emir will call for an election after I liberate the place? If I die in Kuwait, will they stop calling me an infidel? An do you really expect meto go in with Syria on my flank?
Then, shall we just protect Saudi Arabia? Well, yes, Mr. President, with serious reservations. I think I could be friends with the people of Saudi Arabia, in time. But our presence may very well bring on a smoldering unrest, and even civil war. If that happens, Mr. President, you’ve got to promise me one thing. Promise me we’ll get the hell out. The one thing I leanred in Vietnam is that you don’t mess around in someone else’s civilwar. Not unless you’re nuts.
As an American citizen I feel pretty helpless in the face of foreign policy that I know is short sighted or patently wrong. Nothing I’ve said here will change what happens in the Middle East one iota. It’s all happening too fast.
Bill Hunt, November 28, 1990,
from War Letters, p. 445-446.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Swell
Some dude on here linked this blog to his blog. His blog is a collection of stories of and sources related to jacking off.
I was wondering why the number of visitors skyrocketed this month. In a moment of hubris I thought it might have something to do with my writing.
Nope. This dude linked to my story of how we kept from going nuts in Saudi Arabia by masturbating as much as possible. Combat Jacks help keep a young man sane in an insane place.
Now I have a bunch of people popping in here not to read about the effects of war on young men's bodies and minds...but because they want a good meat-beating tale.
Fucking wankers.
I was wondering why the number of visitors skyrocketed this month. In a moment of hubris I thought it might have something to do with my writing.
Nope. This dude linked to my story of how we kept from going nuts in Saudi Arabia by masturbating as much as possible. Combat Jacks help keep a young man sane in an insane place.
Now I have a bunch of people popping in here not to read about the effects of war on young men's bodies and minds...but because they want a good meat-beating tale.
Fucking wankers.
Monday, March 31, 2008
The Ghost of Matt Maupin
You are finally coming home...the corporeal caught up with the spirit.
I wonder how many people even knew your name. People aren't paying attention anymore, Matt. I'm sorry for that. They didn't know you were missing...
(CNN) -- After nearly four years of hoping, waiting and praying, an Ohio family learned Sunday their missing son died in Iraq.
"It hurts -- it really hurts. You go through four years of hope," said Carolyn Maupin, whose son, Staff Sgt. Keith Matthew Maupin, was captured by insurgents in April 2004.
"It's like a letdown to me. I'm trying to get through that right now."
His father, Keith Maupin, said military officials informed the family Sunday afternoon that the remains of the 24-year-old Army reservist had been identified.
"Every parent knows the possibility exists that they may have to face the death of their child when they volunteer to go to war," he said. "However, those who are fortunate make peace with that and support their soldier, because they enlisted at their own free will."
A Defense Department official also confirmed the identification, saying Maupin's remains were found last week but DNA results just came in.
Still missing:
Pvt. Byron W. Fouty and Spc. Alex R. Jimenez have been missing since their military convoy was raided west of Mahmoudiya May 12.
Spc. Ahmed K. Altaie disappeared October 23, 2006, and his status was changed to "missing-captured" nearly two months later.
I wonder how many people even knew your name. People aren't paying attention anymore, Matt. I'm sorry for that. They didn't know you were missing...
(CNN) -- After nearly four years of hoping, waiting and praying, an Ohio family learned Sunday their missing son died in Iraq.
"It hurts -- it really hurts. You go through four years of hope," said Carolyn Maupin, whose son, Staff Sgt. Keith Matthew Maupin, was captured by insurgents in April 2004.
"It's like a letdown to me. I'm trying to get through that right now."
His father, Keith Maupin, said military officials informed the family Sunday afternoon that the remains of the 24-year-old Army reservist had been identified.
"Every parent knows the possibility exists that they may have to face the death of their child when they volunteer to go to war," he said. "However, those who are fortunate make peace with that and support their soldier, because they enlisted at their own free will."
A Defense Department official also confirmed the identification, saying Maupin's remains were found last week but DNA results just came in.
Still missing:
Pvt. Byron W. Fouty and Spc. Alex R. Jimenez have been missing since their military convoy was raided west of Mahmoudiya May 12.
Spc. Ahmed K. Altaie disappeared October 23, 2006, and his status was changed to "missing-captured" nearly two months later.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Things Keep Getting Better and Better
As if I didn't have enough to worry about....
Chemicals Linked to Gulf War Illness
Associated Press March 11, 2008
WASHINGTON - Increasing evidence ties pesticides and other chemicals to some, not all, of the Gulf War illnesses that afflict thousands of veterans of the 1991 war, says an analysis published Monday.
Nearly 30 percent of troops who took part in the brief war have reported symptoms that include fatigue, memory loss, pain and difficulty sleeping. Citing the variety of symptoms, the Institute of Medicine in 2006 declared there is no single Gulf War syndrome, although troops who served in the Persian Gulf were sicker than those who didn't.
