Just Another Word

More on my continuing education from "Farmer Boy" by Laura Ingalls Wilder: (Were that every American should be thusly educated as I believe it would prove far more useful and go further in preserving our liberties than would a piece of paper from some university in the hands of it's graduate.)

"Farmer Boy" records a slice, a little more than a year, in the life of the boy who grew up to be Laura Ingall's husband, Almanzo Wilder. Almanzo's childhood, and therefore his experience and contribution to the settling of America, was as different from Laura's as the rolling hills of upstate New York are different from the grassy prairies and low skies of the Midwest. While Laura came from a pioneer family of humble origins, Almanzo came from a prominent and wealthy farming family in upstate New York.
Laura's family left a log cabin in the big woods of Wisconsin for the unchallenged Kansas plains hauling all they owned in the world across rivers and the great unknown in a covered wagon. There, they dug their own wells, made their own nails, timbered their own logs for house and furniture, and sustained themselves from the wild earth all for the sake of being the first in a land they knew would someday be civilized. They cheated death by wolves, death by rivers, and Indians, and malaria to forge a path for others to follow.
Almanzo, on the other hand, lived on one of the largest and most respected farms in the state of New York. His home had a parlor with upholstered furniture and a dining room decorated with wallpaper. He had donuts every day for breakfast and pie every night with dinner. His mother's butter was considered to be of the finest quality in the state and garnered a high price. They raised cattle and trained horses, selling their colts for the highest going rate. They farmed corn, soybeans, wheat and hay and sold from their abundance, taking money to the bank often. They timbered their own wood, and cut blocks of ice from a nearby lake, storing them all year round in their own ice house. Because of this Almanzo frequently enjoyed ice-cream for dessert in the summer, an exceptional indulgence for the time.
But while their childhoods were very different, they shared a common heritage. They came from families that understood what it meant to be American and how to go about living in freedom. It used to be that all of America was defined by our common heritage. It was our salt. But somehow over time our vision has become splintered and so we are loosing our heritage by decades and years, and by cities and families.
Almanzo was only nine at the completion of the book. If he lived today, no doubt his parents would still be tying his shoes, wiping his nose and suffering his tantrums. But he was fortunate to be born in a time when people were dedicated and submitted to a life of hard work. They were convinced that it was good to burden a man with a heavy yoke in his youth, allowing the stress and strain of responsibility to mold his character. Back then, people understood hard work in an almost sacred way, achieving a kind of salvation on earth through it. By hard work they secured their dignity. By hard work they obtained the imperishable riches of self worth and reaped an abundance in spirit. By hard work they enlarged the borders of their kingdoms, that is, they expanded into their experience of freedom. They understood that freedom wasn't something you stood around and waited for someone to plop in your lap, like a warm biscuit. Freedom was a claim that you staked out and since it was inherent in your soul, it was up to a man to draw it out and make manifest. And that wasn't easy, it took hard work.
Now, Almanzo was an amazing young man. At nine, he was skilled at his chores and responsible for tasks of which the function and performance of the farm were dependent. He was not sheltered from the elements. He was not coddled when hurt. He was not spared when the task before him was overwhelming. He was responsible for the preservation and protection of his own life in dangerous situations and could expect a terrible thrashing if he behaved foolishly. All this wrought a sobriety in his spirit and maturity beyond his years. And I am convinced that if his life had taken a tragic turn and he had been orphaned and left to survive on his own, he would have had no trouble living autonomously with the skills he possessed at nine.
Mr. Paddock, a merchant in town took notice of Almanzo. He was a wheelwright, which is someone who made carriages, and was very wealthy. But, not having a son of his own, he had no one to pass his business on to. He wanted to apprentice Almanzo to his trade, thereby securing a life of wealth and relative ease for him. One night at dinner, Almanzo's father discussed Mr. Paddock's offer with Almanzo and his mother. "He'd be a rich man, with maybe half a hundred workman under him. It's worth thinking about." He said. Her response is revealing.
"Oh, it's bad enough to see Royal [Almanzo's older brother] come down to being nothing but a storekeeper! Maybe he'll make money, but he'll never be the man you are. Truckling to other people for his living, all his days- He'll never be able to call his soul his own."
To her, it wasn't important how wealthy you were, or how much a person could afford. Her definition of success revolved around the degree of freedom a person experienced or how much of your soul you could call your own. Almanzo's father was, likewise, dismayed by the thought of Almanzo being dependent upon selling to people to make a living, but he had enough respect and faith in Almanzo's character to allow him to make that decision for himself even at that young age. And so he gave Almanzo an honest assessment of what life would be like as a wheelwright as opposed to a farmer.
"With Paddock, you'd have an easy life in some ways....A farmer depends on himself, and the land and the weather. If you're a farmer, you raise what you eat, you raise what you wear, and you keep warm with wood out of your own timber. You work hard, but you work as you please, and no man can tell you to come or go. You'll be free and independent, son, on a farm."
To those early Americans freedom was obtained through independence and the two ideas could not be divorced one from another. To be dependent upon anyone for anything was to infringe upon personal freedom. And since freedom was valued above all else, earthly possessions were not the measure of a man. Because, if you were the master of your own soul then you were rich in the blessings of God to which He added no sorrow. That is, there is no sorrow inherent in owning all you have by the work of your own hands. But, there is sorrow crouching at the door of debt and dependence and it's desire is to master you. Contrast that with what we see today in entitlement societies. Contrast that with the shackled souls who languished and suffered in New Orleans. They are poor in spirit and institutionally dependent and so they experience bondage, not freedom. They live in America, yet they do not live in freedom. They do not stake out the claim, that cry of freedom in their soul, on a daily basis. They choose not to work for their sustenance and so choose not to partake in the liberties endowed by their creator because they are waiting for someone else to create their liberties for them. But freedom can not be described in terms of what a person has and certainly not in terms of what a person has been given. Freedom is rather the manifestation of how a soul exists. That is, created in the image of God and endowed with inalienable rights. That is the claim. When a person stakes it out by the sweat of his own brow then that is the pursuit of happiness.
What we learn from the "Farmer Boy", what used to be as obvious to the average American as putting apples in pie, is that freedom is closely related to how well a person provides for themselves and their families. Janis Joplin sang these famous lyrics: "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." But, in fact, the abundance or paucity of possessions has nothing to do with freedom. If it were the millions of people starving each year on the continent of Africa should be the freest people on the planet. It's not what you have but how effectively you take care of and provide for your own needs that matters. In practice it could be said that it's not what you have but how hard you work. Freedom is contingent upon self reliance and that doesn't come easy. Janis was wrong. Freedom's just another word for independence.