Multiple chemical exposures have long been chief suspects. So Dr. Beatrice Golomb of the University of California, San Diego, reviewed 115 studies of neurological symptoms and veterans' exposure to three related chemicals: the anti-nerve gas pyridostigmine bromide, or PB, given to troops at the time; pesticides used aggressively to control sand flies; and the nerve gas sarin.
Those chemicals belong to a family known as acetylcholinesterase inhibitors that work the same way in the body, she wrote Monday in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.
Among the evidence Golomb cites: Veterans who are genetically less able to clear this type of chemical from their bodies had a higher chance of suffering symptoms, which mirror problems reported by pesticide-exposed agriculture workers.
Chemicals Linked to Gulf War Illness
Associated Press March 11, 2008
WASHINGTON - Increasing evidence ties pesticides and other chemicals to some, not all, of the Gulf War illnesses that afflict thousands of veterans of the 1991 war, says an analysis published Monday.
Nearly 30 percent of troops who took part in the brief war have reported symptoms that include fatigue, memory loss, pain and difficulty sleeping. Citing the variety of symptoms, the Institute of Medicine in 2006 declared there is no single Gulf War syndrome, although troops who served in the Persian Gulf were sicker than those who didn't.
Multiple chemical exposures have long been chief suspects. So Dr. Beatrice Golomb of the University of California, San Diego, reviewed 115 studies of neurological symptoms and veterans' exposure to three related chemicals: the anti-nerve gas pyridostigmine bromide, or PB, given to troops at the time; pesticides used aggressively to control sand flies; and the nerve gas sarin.
Those chemicals belong to a family known as acetylcholinesterase inhibitors that work the same way in the body, she wrote Monday in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.
Among the evidence Golomb cites: Veterans who are genetically less able to clear this type of chemical from their bodies had a higher chance of suffering symptoms, which mirror problems reported by pesticide-exposed agriculture workers.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
The Odd Amusing Anecdote
Every once in a while I do have amusing stories to share. They have no point....no complex message...no metaphorical meaning. They are just funny things that happened. When times are boring and bleak and dangerous...you have to find your humor where you can...
One of the least examined aspects of Desert Shield/Desert Storm, in this humble author's opinion, is the sexual health and well being of the more than 500,000 troops sitting in the sand.
Oh sure...there was the infamous "Love Boat"....the Navy ship on which an unusually high number of the female crew became pregnant during their deployment to the Gulf. But what about the lusts and desires of the very young, very virile kids away from wife, girlfriend or lover?
Friends, I'm talking about masturbation here.
Everyone does it. And with the median age of the young men in the Gulf at the time being 21 years old....they did a LOT of it.
But...where does one go to do it in private when living in extremely close quarters? Upon arrival in Saudi Arabia my unit lived in a warehouse. A wide open, metal hotbox filled with 800 guys. We lived on bunks spread 18 inches apart. Privacy was a quaint notion.
You can't start a Rub Out under those conditions. everyone would know as soon as you did...and you'd never get to finish for all the catcalls. It really fucks with the concentration.
So...where do you go? We were kept busy all day with lectures, exercise, training, more lectures, paperwork, heavy lifting work and all manner of busy work. Idle hands are the Devil's Work, you know? And no one could sneak off lest they miss an assignment. But there was one place where a guy has to go every day to be alone and no one questions it: the latrine.
Behind our warehouse accommodations there was a row of those plastic Port-0-Potties. This soon became the go-to place for the release of pent up tensions.
It was the secret-that-was-not-a-secret. Troopers heading off towards the latrine were automatically handed bits of secret porno stashes. The trading of pictures of girlfriends in sexual poses became a minor industry...like trading baseball cards. The then soon-to-be-satisfied would stalk off with a determined gait...slipping the imagination aids into pockets.
Some enterprising smart-asses began to bestow names on individual stalls in magic marker: The Whack Shack, The Meat Shoppe...and my own contribution...The One Stop Baloney Bop. Juvenile? Sure. Funny? At the time...yeah.
At times...when there was a full house...things tended to get out of hand (no pun intended, I think). The level of audible groans would rise...echoing from inside the plastic chambers. I once noted to a friend that it sounded like a casualty ward some days with all the moaning.
One day while waiting in line for our turn in the shitters...my friend Ty and I noticed a young officer from the battalion staff heading our way as he made his way to the officer's latrine (a swanky affair compared to our port-o-sans). As he passed his face took on a look of consternation over the level of moaning and groaning seeping through the vents above the doors. And the poor, clueless young man stopped...quite perplexed.
He sauntered towards us...we saluted...and as Ty was the senior rank...the officer addressed him.
"What's happening here?
Which was punctuated by a very loud moan from the nearest stall and a stage whispered "Oh fuuuuuuck."
Ty, in his most serious voice replied "We believe it's food poisoning, Sir." And shaking his head somberly "Very, bad, Sir, very bad. Lots of diarrhea." And explained that we were unit medics and were looking after them.
"Will they be OK?
"Yes, Sir. They'll be just fine. They just need to get the poison out."