By C. C. Kurzeja
all rights reserved, 2005

The Olympian

Travis is a handsome guy. He has a thick head of dishwater blond hair, deep set eyes, a chiseled chin and a great physique. His arms are huge and rock solid, his shoulders broad, his waist whittled. He's also very accomplished. At 24 he's just bought his first home, has a nice career as an actuary for a big company, and has two gold medals, won playing basketball for Team Canada at the Sydney and Athens Para-Olympics, to his name which explains the big muscles.
"My goal was to make the national team by '98, and I did. And that lead me to Sydney. Sydney was just the most jaw dropping, tear jerking, amazing experience of my life. I can argue that Athens may have topped it or may have gotten close, but Sydney was just incredible.
"In the world of disabled sports, obviously you don't get the publicity you get or the marketability you get for able bodied sports. So, our crowds when we play here or in Canada are friends and family, as well as sometimes you get a few other people. But, our opening ceremonies for the Para-Olympics, which is just right after the Olympics, had 120,000 people. That would be the first part of the experience, to walk out there. You're [waiting] for eight hours just to do the opening ceremonies. And you get out there, and [I'm] feeling kind o' cocky. I'm feeling kind o' excited, smiling. 'I'm here. This is awesome!' But then, when you get out there, you see 120,00 people cheering for you as they announce Team Canada and the first thing you do is cry. And then, for the next five minutes, you're just on cloud two million. That walk around that track was unreal.
"Our gold medal game had about 13 or 14,000 people [watching it]. To play in front of that many people and have that support was an experience I hadn't had before. I didn't think it was possible."
Travis sees life and all it's myriad aspects as a journey, or a working through. His means is to work hard because his purpose is to glorify God in all he puts his hands to. If his potential was to go to University of Illinois, then that's where he needed to go, never mind the obstacles in his way. When he played the classical alto-saxophone, he practiced four hours a day. He is dedicated to excellence and motivated by love and gratitude towards the God who created him. If Travis had been born physically perfect and had lived a charmed life, his attitude would not be exceptional, but that is not the case.
He was born in Winnipeg, Manitoba on January 16, 1980 to a father who was a second generation, Lutheran pastor and a mother who taught piano. He was, inexplicably, born completely missing his left leg and with only half his right leg.
"The doctors could not give any explanation or reason why. It was just God's will. That's the best way to say it because there was no actual physical ailment or anything like that that went on."
When I ask him to describe his family he swells with pride and it is apparent that he is anchored therein and finds those relationships to be a deep reservoir of strength and comfort to draw from.
"It was very fortunate to be born into a loving, supportive, Christian home where we had those morals very much installed in our every day lives right from the get go. My mom [was] the most loving, supportive, amazing mother ever. My sister and I have just been best friends. And right now she is my life partner, outside of a marriage. [She is] my best friend I could ever imagine for. We're so similar in terms of our goofiness, our ability to have fun, scream, yell and cry in the car as we listen to music. Our Christian walks are in a very similar stage. Emotionally, we lean on each other. We need each other."
His early childhood was idyllic and filled with wonder. If he was sad at all it was because he couldn't move around as quickly as other children. He spent his days running around on whatever bikes or chairs he had at the time, and loved to be outdoors. In fact, he spent most of his free time outside. He would go out to the woods every night after school and build forts in the trees. He remembers spending up to four hours a night dragging wood to his fort and feeling completely satisfied and hungry to do more. In the winter, he'd make snow quinzies. With all the snow they got in Winnipeg, he could pile up a huge mound of snow. And then he'd pour water on it and ice it out. After that he'd dig out the inside and light a fire. All in all it was about a week long process, but the reward for his effort was another fort, this time made of ice. Travis seemed to relish space all his own as a child and the great expanse underneath the boundless sky.
When he was in about the fourth grade, he sat in a chair for the first time and took to it like a fish to water. Up until then, he'd been walking on his one shortened right leg and a prosthetic left leg. He could walk without crutches but the process was laborious and slow.
"But for me it wasn't worth it to walk like everyone else. It wasn't worth the loss of momentum. I was always somebody who wanted to get up and go, get up and go, and I still suffer from that. Walking was just too slow for me.
"When I first sat in a sports chair [and experienced] how quick it was, and how much more freedom it gave me, I gave the legs up right away. It actually ended up being quite a kerfuffle because the school system and social workers were very much against me going in the chair a hundred percent because they thought that one day down the line I'd want to be able to walk again".
It was his stubborn insistence to remain in a chair that lead to his involvement and passion for wheelchair basketball and ultimately his two gold medals. But about the same time he decided to forsake walking in favor of a chair another significant development occurred in his childhood, this time heartbreaking. At the age of twelve, Travis lost his father to heart cancer.
"My father was probably one of the healthiest people you'd meet. Ninety percent of his food came from his garden and he had a very extensive garden. We were not the family to go to Wendy's or McDonald's. My mother made juices twice a day. He was very healthy, very fit. The doctors could find no medical reason for it."