As Ty is talking my face proceeded to get redder and redder. I'm not very good at holding in laughter. But, thank Christ, I managed to this time.
The officer, a fine young man concerned for the enlisted troops, nodded soberly.
"Very good then." And stalked off on his own mission.
As he passed the stalls...a red-faced, sweaty kid came out wearing a sloppy grin. The officer stopped and said he hopes he feels better. The kid, saluting, replied cheerily "Oh, I feel just great, Sir!"
I stepped quietly behind Ty and buried my face in his back to smother my laughter.
Well...there you have it. I guess it's a You Had to Be There moment. I'm glad I was.
One of the least examined aspects of Desert Shield/Desert Storm, in this humble author's opinion, is the sexual health and well being of the more than 500,000 troops sitting in the sand.
Oh sure...there was the infamous "Love Boat"....the Navy ship on which an unusually high number of the female crew became pregnant during their deployment to the Gulf. But what about the lusts and desires of the very young, very virile kids away from wife, girlfriend or lover?
Friends, I'm talking about masturbation here.
Everyone does it. And with the median age of the young men in the Gulf at the time being 21 years old....they did a LOT of it.
But...where does one go to do it in private when living in extremely close quarters? Upon arrival in Saudi Arabia my unit lived in a warehouse. A wide open, metal hotbox filled with 800 guys. We lived on bunks spread 18 inches apart. Privacy was a quaint notion.
You can't start a Rub Out under those conditions. everyone would know as soon as you did...and you'd never get to finish for all the catcalls. It really fucks with the concentration.
So...where do you go? We were kept busy all day with lectures, exercise, training, more lectures, paperwork, heavy lifting work and all manner of busy work. Idle hands are the Devil's Work, you know? And no one could sneak off lest they miss an assignment. But there was one place where a guy has to go every day to be alone and no one questions it: the latrine.
Behind our warehouse accommodations there was a row of those plastic Port-0-Potties. This soon became the go-to place for the release of pent up tensions.
It was the secret-that-was-not-a-secret. Troopers heading off towards the latrine were automatically handed bits of secret porno stashes. The trading of pictures of girlfriends in sexual poses became a minor industry...like trading baseball cards. The then soon-to-be-satisfied would stalk off with a determined gait...slipping the imagination aids into pockets.
Some enterprising smart-asses began to bestow names on individual stalls in magic marker: The Whack Shack, The Meat Shoppe...and my own contribution...The One Stop Baloney Bop. Juvenile? Sure. Funny? At the time...yeah.
At times...when there was a full house...things tended to get out of hand (no pun intended, I think). The level of audible groans would rise...echoing from inside the plastic chambers. I once noted to a friend that it sounded like a casualty ward some days with all the moaning.
One day while waiting in line for our turn in the shitters...my friend Ty and I noticed a young officer from the battalion staff heading our way as he made his way to the officer's latrine (a swanky affair compared to our port-o-sans). As he passed his face took on a look of consternation over the level of moaning and groaning seeping through the vents above the doors. And the poor, clueless young man stopped...quite perplexed.
He sauntered towards us...we saluted...and as Ty was the senior rank...the officer addressed him.
"What's happening here?
Which was punctuated by a very loud moan from the nearest stall and a stage whispered "Oh fuuuuuuck."
Ty, in his most serious voice replied "We believe it's food poisoning, Sir." And shaking his head somberly "Very, bad, Sir, very bad. Lots of diarrhea." And explained that we were unit medics and were looking after them.
"Will they be OK?
"Yes, Sir. They'll be just fine. They just need to get the poison out."
As Ty is talking my face proceeded to get redder and redder. I'm not very good at holding in laughter. But, thank Christ, I managed to this time.
The officer, a fine young man concerned for the enlisted troops, nodded soberly.
"Very good then." And stalked off on his own mission.
As he passed the stalls...a red-faced, sweaty kid came out wearing a sloppy grin. The officer stopped and said he hopes he feels better. The kid, saluting, replied cheerily "Oh, I feel just great, Sir!"
I stepped quietly behind Ty and buried my face in his back to smother my laughter.
Well...there you have it. I guess it's a You Had to Be There moment. I'm glad I was.
Burn
Sometimes when I go to the beach in summer
I sit on my towel and strip off my shirt
and I close my eyes.
And I feel the sun hot on my back.
And I let myself burn.
I feel the heat rise from the sand around me
the scent so familiar
I rest my forehead on my arms and everything around me slips to white noise.
the sweat beads and runs on back and my neck and my arms
and I burn.
And I'm right back there.
I sit on my towel and strip off my shirt
and I close my eyes.
And I feel the sun hot on my back.
And I let myself burn.
I feel the heat rise from the sand around me
the scent so familiar
I rest my forehead on my arms and everything around me slips to white noise.
the sweat beads and runs on back and my neck and my arms
and I burn.
And I'm right back there.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Oasis
Every once in a while there were almost sublime moments of beauty.
They are the moments, when I'm flailing about in my mind trying to make sense of it all, to which I can grasp to keep myself grounded.
They were few and far between...but their very rarity makes them all the more precious.
There was the soccer game I watched...played by children in a refugee camp at the Saudi/Iraq border. The fact that the kids had energy enough to play meant we were doing our jobs effectively and keeping them alive and fed well. The fact they wanted to play at all meant they were getting past the trauma.
The tomato plant growing through the asphalt outside the warehouse we lived in...growing against all odds where no plant had a right to be. I made sure to check it every morning on my way to the latrine...willing it on to grow...to live. I sometimes wonder if it continued to flourish after we moved away and into the deep desert.
Watching the goofy looking new kid, who joined us after we had already deployed, quietly pray at night. The deep solemnity of his visage was enough to get us to stop busting his balls for a little while.
The Bedouin we passed while driving in a convoy one day. People in robes and headwraps riding camels with all their possessions strapped on to the animals. It was something straight out of Lawrence of Arabia. It was what I thought in my insular way what the desert should look like. It was so alien...so foreign to me that I watched their procession with the giddy awe usually reserved for children at the zoo.
The day one of the various homeless dogs... who roamed the camp and were adopted by various units...had puppies and for days lines formed as everyone wanted to spend time just watching the puppies sleep or feed or to bring blankets and towels and other things to wrap this new family in.
Watching my friend lay on his bunk and read a letter from his girlfriend. He was 19 and crazily, enthusiastically in love in only the way teenagers new to the experience ever seem to be. He would sack out, one his side with one arm thrown over his head and read and reread every letter. She'd spray perfume on them...and he'd pass them around for us to smell. Of course, the letters took so long to get from the USA to Saudi Arabia that the scent had long dissipated. But he'd swear it was still there as he lay down, smiling dreamily, to read them again. Really...he was just remembering the way she smelled.
The day I saw a baby being born for the first time. One of the few happy moments from the second, sad part of our mission: spending eight months traveling from refugee camp to refugee camp along the Saudi/Iraq/Kuwait border region providing medical care and food assistance until people could be resettled or returned home. Having seen footage of birth during training..and schooled in basic birth assistance...I thought I was prepared. I was not. The emotion that swept over everyone involved...mother, father, we medics...was unexpected. I guess after all the death, the taking of life...the presence of new life brought into the world stood out starkly. It felt good. And it was beautiful.
These memories I treasure.
They are the moments, when I'm flailing about in my mind trying to make sense of it all, to which I can grasp to keep myself grounded.
They were few and far between...but their very rarity makes them all the more precious.
There was the soccer game I watched...played by children in a refugee camp at the Saudi/Iraq border. The fact that the kids had energy enough to play meant we were doing our jobs effectively and keeping them alive and fed well. The fact they wanted to play at all meant they were getting past the trauma.
The tomato plant growing through the asphalt outside the warehouse we lived in...growing against all odds where no plant had a right to be. I made sure to check it every morning on my way to the latrine...willing it on to grow...to live. I sometimes wonder if it continued to flourish after we moved away and into the deep desert.
Watching the goofy looking new kid, who joined us after we had already deployed, quietly pray at night. The deep solemnity of his visage was enough to get us to stop busting his balls for a little while.
The Bedouin we passed while driving in a convoy one day. People in robes and headwraps riding camels with all their possessions strapped on to the animals. It was something straight out of Lawrence of Arabia. It was what I thought in my insular way what the desert should look like. It was so alien...so foreign to me that I watched their procession with the giddy awe usually reserved for children at the zoo.
The day one of the various homeless dogs... who roamed the camp and were adopted by various units...had puppies and for days lines formed as everyone wanted to spend time just watching the puppies sleep or feed or to bring blankets and towels and other things to wrap this new family in.
Watching my friend lay on his bunk and read a letter from his girlfriend. He was 19 and crazily, enthusiastically in love in only the way teenagers new to the experience ever seem to be. He would sack out, one his side with one arm thrown over his head and read and reread every letter. She'd spray perfume on them...and he'd pass them around for us to smell. Of course, the letters took so long to get from the USA to Saudi Arabia that the scent had long dissipated. But he'd swear it was still there as he lay down, smiling dreamily, to read them again. Really...he was just remembering the way she smelled.
The day I saw a baby being born for the first time. One of the few happy moments from the second, sad part of our mission: spending eight months traveling from refugee camp to refugee camp along the Saudi/Iraq/Kuwait border region providing medical care and food assistance until people could be resettled or returned home. Having seen footage of birth during training..and schooled in basic birth assistance...I thought I was prepared. I was not. The emotion that swept over everyone involved...mother, father, we medics...was unexpected. I guess after all the death, the taking of life...the presence of new life brought into the world stood out starkly. It felt good. And it was beautiful.
These memories I treasure.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
A Few Retreads
I moved a few stories concerning my work with a wounded Iraq vet to this blog from my other.
They belong here.
They belong here.