I asked him how he was able to still trust God, how he could get past the pain.
"It hurts and it continues to hurt. It hurts a lot. But he taught me very quickly and I learned very quickly that the Lord just had another purpose for him in His kingdom. And as part of my testimony, through my father's death and through my disability, is that I fully believe a hundred percent and always have from a very young age, in Romans 8:28 that in all things God works to the good for those who love Him and have been called according to His purpose. So, there have been times where I have been upset or sad, or slightly angry with God. But it is very few and far between when that happens, just enough to be healthy about it. Other than that I've never really challenged it, and I've always thought it's been for the good, and I've always trusted the Lord in that. Which is a blessing, I think, that the Lord has given me that ability, that spirit to be willing and trusting and excepting of His will."
When he came of age, he chose to go to the University of Illinois because it had the top wheelchair basketball program in North America as well as the top three actuarial science programs in North America. But because he could in no way afford it, he sent out letters and videos to about 250 companies and corporations asking for help and money. In this way, his first year of university was paid in full and the last three years were partially paid. But God sent him to U of I to forge an important relationship and bond with his coach, Mike Frogley, who is also disabled. Mike is paralyzed from the waist down due to a car accident.
"The Lord took me to the University of Illinois for the reason that my father wasn't around and I needed a male leader and something to substitute for my father's leadership. Mike Frogley was the coach of the University of Illinois and also the coach for the Canadian National team. And when I got there, he took me under his wing not only in terms of his expectations of me as an athlete, but his expectations of my personal life, my personal growth and the accountability he gave me on and off the court.
"It's just amazing how the Lord continues to seek you out and provide for you. Mike was what He provided me with at that time in my life and that's exactly what I needed. He held me accountable to a different level than a lot of coaches would to their athletes, personally, academically, spiritually. I grew so much in those four years and I attribute a very large portion of that to Mike's leadership."
He revved up his training in college, but he had been dedicated to the sport since junior high when he would regularly train four hours a day. Even in highschool, he was going to extreme measures to mold his body into that of a world class athlete.
"Winnipeg was really snowy. I remember there were a couple of winters where me and one of my buddies would actually get in chairs and go for a four mile push through non plowed sidewalks. I mean, some of them were plowed but you'd have to hop-skip around all the ice, get out, pull your chair up. I mean it was just an incredible workout. And that was when I got a lot of my physical strength and speed and power and endurance in the chair was around those years when we were doing stuff like that.
"Getting to U of I, [there was] three and a half hours of team practice a day, plus lifting and personal shooting and cardiovascular as well as traveling every second weekend. Behind the stadium seating would be all these ramps that the cars would use and you go to the top [of those] and use different kinds of pushing styles and patterns and timed circuits with that. We really work on your muscle fibers and how quickly you can get them to twitch and quickly you can get them going. [We worked on] chair skills in the gym where there was 8-12 different exorcises between learning to balance on one wheel and sit like this for five minutes." (Travis takes his sports chair and pushes it on it's side so that it is resting on one wheel at an angle of about 45 degrees from the floor by way of example. It looks like he's defying gravity or like a stunt you'd see in a car chase where you hold your breath because you don't know whether the car is going to make it back down to four wheels or flip over and crash. You can't imagine someone holding the position he demonstrates on his chair for five seconds let alone five minutes.) "You do stuff where you strap yourself into your chair and you fall down, completely on the ground, and then I have to be up, in like, a half second. So you do that for five minutes: up, down, up, down, for five minutes.
Every child dreams of that moment when the gold is put around your neck, so I wondered what it felt like to someone who has twice had that pleasure.
"It was like the moment where everything just came together as worth it. Because, there was a lot of heart ache, there was a lot of pain, there were a lot of sacrifices that went into the training. Our coach was in the army, and early on his coaching career he was very militaristic. Going into Sydney we'd be training twice a day for three hours a day, plus video sessions, plus meetings with our sports psychologist. They were very long days."
I learned a lot from my conversation with Travis. I learned that stubbornness can sometimes direct destiny, that trusting God for His will is a blessing and I should pray fervently for it, and that there is a reward at the end of hard work. Therefore, dear readers, "Let us not lose heart in doing good, for in due time we will reap if we do not grow weary."
I asked Travis what was next on his agenda. What does a person do after he's climbed the biggest mountain?
"Because I've come from such a loving family, if there is one thing the Lord can give me as an earthly gift, the one thing I want more than anything is to marry and have children. There is nothing I want more than that on this earth."
Calling all single ladies: On your marks, get set, go!
by C. C. Kurzeja
2005 All Rights Reserved

What Baby Knows

Basking in the fuzzy, lemon rays of sunshine pouring through the window sits the Mama. And sleeping in her rounded arms, nestled like a dove in satiny tufts of pink on pink lays the baby,
the beloved baby,
the baby of her delight.

Bounding around the corner with dirty face and sticky fingers comes the big sister,
her pride and joy;
the first born.

She crawls onto the couch and, snuggling close, flops her dolly across Mama’s lap. She licks her lips and then asks, “Can she play dolls with me?”

“No,” Mama answered, “baby doesn’t know about dolls yet.”

“Can she talk?”

“No,” said Mama, “baby doesn’t know words yet.”

Big sister wiggled, then kicked and squirmed. After a great deal of thought she asked, “How does the baby know we love her?” A little bird that was perched on the windowsill spread her wings and flew away, carrying that question straight to heaven.

Mama thought, and thought some more. And while she thought her free hand brushed silky ribbons of hair off her eldest daughter’s sweaty forehead. Finally, she caught the answer.

“Baby knows,” she said, baby knows.”

“In the morning, in the rose hued, dew glistened morning, when baby is quiet and alert, I look deep into the blue pools of her eyes. And looking back into my eyes, she coos. And then I coo, mimicking her baby song. We stare and coo, and stare and coo, as I softly caress her sweet cheek with the crook of my finger.

“And so baby knows I am hers and she is mine.

“Baby knows she is valued. Baby knows.”

“And in the afternoon, in the work-play-work-play-go-here-go-there afternoon, when baby is lonely and afraid, I clutch her close to my chest. The familiar bass noted thumping of my beating heart comforts her and I feel her tense body relax into a bundle of warm, snuggly calm.

“And so baby knows she is not alone.

“Baby knows her world is safe. Baby knows.”

"And in the evening, in the family-gathered-around-the kitchen-table evening, when Mama is distracted by the task at hand, baby turns her interest elsewhere. Reaching out with her whole fist, She grabs Papa’s finger, and gazing intensely at his brown eyes and broad face, she smiles. Excited by her big sister’s animated chatter, she kicks her legs and gurgles.

“And so Baby knows she is one part of a bigger whole.

“Baby knows what family is. Baby knows.”

“And at night, in the dark gray, softly humming night when Baby’s frantic cry pierces the silence, I bring her to my bed. And, curling her legs into my warm stomach, she nurses until she is filled. Satisfied, she sleeps once more.

“And so baby knows when she is hungry she will be fed.
“Baby knows her needs will be met. Baby knows."

“You see, words don’t teach baby what love is, our actions do. Love is what builds her universe. Love is what she understands through experience. Love is what she feels as her life unfolds.

“And so Baby knows love is something much bigger than herself.

“Baby knows she is the object of great affection.

Baby knows.”

By C. C. Kurzeja
2005 All Rights Reserved

Silver Star

Staff sergeant Adam R. Sikes earned a Silver Star for his heroics during the Battle of At Tarmiyah on April 12, 2003 in the Iraqi War of Liberation. In his recommendation for the Silver Star, the 2nd Lieutenant, 1st Platoon Commander wrote of Adam, "SSgt Sikes inspirational and courageous acts under intense enemy fire raised each Marine in his presence to a higher level of proficiency. His tireless devotion to duty motivated Marines of the 1st Platoon to achieve a level of fearlessness and discipline that allowed them to take the fight to the enemy without reservation. His courageous acts demonstrated that one Marine can and will change the tide of battle." This is his story.

***************The Grunt***************

Adam grew up in a very patriotic family where he attended Boy Scout meetings and Memorial Day, Veterans Day, and the Fourth of July were honored as important holidays. Both his grandfathers served in WWII, but he credits the grandfather on his mother's side, who was a Navy C. B. in the South Pacific, for influencing him the most.

"I knew I wanted to go into the Marine Corps because they had the whole mystique about them being the finest, the best. They were always the first ones in, they were the toughest and I wanted to be the basic infantry man. I went in specifically to be a front line troop. When people think of the Marines, that's what they think of. They think of the guy walking down the street with the rifle, with the helmet. You don't think of the guy turning wrenches on a plane. Whether it's a good idea or bad idea, I wanted to be in a fight. Maybe it was a test to prove myself. Maybe it was that young adult idea of doing something exciting. I don't know but that's what I wanted to do. I wanted to be a basic grunt, as we call it."

In July of 1995, Adam went to Boot Camp in San Diego for three months. Marine boot camp is the longest of all the services.

"The second day I was there, I remember sitting there and wondering what the heck I'd gotten myself into. The whole idea about brainwashing and stuff like that, it's not brainwashing in a bad sense, but what it does is it shapes you for how you have to be in the military. And it's a very emotional, psychological and physical, stressful environment. Everything you know, that you're familiar with, that you're accustomed to, is wiped clean. I mean, your head is shaved, they take all your clothes, you have nothing that you could possibly associate with your life back home and they keep you so busy so much that you have no time to think about it. I mean, you're just a zombie walking through the day half the time just reacting to what they're telling you to do. People are constantly breaking down crying, you forget your name, you don't know what's going on half the time. Yeah, they'll ask you your name and you'll just look at 'em dumbfounded."

Adam graduated Company Honor Man which means he graduated at the top of his class in a class of 540 Marines. After a 10 day break he was off to Camp Pendleton for four months of infantry training where he did a repeat performance graduating as Company Honor Man. He guaranteed his specialty as infantry man going in and there he was trained in Light Armor Reconnaissance which is a vehicle similar to a tank except it has wheels and can carry infantry troops in the back. He became skilled with a M16A4, semi automatic assault rifle, with a 30 round magazine. It can accurately hit a target up to 550 yards with a maximum distance of about 3000 yards, not to mention stop a car with a round placed in the right place.