Repost 2
The Coarse Humor of Soldiers
When he first came to us...I was reluctant to take him on. My boss specifically wanted to assign him to me even though I had a full caseload and wasn't next in line for new client arrivals. He and I have a similar background so my boss thought the connection would be beneficial...the theory being he'd bond with me and I'd know how to handle him better than anyone else on staff because I'm the only employee with anything close to the same experiences.I was hesitant. I really didn't know if I could stand to do it. My job can be emotionally exhausting as it is...and to take on a kid...a disfigured kid...a kid who reminds me a lot of people I knew...I was just worried it would be too much. And, I think, I was wary of forming an emotional bond with a client. You learn pretty quickly not to do that...because the failures hurt all the more when that happens.
But I agreed to add him to my roster. I figured I would do what was most likely best for the kid and the company.But I made it clear to my boss, in no uncertain terms, that I would do things my way. If I was being matched with this client because of our similar backgrounds...that I was going to draw on that experience and things might be a little unconventional. He agreed.
And so they have been. So much so that I conduct most of our work out of the sight and hearing of the other clients. Because I yell at him...I say some mean shit.You see...that bond I was afraid of forming...was partially already in place. Amongst soldiers...there's a bond that those on the outside just can't truly fathom.
There's a brotherhood aspect to it...that no matter how much I tried to articulate it here...it just wouldn't be adequately explained. Soldiers bust one another's balls. But they do it with love.And I am a serious ballbuster. When we are involved in physical rehab activities...I go into total D.I. mode. We trade barbs that, to outsiders, would make it appear we hate one another (and that I'm a complete asshole and martinet). The fact that we laugh our asses off over these barbs would really confuse people.A few of my coworkers who have a more touchy-feely approach (which DOES work quite well with some clients) have expressed concerns over my style here......but fuck 'em. Because what I am doing works. And it has helped. A lot. His parents have told me so in progress report meetings. They say he talks about me a lot during their visits....of course, he leaves out the ballbusting.
===============================
Which leads me into the next part...The Kid may have to leave us. It's a long story...the short version being his parent's funding. He may have to move to a less expensive, less intensive, less well equipped facility...or even go back to being at home with only part time visiting aides, etc.And I really do not want that to happen. We've made tangible progress. His depression? He's no longer on anti-depressants. In my presence he hasn't had an angry outburst (common amongst head-injury survivors) in over a month. He can now bang out 25 push-ups when I make him (a big deal considering his muscles were weak from near atrophy when he came to us). We even toss a football around now...although...I still bust his balls when he misses an easy throw.That emotional bond you're supposed to avoid...it's kicking my ass over this. We've made real progress and I'm not ready to give up. In a job like mine...where the rewards are few...seeing improvement in someone make the whole fucking thing worthwhile.And..I don't want to lose what I've received from this relationship. I've spent a lot of time in the last decade working on veteran's issues in my spare time. Most of that consisted of letter writing. Ho hum. Here...I'm making a life better...just one life...of a kid crippled by war.And I feel more useful in that than in all those years of scribbling missives and pleas.
========================
As a medic...I promised the guys in my platoon that I'd always be there for them. Always. No matter what happened...I'd always do my best to help them when the shit hit the fan.It's an ethos I've tried to carry with me. I'm not done helping the Kid yet.
His parent's have yet to tell him he may have to leave. They don't want to say anything in case they can get more funding. I've already told them that if they do have to leave...I'll be by their house (they live only about 20 mins away by car from where I live). And I'll continue to work with him from time to time. His parents, bless their hearts, thought I meant as a paid employee.Anyway....I'm not done working with the Kid yet. I've got plenty more ballbusting to do.
Sometimes the world can be a big bowl of suck.
When he first came to us...I was reluctant to take him on. My boss specifically wanted to assign him to me even though I had a full caseload and wasn't next in line for new client arrivals. He and I have a similar background so my boss thought the connection would be beneficial...the theory being he'd bond with me and I'd know how to handle him better than anyone else on staff because I'm the only employee with anything close to the same experiences.I was hesitant. I really didn't know if I could stand to do it. My job can be emotionally exhausting as it is...and to take on a kid...a disfigured kid...a kid who reminds me a lot of people I knew...I was just worried it would be too much. And, I think, I was wary of forming an emotional bond with a client. You learn pretty quickly not to do that...because the failures hurt all the more when that happens.
But I agreed to add him to my roster. I figured I would do what was most likely best for the kid and the company.But I made it clear to my boss, in no uncertain terms, that I would do things my way. If I was being matched with this client because of our similar backgrounds...that I was going to draw on that experience and things might be a little unconventional. He agreed.
And so they have been. So much so that I conduct most of our work out of the sight and hearing of the other clients. Because I yell at him...I say some mean shit.You see...that bond I was afraid of forming...was partially already in place. Amongst soldiers...there's a bond that those on the outside just can't truly fathom.