"It's a very good bullet for the type of missions we do. It's not overly large so it's not extremely heavy. It's light. It's accurate. It tumbles which means the bullet spins when it comes out to make sure it's accurate and it basically chews things up like a buzz saw. We can put a lot more gizmos on top of it. We can put all kinds of scopes, lights, blazers, all kinds of super sonic speed stuff. I carry a 9mil pistol as well, which is a barrette, like Mel Gibson shoots."

After that he went to Camp Lejeune in North Carolina and joined the 2nd Light Armor Reconnaissance Battalion.

"What we did is we drove out these vehicles in front of everybody and we deployed, [and we would] find things. We were the advance guard. We were the early warning. Or we could be a screening force. These vehicles could go upwards of 70 miles per hour and they had cannons on 'em. We packed a pretty good punch. We were also a raid force. Let's say we wanted to attack Walker Brother's or something. [Walker Brother's pancake house is across the street from where we are sitting in a Starbucks cafe.] From the time they would hear the engines of the vehicles to the time we had gone in, blown everything up, cleared through, swept out, we could be off the site in 17 minutes."

From there he went on a MEU, or Marine Expeditionary Unit in the Mediterranean Sea, also called going on a float. A MEU goes with an Amphibious Ready Group, which is three ships they call an ARG. They go over seas for six months and they are kind of like the 911 force.

"If something goes down and they need troops there, like yesterday, that's what the MEU does. It's not the 82nd Airborne, it's not the 101st. It's the Marines that are on these ships and they are deployed in seas all over the world."

In March of 1997 when Albania erupted in Civil War, Adam was on a MEU off the coast of Greece. He was out in town having a good time when they started shooting red flares up from the ship in the harbor and circling helicopters overhead, signaling him back to the ship. In 18 hours they were on the shores of Albania and in 2 days they evacuated about 2000 American civilians. After that he spent some time running patrols in the Sylvania Alps where he acquired frost bite on one of the small toes of his right foot. And then he did Marine Security Guard Duty or Embassy Duty which falls under the Department of State, Diplomatic Security. He went over seas and lived at embassies in foreign countries. He was the protection of classified material, personnel, and equipment in an embassy. He spent one year in Moscow and two in Portugal. During that time he was on the security details of Bill Clinton, Vice President Cheney, Madeline Albright and others.

"And this brings us to the war..."

******Call to Duty******

On September 11, 2001 Adam was living in a 15th century manor house next to the embassy in Portugal where he had his own room. But before that day ended he would be living in windows in the embassy for the next several weeks.

"Before September 11, I was actually getting out of the Marine Corps. I was going home. I wanted to get out. I was done with everything in my life. I was on my way to George Town University, I was going to get my degree, Undergrad in International Relations. Then I wanted to go back to work in one of the government agencies. And I had everything set up. I had been accepted. I had an apartment. I had a car. I had a roommate. Everything was on my way out. You couldn't have found someone more ready to get out than I was."

He watched his buddies go into Afghanistan on TV. And by September of 2002 he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we were going to invade Iraq. He was due to be out of the Marines a mere four months later in February of 2003. In a 24 hour period he changed his mind and dropped everything. He called his monitor and told him that he wanted to get to Iraq immediately. He wanted to be the first one in.

"When September 11 happened, the whole world changed. And I had done some real world operations and stuff like that. So I'd done the real deal, but not a war. That was the whole reason I had joined. You train and do this stuff all the time, you're getting ready for the inevitable. You don't know when it's coming, but you're just trying to get ready for it. So, ok, now it's coming. So I realized that this is what my grandfather had felt when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and he joined the Navy. Our country was under attack. [I felt] I need to go to Iraq because I'm a Marine and this is what we do."

His monitor came through and Adam was dropped onto a dessert in Kuwait on February 2, 2003 with the 1st Platoon, Gulf Company, 2nd battalion, 5th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division.

"Where we were, we were the last line between the Iraqi border. We were ten miles off the border just waiting to go, to invade. It takes a preparation stage. When we first got to Kuwait, we got issued some ammunition and our chemical defensive kits. We head out to the Kuwaiti desert and we get dropped in the middle of nowhere. And there is nothing. All we have is our packs on our backs and that's it. There was no facilities. We were eating meals in a bag, our rations, that can last through a nuclear war, pretty much. We still lived out in our holes in the desert, but every once in a while we'd go back to a major camp and it looked like a city had been built from nothing in the middle of the desert.

We dug holes and sat there looking at the desert for a month and a half. We had no phones, no mail, no connection with the outside world. We had no idea what was going on. Rumors would fly. The biggest rumor that flew was that J.Lo had died. A lot of people were depressed. Think about it. You're out in the middle of the desert and there's nothing there, no buildings, just sand. Sand is everywhere and in everything. Sandstorms hit ya' every few days. They just suck the life out of ya'. You could see the wall of sand coming at you. You're just getting pelted and stung with sand. You're breathing in sand, it's getting in your clothes, every crevice of your body, in your nose, in your eyes, you're just covered and coated. It just hits you. You become so numb to things.

We were the first unit into Iraq. I made it. Our first mission was to capture the Ramallah oil fields to make sure they weren't going to be burned or blown up. Well, we started getting intelligence reports that they were burning up and the Iraqi's started launching scud missiles at Kuwait. They said they needed [our battalion] to go now. So we went and we were alone in Iraq for nine hours 'cause nobody else was ready to go. We just shot up to the Ramallah oil fields. I was in what's called an AAV which is an Amphibious Assault Vehicle, and it's a big bullseye. It can hold twenty Marines and it's a track, like a tank. As soon as we crossed the border it was a light show. Everyone thinks the war started on March 20th, but we left for Iraq the evening of March 19th."

Eventually, he crossed the Euphrates and was one of the first into Baghdad. He was surprised at how clean and beautiful the city was. Baghdad is decently modern, as he described it. They have power, they have lights, they have houses as opposed to mud huts, they have bridges, cars, busses, and even coffee shops.

"When we got downtown Baghdad, they were receiving us like a New York Thanksgiving Day parade. I came home and I was so disgusted when I saw the news. Thousands of people were lining the streets, cheering us on. We are rolling through in our vehicles, popped up and waving, like it's a parade."

And that about brings us up to that fateful day...

*******Battle of At Tarmiyah*******

After Baghdad became semi secure, the Marines kept moving. On April 12, Adam's battalion was making it's way north to Samara. Echo Company and Fox Company had been sent out East to search for POW's. Adam's company, Golf Company, was the reserve. They were to stay on the main road and be the reactionary force to maneuver in case there was trouble. But Echo and Fox weren't turning up anything so they decided to send Golf Company West to see if a bridge over the Tigris River could support tanks. Adam's platoon consisted of about 60 ground troops and they took 3 AAV's out to the Tigris.

"In the back here, inside the vehicle, this is where you have all your ground troops. [He pointed to a sketch he had drawn of the AAV] We could fit 20 in each. The book says you can fit 18, but you can always fit one more. The back will drop down with a little ramp thing. You can run out the back. The top can also open up so you can look out the side. The crew operates the vehicle. 'Cause we don't operate the vehicle. We're just passengers. They control the driving and they have a 50 caliber machine gun [up front]. I sat in this little hatch right here, where I could get a panoramic view. Everybody else, your back there, it's black. You can't see anything. You don't know what's going on. You're choking on diesel."

At approximately 800 Zulu, 1st platoon reached the pontoon bridge and after deciding that it would sustain tanks, two of the AAV's crossed over. They were greeted on the other side by a traffic jam. People and cars are everywhere and Adam thought he was going to be playing traffic cops again. Welcome to At Tarmiyah. Directly to the left is a little bridge house, made of stone, that Adam thought looked like something you'd sell ice-cream out of. To the South-West the city spread out comprising of three and four story buildings and houses.

"It was a very docile environment. People are trying to sell us goats. That's what it was like. [Those who weren't stationed as defense] were kind of hanging out in this building in the shade and I'm actually walking along cutting pieces of salami off with my knife and giving it to Marines for something to eat. And we're just hanging out. We got all our stuff on but it's relatively docile."

His recommendation and summary of action records what happened next. "At approximately 0900 Zulu, 1st Platoon minus was caught in an enemy Iraqi ambush of unknown size orienting from the north and south of the town, creating cross fire."

"I think it was 8:56, actually. I remember looking up. I kind of looked over this way and, like, the cars are gone, people are gone. And it's just one of those things where you kind of look up and it's like everything is in slow motion. You just looked up and, like, everybody was gone when a minute ago you had heard and seen everybody. And I remember looking around at one of my friends and stuff and they just kind of looked back at me. I have no idea how many came at us. But, they were coming at us from all different directions. Two of 'em hit my track. [They] went through the nose of my track, basically through the headlights. Blew the heck out of my track. Covered me in dust and smoke. I got peppered with stuff. Nearly knocked me over."

I asked him if he was afraid. I was hoping to come to a greater understanding of the psyche of fear vs. courage. I have to keep hoping, because after my interview with Adam I have to admit that I understand acts of heroics and undaunted bravery even less than before my interview with him.

"Didn't feel anything at that point, still in shock. I went deaf. I got covered in smoke and debris. And you're trying to think, 'What is going on.' It's like everything is in slow motion. You kinda hear things but you don't hear things. You only know what's going on, like, from me to you. That's as much as you have, are aware, at one moment. After the initial beef of everything you start to get more aware but it's still very tunnel vision. There is so much going on, so much you're thinking about, so much you're worrying about, so much you're trying to do that, literally, you could have somebody walk on your back and you'd have no idea sometimes."

In the first few seconds of the assault, Adam was nearly blown off his feet into a wall. He starts swinging his way into the bridge house when he realizes that he still has his knife and salami in his hand. Once inside, he returns fire. He thinks he blew off 60 rounds within the first two minutes.

"We were surrounded. They're shooting at us from both directions and straight. So, at no point when I was outside was a bullet not coming near me. They were zinging by your ears. You can tell a distinct difference when you hear bullets come at you how close it is. The guys that were in the vehicle, they kind of pile out of the vehicle. I just saw them skid by me, nubs for legs, blood streaking all over the place. We've got a corps man there and he kind of pulls 'em into the house, throwing tourniquets on them and stuff like that."

They couldn't retreat back over the bridge because they would have been sitting ducks and, like wise, no one could cross over to their aid. They were completely cut off. It took them a few minutes, but they started returning organized fire on the enemy.