There's a brotherhood aspect to it...that no matter how much I tried to articulate it here...it just wouldn't be adequately explained. Soldiers bust one another's balls. But they do it with love.And I am a serious ballbuster. When we are involved in physical rehab activities...I go into total D.I. mode. We trade barbs that, to outsiders, would make it appear we hate one another (and that I'm a complete asshole and martinet). The fact that we laugh our asses off over these barbs would really confuse people.A few of my coworkers who have a more touchy-feely approach (which DOES work quite well with some clients) have expressed concerns over my style here......but fuck 'em. Because what I am doing works. And it has helped. A lot. His parents have told me so in progress report meetings. They say he talks about me a lot during their visits....of course, he leaves out the ballbusting.
===============================
Which leads me into the next part...The Kid may have to leave us. It's a long story...the short version being his parent's funding. He may have to move to a less expensive, less intensive, less well equipped facility...or even go back to being at home with only part time visiting aides, etc.And I really do not want that to happen. We've made tangible progress. His depression? He's no longer on anti-depressants. In my presence he hasn't had an angry outburst (common amongst head-injury survivors) in over a month. He can now bang out 25 push-ups when I make him (a big deal considering his muscles were weak from near atrophy when he came to us). We even toss a football around now...although...I still bust his balls when he misses an easy throw.That emotional bond you're supposed to avoid...it's kicking my ass over this. We've made real progress and I'm not ready to give up. In a job like mine...where the rewards are few...seeing improvement in someone make the whole fucking thing worthwhile.And..I don't want to lose what I've received from this relationship. I've spent a lot of time in the last decade working on veteran's issues in my spare time. Most of that consisted of letter writing. Ho hum. Here...I'm making a life better...just one life...of a kid crippled by war.And I feel more useful in that than in all those years of scribbling missives and pleas.
========================
As a medic...I promised the guys in my platoon that I'd always be there for them. Always. No matter what happened...I'd always do my best to help them when the shit hit the fan.It's an ethos I've tried to carry with me. I'm not done helping the Kid yet.
His parent's have yet to tell him he may have to leave. They don't want to say anything in case they can get more funding. I've already told them that if they do have to leave...I'll be by their house (they live only about 20 mins away by car from where I live). And I'll continue to work with him from time to time. His parents, bless their hearts, thought I meant as a paid employee.Anyway....I'm not done working with the Kid yet. I've got plenty more ballbusting to do.
Sometimes the world can be a big bowl of suck.
Repost 1
Twenty-two, Now and Forever
(Home, part 1)
Before: athletic, humorous, laid back.
Now: Short term memory loss, various mood swings, sudden fits of rage, depression, poor coordination, vision problems.
What happened in between: A Traumatic Brain Injury caused by an IED in Iraq in summer, 2005.
At the age of 22 he, and what remains of his life, changed forever.He has a plate in his skull. He lost a portion of his brain matter and one side of his face is a mass of scars.
=============
He's one of my clients. It's my job to work with him to try and rebuild a life...to hopefully function in the world again. And I can already tell it's not going to happen for him. He's a long way gone.We play memory games. Sometimes they help, most times not. He still thinks it's 2005...always.
Dipping into his emotional reservoir by showing him some pictures from Iraq works. He can name every man in his squad still. But it drains him. And me.He's cognizant enough after his injury to recognize his deficiencies...what he's lost...some times. And it sends him into fits of anger and depression.
Those times of complete lucidity are almost a curse. It sounds terrible to say...but sometimes it's for the best when he blanks out for a time. It's hard to look at...a young man so crippled...staring unfocused and drooling onto his own shirt.It's ugly.It's what the people prone to empty sloganeering don't want to look at.Who really wants to see consequences?
=================
Today...I took him to a seaside town here...to the boardwalk to play ski-ball in an arcade. (I tried to use fun to cover the fact that I was really working on physical coordination)
We had a pretty good day.
(Home, part 1)
Before: athletic, humorous, laid back.
Now: Short term memory loss, various mood swings, sudden fits of rage, depression, poor coordination, vision problems.
What happened in between: A Traumatic Brain Injury caused by an IED in Iraq in summer, 2005.
At the age of 22 he, and what remains of his life, changed forever.He has a plate in his skull. He lost a portion of his brain matter and one side of his face is a mass of scars.
=============
He's one of my clients. It's my job to work with him to try and rebuild a life...to hopefully function in the world again. And I can already tell it's not going to happen for him. He's a long way gone.We play memory games. Sometimes they help, most times not. He still thinks it's 2005...always.
Dipping into his emotional reservoir by showing him some pictures from Iraq works. He can name every man in his squad still. But it drains him. And me.He's cognizant enough after his injury to recognize his deficiencies...what he's lost...some times. And it sends him into fits of anger and depression.
Those times of complete lucidity are almost a curse. It sounds terrible to say...but sometimes it's for the best when he blanks out for a time. It's hard to look at...a young man so crippled...staring unfocused and drooling onto his own shirt.It's ugly.It's what the people prone to empty sloganeering don't want to look at.Who really wants to see consequences?