"We've got these little ear piece things. They're only good for about five hundred yards. So, this is how we're talking to each other. This is how we're talking across the river. Well, this is bad because kilometers away is where your help is. We had no air support. We had no artillery. Nobody even knows we're in a fight. They didn't know we were in a fight until about thirty minutes into it. We're slugging it out over here. I'm looking at our situation and we're stuck. The only way to finish a fight is to get into a fight. We had to go straight into 'em.

I ran across the street. Find these guys, they had hunkered down in some holes just kind of grabbing their butt and praying to God. This whole time I was never not getting shot at. There was always bullets hitting over my head, hitting at my feet, whizzing by my ear the whole time."

From that vantage point Adam identifies his biggest threat, where a lot of the rockets were coming from. It was a three story building in town. They need to cut them down before they get cut to shreds.

"I call over and I say, 'Hey, I'm going into town. I'm going to the three story building. I'm gonna mark it. Get the guns up. Which basically means, get the machine guns rockin' and rollin' just to cover me as I run across. I tapped [a Marine] on the head, he has a machine gun. He looked up. I said, 'Cover me.' He said that was his scarriest moment. He thought, 'Oh my God, what's he about to do?"

Adam ran about 70 meters of open terrain, by himself, to make his way to the side of the building.

"At one point, when I'm about to run across, I'm thinking to myself, 'Am I really going to do this?' And that's when I took off. [Once there, he] Threw colored smoke over the side to identify the building 'cause now we have air support. This is about thirty minutes into it. They basically called out the distress signal: We got a unit in some serious trouble. Everything in the world come here. It was up close and personal. Close enough where you could see their eyes."

Later his lieutenant would recall seeing Adam running up to the town, shooting.

"He said it was one of the most spectacular things he'd ever seen but he also said, 'Well, I guess he's gone."

Adam was shooting his way into the building when things began to quite down. That's because there was a bunch of them hiding around the corner waiting to spring on him. By the grace of God, Adam was forewarned and was able to throw a grenade around the corner to take care of them that way. By this time air strikes were coming in. They were dropping rockets. They always run parallel to their unit so that they don't drop on you if they drop short.

"They're dropping missiles right over my head. They called me and said, 'Get down. Air's coming in.' So I just grabbed some dirt. And as the missiles are dropping and the explosions are going off into buildings over here, like, my body's lifting off the ground. You feel it in your lungs. They compress real quick. And you actually jump. You whole body feels the compression."

Adam was up in that building about thirty minutes by himself when he called to his buddies for some help because he was running out of ammo. He carried 360 bullets and he'd blown through most of those. But, the good news is that planes are finally coming in and artillery is starting to drop.

"I can see into the town so I'm calling this stuff in, I'm like, 'Yep, bring it closer. Bring it closer.' Danger close for artillery is like 650 meters. 700 is fine. 600, no good. Just because of short rounds or shrapnel or whatever. Well, we were dropping this stuff within 200, 250 meters in front of me. We broke all the safety rules that day."

Finally, three guys make it up to Adam in the building.

"At the two hour mark I was thinking, 'Oh my God, when is this gonna end.' I've been in combat environments that have lasted 48 hours, but that's intermittent. We were in a shoot out. Four straight hours of shooting. This was four hours of no rest, can't hear anything because bullets and things were exploding. I don't know how we made it out. I don't know how we walked away."

The battle is hot and heavy now. They are shooting their way deeper and deeper into town.

"We're shooting rockets. You name it. Everything we can, we're firing. Artillery is goin', planes are coming in, reinforcements have finally made it across about 2 hours into it."

Due to garbled communications, Adam thought there were Marines down across town.

"I just stood up on the building and said, 'Who wants to go dodge some bullets?"

Amazingly, two Marines volunteered. They grab a track and head towards the sound of the gunfire. They ran ahead of the track, jumping in ditches and dodging bullets the whole time. When they make it there, they throw the seriously wounded in the track.

"I get a call saying, 'Hey, move back we're about to level the town. Which basically means, we're going to pull back and artillery and airplanes are going to come in and turn the whole town into dust. It's like a fighting withdrawal. We got people dropping as we're running back and we're picking 'em up, dragging 'em through."

After they count everybody they head back over the river from whence they came and the town is smoked like Gomorrah. Later, they would learn that Saddam Hussein had been in the town the day before and the people they were fighting were his hard core fanatics.

O beautiful for heroes proved/In liberating strife/Who more than self their country loved/And mercy more than life!

A million thanks to you, Adam, and to your brethren soldiers, for your faithful service to our country.

Happy Birthday, America. God mend thine every flaw/ Confirm thy soul in self-control/Thy liberty in law!

By C. C. Kurzeja

2005 All Rights Reserved

Torgny's Story -or- Things I learned From Torgny

Torgny is 95 years old and still working as a soil engineer in this area. He is spry with alert, blue eyes, an easy laugh, and a spattering of freckles that brings to mind Alfalfa from the Little Rascals. His parents came to this country from Sweden in the 1890's when they were about twenty years old. His father was a Swedish Methodist Minister and settled in central Texas, about 30 miles north of Austin, to serve the rural communities there. Torgny was born in 1910 the third of four boys.

He remembers life as a young boy in the pre-modern era. Danger and toil were ever present then, but so was wonder. His father served several churches in the area because the congregations were too poor to have their own pastor. So, Sunday morning he would preach at one church and Sunday afternoon another and so on. Sometimes these churches were as many as twenty miles apart and the only mode of transportation was horse and surrey. His father would sit on the front bench holding the rein with his two older brothers next to him and his mother would sit between he and his younger brother on the back bench with an arm around each of them, holding on tight. The surrey had no rails and the traveling was bumpy. If the little ones were to fall asleep they could topple right out.

"When I think of my mother..." Torgny lets escape a crushed sigh and shakes away tears at her memory when telling how it was.

Do you think times were better back then? Would you ever want to go back to the way things were when you were a little boy, I wondered.

"No. You wouldn't want to go back to that." He doesn't hesitate to answer. His speech is clear and his thoughts are lucid although his voice is faint as if his vocal chords have lost power somehow. "We have such tremendous advantages now, opportunities. Even the kids in those days were required to work. They were required to help the family, meet the needs."

Back then, he explained, Texas was mostly agricultural and the crops were mostly cotton. Farmers grew cotton until the soil wouldn't support it anymore and then they planted soybeans. Children 8, 9, 10, years old were expected to pick and chop cotton. This was grueling, bone aching work. If you stood you had to remain hunched over to pick the cotton out of the bowls and if you kneeled, well, each row was about 100 feet long and you better be sure to be wearing leather pads. Either way put a substantial strain on the body. That's men's work, or work that'll make a man, I thought. Back then children worked hard and grew up when still young. Now, kids play lazily and are lucky to reach adulthood by middle age.

But when he remembers the tremendous value an apple had back then or how rare ice-cream was he is glad to have experienced life when it was so simple. He tells of the first time he ever saw an airplane. He was twelve and word had gotten around that a plane would be flying over his town and landing in a certain dairy farm. The whole town came out to the field to see the plane land. Life went from nothing, as he described it, to everything.

When he was thirteen his father moved the family up around Chicago where he's lived ever since. He received his master's in civil engineering from Armour's Institute of Technology named after the man who made his fortune in meat packing. Today it is known as Illinois Institute of Technology. In 1935, he married Lillian, then 23. Today they have been married for 70 years.

"I'm so glad I have a spouse. " He tells me. "I can't stand the way people get divorced now days." I can only agree.

In his life he has worked for the railroad, as an engineer for Douglas aircraft during the war, run a turkey farm, and built about a dozen churches in and around Chicago. It was while building churches that Torgny discovered his avocation: whittling.

The Albanian Orthodox Church he was building wanted their chancellor furniture to be carved. So Torgny hired someone trained in Sweden in the craft of wood carving to do the job and was fascinated by what he saw. He asked the man if he would sell him some tools to get started and when the man did, Torgny had a craft. Perhaps not skill, not then, that would come later. But he had a craft and it would become part of who he is. Today he has dozens of chisels most of which are made in England. Among them are the ones he first received from that Swede long ago.

Tupelo wood is the medium he works in. Water Tupelo is a swamp tree with an attractive cream-colored wood that grows down south. Torgny likes it because the surface shows almost no grain and so doesn't interfere with the delicate details he invests into every piece and because he can carve it to a fine point, such as found at the end of the beak of a sparrow, and it will not break off. The scientific name for Water Tupelo means, "water nymph." There is indeed a goddess trapped in the core of the wood, her spirit it beautiful, and Torgny calls her out.

"I started out with ducks." He explained. "And then I shifted over to birds. I like them better." I wondered why. He squirmed in his seat in an attempt to verbalize something that he primarily understood viscerally. Finally he threw up his hands. "I don't know." He said. "I think they're prettier." And then he laughed heartily at his admission. And this truth came shining through to me: God made man to be moved by beauty.

His artist loft is a large, square room with brown linoleum floors and tan walls, an addition put onto the home just for his passion, this past time of his. Tools hang on magnetic strips against one wall and consume half his desk that is pushed into a corner of the room. Half finished birds line shelves behind his desk. I assumed these were the ones he was working on but learned that he was unhappy with them for one reason or another. I noticed that he doesn't destroy them or rid of them, but puts them behind him where he doesn't have to look at them while working. Every so often he'll go back to the reject pile, pluck one up and redeem it, making something beautiful out of what was a mistake. The verse, "And the grace of God makes even my mistakes to prosper," comes to mind and I think it is the God kind of creativity that an artist exorcises when he makes good out of something that went bad. Against three walls are shelves with his finished pieces. They are crowded together like a large family posing for a picture at a family reunion. My camera can not capture all of them in one frame. They are too many. Collectively they are a splendid display. Individually they are priceless in intricate detail and unique character.

I wonder why he's kept at it for so long. "What do you love about it?" I ask. He answers immediately seemingly certain of what drives him.

"I guess it's the satisfaction of doing what you set out to do 'cause I'm never satisfied with any one of 'em that I've finished." I am startled into laughter by his confession.

He pauses as his eye searches the room and finally gestures towards a hummingbird he's just completed. It's wings are pulled way back, suspended in flight, and it's needle-nose beak is thrusting into a trumpet shaped flower to draw nectar. He captures the motion and energy of the moment spectacularly.

"No. I don't like this. You say, 'Oh, why don't you like this?'" He asks himself the question and answers, "Well, in the first place I think this is too heavy and too thick." He is pointing to the stem of the flower. "And my kelly green should have some brown in it." Again, referring to the stem. He shakes his head, bothered by the flaws. "No. I'm not happy with this but the composition satisfies me. This is the composition that I like. But I guess if you were to be satisfied with what you do you wouldn't do it anymore."

His conclusion strikes a chord that resonates loudly within me. It is a revelation to me. I am a person who struggles. I am not satisfied and that is why I seek out my art, my craft. Torgny understands this and is at peace with this. He has made me to understand, too.