=================
Today...I took him to a seaside town here...to the boardwalk to play ski-ball in an arcade. (I tried to use fun to cover the fact that I was really working on physical coordination)
We had a pretty good day.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Ruck Up and Move Out
Sometimes you see stories that inspire...
This is one of them.
Wounded Marines Focus on Film Careers
Associated Press January 22, 2008
SAN DIEGO - Joshua Frey looked through the view finder of his camera in a studio production lot, focusing on a group of helmets atop wooden stakes.
They reminded the former U.S. Marine of the memorials to fallen comrades he had seen before he was shot and hit by shrapnel from a rocket-propelled grenade in Iraq, which left him with partial use of his left arm, traumatic brain injury and post-traumatic stress disorder that still haunts his nights.
Frey, like many disabled veterans, has struggled to find a career, to rebuild a life.
Now, more than two years after being wounded in Fallujah, Frey has enrolled in the Wounded Marine Career Foundation program, which aims to help wounded and disabled Marines and Navy corpsmen land jobs in the film industry.
The photos in the studio lot were part assignment, part therapy for Frey. Perhaps, he says, his attempt to use a camera is a new beginning, a path to a new career.
"There's so much riding on this, it has just got to work," Frey says.
With more than 29,000 troops wounded in combat since Sept. 11, 2001, job training for the disabled is a priority for the military.
But unlike many training centers, the foundation's new film boot camp aims to do more than provide skills that help the disabled find a career in film, video, sound design, graphics and photojournalism.
It also aims to let the wounded tell their own stories, says co-founder Kev Lombard, a documentary filmmaker and two-time Emmy-winning director of photography for the children's television show "Reading Rainbow."
Lombard came up with the idea for the foundation's Wounded Marine Training Center for Careers in Media program after being asked by a friend in the military nearly two years ago to document the stories of wounded veterans at military hospitals.
"It wasn't our story to tell. It was theirs," he said. "So I said how about we teach them to tell their own story."
In addition to veterans whose war injuries forced them to retire, the Marine Corps is allowing active duty wounded Marines to enroll.
Lombard and his wife, Judith Paixao, use private and corporate donations and federal grants to operate the program, which costs $2 million (euro1.36 million) for each 10-week session. They plan two sessions a year.
"This isn't about turning out the next Steven Spielberg," Lombard said. "It's about turning out a camera operator, a grip, a boom operator. These are good jobs with good pay."
Amy Lemisch of the California Film Commission says the boot camp appears to be offering nuts-and-bolts skills that are often missing from college film schools.
"It's almost like an apprenticeship," she said.
While jobs in the film industry are highly competitive, Lemisch said the students could find jobs if they develop the right skills.
The program's camouflage-painted building on a studio production lot in San Diego has a Marine Corps atmosphere. Posters from "The Sands of Iwo Jima" and "The Flying Leathernecks" adorn the walls, and the 20 students are broken up into five-member squads.
Paixao says Marines and Navy corpsmen are well-suited for film work because of their discipline and teamwork.
However, many of the wounded and disabled have been removed from military life for some time. As a result, the program emphasizes Marine Corps discipline, says photography student and former Gunnery Sgt. Nick Popaditch.
He has taken on the role of the program's gunnery sergeant, so to speak - briefing students on the day's events and helping new arrivals to San Diego navigate the city.
Popaditch gained widespread attention as the "Cigar Marine" during the fall of Baghdad when a photographer for The Associated Press captured him smiling and smoking a cigar. A year later, he was severely wounded in Fallujah by shrapnel from a rocket-propelled grenade that hit him in the face, damaging one eye and causing him to lose the other.
Many students have severe wounds that require modification of film equipment. Barry Green, an Emmy-award winning producer, worked with Popaditch to figure out how best to use video and still cameras with his injured eye.
"I'm feeling more comfortable with it," Popaditch said hours later, looking through the camera's eye piece.
Across the room, former Gunnery Sgt. Tai Cleveland, 42, worked on loading editing software onto his laptop computer.
It's the first step in what Cleveland hopes will be a new career. He uses a wheelchair since a 2003 training accident in Kuwait caused back and brain injuries, and supports his family on his disability check.
Cleveland dreams of one day building a production studio in his home in Manassas, Virginia, and he and his wife, Robin, have begun putting together a business plan.
"It's a way for me to take back as head of the household with a career that I can do from a wheelchair," he says during the lunch break.
Standing in the cluttered studio lot, instructor Levie Isaacks works with Frey, 31, to complete the day's assignment: shooting a series of five photos that set a scene.
Frey focuses on the helmets, which sit near a box of blank ammunition. For a moment he considers taking pictures. But then he decides against it, saying later that the scene didn't look real.
Isaacks knows a bit what Frey has faced in war, having suffered post-traumatic stress himself as a Vietnam War veteran.
Isaacks has taken the road from combat veteran to Emmy Award-winning directory of photography, whose credits include Fox's "Malcolm in the Middle" and the recent film "Grace," starring Elizabeth Shue.
"You look through that lens and the world is focused," Isaacks says.
This is one of them.
Wounded Marines Focus on Film Careers
Associated Press January 22, 2008
SAN DIEGO - Joshua Frey looked through the view finder of his camera in a studio production lot, focusing on a group of helmets atop wooden stakes.
They reminded the former U.S. Marine of the memorials to fallen comrades he had seen before he was shot and hit by shrapnel from a rocket-propelled grenade in Iraq, which left him with partial use of his left arm, traumatic brain injury and post-traumatic stress disorder that still haunts his nights.
Frey, like many disabled veterans, has struggled to find a career, to rebuild a life.
Now, more than two years after being wounded in Fallujah, Frey has enrolled in the Wounded Marine Career Foundation program, which aims to help wounded and disabled Marines and Navy corpsmen land jobs in the film industry.
The photos in the studio lot were part assignment, part therapy for Frey. Perhaps, he says, his attempt to use a camera is a new beginning, a path to a new career.
"There's so much riding on this, it has just got to work," Frey says.
With more than 29,000 troops wounded in combat since Sept. 11, 2001, job training for the disabled is a priority for the military.
But unlike many training centers, the foundation's new film boot camp aims to do more than provide skills that help the disabled find a career in film, video, sound design, graphics and photojournalism.
It also aims to let the wounded tell their own stories, says co-founder Kev Lombard, a documentary filmmaker and two-time Emmy-winning director of photography for the children's television show "Reading Rainbow."
Lombard came up with the idea for the foundation's Wounded Marine Training Center for Careers in Media program after being asked by a friend in the military nearly two years ago to document the stories of wounded veterans at military hospitals.
"It wasn't our story to tell. It was theirs," he said. "So I said how about we teach them to tell their own story."
In addition to veterans whose war injuries forced them to retire, the Marine Corps is allowing active duty wounded Marines to enroll.
Lombard and his wife, Judith Paixao, use private and corporate donations and federal grants to operate the program, which costs $2 million (euro1.36 million) for each 10-week session. They plan two sessions a year.
"This isn't about turning out the next Steven Spielberg," Lombard said. "It's about turning out a camera operator, a grip, a boom operator. These are good jobs with good pay."
Amy Lemisch of the California Film Commission says the boot camp appears to be offering nuts-and-bolts skills that are often missing from college film schools.
"It's almost like an apprenticeship," she said.
While jobs in the film industry are highly competitive, Lemisch said the students could find jobs if they develop the right skills.
The program's camouflage-painted building on a studio production lot in San Diego has a Marine Corps atmosphere. Posters from "The Sands of Iwo Jima" and "The Flying Leathernecks" adorn the walls, and the 20 students are broken up into five-member squads.
Paixao says Marines and Navy corpsmen are well-suited for film work because of their discipline and teamwork.
However, many of the wounded and disabled have been removed from military life for some time. As a result, the program emphasizes Marine Corps discipline, says photography student and former Gunnery Sgt. Nick Popaditch.
He has taken on the role of the program's gunnery sergeant, so to speak - briefing students on the day's events and helping new arrivals to San Diego navigate the city.
Popaditch gained widespread attention as the "Cigar Marine" during the fall of Baghdad when a photographer for The Associated Press captured him smiling and smoking a cigar. A year later, he was severely wounded in Fallujah by shrapnel from a rocket-propelled grenade that hit him in the face, damaging one eye and causing him to lose the other.
Many students have severe wounds that require modification of film equipment. Barry Green, an Emmy-award winning producer, worked with Popaditch to figure out how best to use video and still cameras with his injured eye.
"I'm feeling more comfortable with it," Popaditch said hours later, looking through the camera's eye piece.
Across the room, former Gunnery Sgt. Tai Cleveland, 42, worked on loading editing software onto his laptop computer.
It's the first step in what Cleveland hopes will be a new career. He uses a wheelchair since a 2003 training accident in Kuwait caused back and brain injuries, and supports his family on his disability check.
Cleveland dreams of one day building a production studio in his home in Manassas, Virginia, and he and his wife, Robin, have begun putting together a business plan.
"It's a way for me to take back as head of the household with a career that I can do from a wheelchair," he says during the lunch break.
Standing in the cluttered studio lot, instructor Levie Isaacks works with Frey, 31, to complete the day's assignment: shooting a series of five photos that set a scene.
Frey focuses on the helmets, which sit near a box of blank ammunition. For a moment he considers taking pictures. But then he decides against it, saying later that the scene didn't look real.
Isaacks knows a bit what Frey has faced in war, having suffered post-traumatic stress himself as a Vietnam War veteran.
Isaacks has taken the road from combat veteran to Emmy Award-winning directory of photography, whose credits include Fox's "Malcolm in the Middle" and the recent film "Grace," starring Elizabeth Shue.
"You look through that lens and the world is focused," Isaacks says.
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