thedrifter
04-29-07, 06:05 AM
MICHIGAN'S BAND OF BROTHERS
CHANGED BY WAR: Marines prepare to return to their lives, but they're not the same
April 29, 2007
BY JOE SWICKARD
FREE PRESS STAFF WRITER
TWENTYNINE PALMS, Calif. -- Cpl. Michael Salazar is still balancing war's stern accounting -- the ratio of sacrifice to results.
"I think we should be there in Iraq," Salazar, 24, of Adrian said under a bright desert sun. "But, sometimes, it seems to me that it's a country that doesn't understand freedom -- just control. So, when I think about the guys we lost, I wonder."
Today, Salazar and more than 900 other men of the 1st Battalion of the 24th Marine Regiment return to their homes in Michigan and other states. For seven months, the members of the 1/24th fought and died in and around Fallujah, one of Iraq's most perilous regions.
In the next few weeks, after the hugs, speeches and honors, many will return to their lives as students, cops, contractors, executives, dads and husbands.
But for others there are profound changes: their faith and courage tested, marriages strained or strengthened, new careers and, perhaps, new homes.
They are changed men from the guys who started training last summer on the huge Marine facility in the Mojave Desert east of Los Angeles.
They are leaner, yes, and harder from combat. But there is something more about their voice, stance and stride.
They've carried out their orders, with valor.
For some, though, the struggle is harder and continues.
"I saw things I'll never un-see," said Cpl. Jesse Bragg, 29, of Bettsville, Ohio, as he wept in his barracks. "I heard things I'll never un-hear."
Looking out for one another
The men are headquartered at Selfridge Air National Guard Base in Harrison Township, and the Free Press has chronicled them through their Iraq deployment.
Many said they fought to give Iraqis a chance to build their own country. Twenty-two died; 45 others were evacuated with serious injuries, and dozens of others suffered lesser wounds.
They were shot by snipers, blown up by bombs. They endured bad quarters, a grueling schedule of raids, patrols and ambushes, stubborn infections and nerves scraped raw by hit-and-run enemies.
The men returned to the facility in Twentynine Palms, Calif., two weeks ago to decompress from war and prep for life outside the unit.
They were cautioned against blowing their military pay on high-priced toys and to curb their post-Iraq partying.
Their health was a major focus, with special emphasis on the residual effects of roadside bombs and the emotional strain of post-traumatic stress.
Marines were told to watch one another with the same care as they did on patrol in Fallujah. Signs of tension, personality changes and anger are flags to seek help for yourself or a buddy, the men were told.
"If you need to talk, talk it out," Deputy Assistant Secretary of the Navy Harvey Barnum told the men. "If you see a brother Marine hurting, help him."
The Marines had picnics with softball and soccer -- which some derided as mandatory fun under a ruthless desert sun.
Striding to the pavilion one day, Cpl. Eric Frazier of McMinnville, Tenn., was engulfed with hugs and tears.
Frazier stood fast -- his cane and artificial legs bracing against a fraternal avalanche.
Last they'd seen Frazier, his Humvee was torn apart by a hidden bomb, killing two men and shredding his legs. After months of therapy, Frazier was back home with his brothers.
He and the others will find challenges in the days ahead. A report last year in the Journal of the American Medical Association found that more than one-third of troops sought mental-health help within a year of returning from Iraq, and many more should have sought treatment, but didn't.
"We have to learn to not take things as seriously," said Maj. Christopher Kolomjec, 38, of Grosse Pointe Farms. "Everything you did had consequences. ... Now, we'll be around people who don't take things so seriously."
After months of military discipline, freedom can be daunting. Lance Cpl. Nick McGill, 22, of Toledo couldn't wait to swap his combat camo for a sports shirt -- until he faced a full rack of them.
"It was like there were too many," McGill said. "I couldn't choose. I had to wait."
Relationships ended or renewed
Others faced harder choices.
Dr. Lee White, a Navy doctor attached to the 1/24th, said the men were hit with a barrage of Dear John letters.
"Toward the end of the deployment it got to be almost epidemic proportions," he said.
He said one company with about 200 men had about 30 breakups. Some were unstable or hasty marriages, he said. In other cases, the partner back home may have found life better without the Marine.
Cpl. Brandon Smith arrived in Iraq on Sept. 24, his first wedding anniversary. "That says something," he remarked dryly.
After getting the bad news that his marriage was in trouble, he said, his wife's position was clear, but he still had hope.
Smith, 26, of Toledo said that if he knew his deployment might cost him his marriage, he would have done all he could to avoid going.
But even yet: "We needed to do what we did. Without sacrifice, the world is not going to be a better place."
Others, like Lance Cpl. Mohamad Salameh of Saginaw, left a shaky relationship only to find new determination in Iraq to rebuild his marriage.
"I'm nervous," Salameh, 25, said of his reunion with his family after months of long-distance talks. "I have changed -- my wife and son, too. He was 9 months when I left, and he's 19 months."
The war transformed him: "Hey, I was about to die. I attended funerals of men I was with. Now, I'm going to see everything for the happiness of my family.
"This has been a good lesson, realizing what's right and what's important. My son said, 'I love you.' I cried. These are feelings you don't have to hide."
Lance Cpl. Aaron Hummel of DeWitt left Hillsdale College in his senior year to serve. "I supported the war, but I was frustrated by just talking about it," he said. "I decided I had to put action where my beliefs were."
He was initially startled by his work -- like searching homes for insurgents or contraband.
"The way we did it was in a very intrusive manner. In America, no way people would tolerate it. It was pretty shocking at first," he said. "I really wish more Americans had a better perspective that the whole world is not peaceful and wealthy."
Combat tested Hummel's mettle and strengthened it, and without the ready access to chaplains and church services, he had to look within.
Hummel, 22, with boyish features, said deployment was "hard in ways I didn't expect. The fighting wasn't the hardest part -- it was dealing with constant orders from higher up without a reason."
He said it will take time to burnish social skills that grew rusty in Iraq.
"I'm sure I'll show stress, and I'm not sure how," he said.
He knows one thing: He won't be sharing war's depravity with his parents.
"I'm not going to tell everything that went on over there," he said. "I'm just glad they didn't have to go through it."
Leaving a mark
Some changes are visible -- like Lance Cpl. Shane Peltier's back. Peltier, 20, of Bad Axe spent $365 -- every last dollar in his pocket -- on a tattoo showing God's hands holding the dog tags of five dead comrades: Lance Cpls. Richard Buerstetta, Tyler Overstreet, William Spencer and Nicholas Miller, and Cpl. Chris Esckelson.
"Like it says, 'All gave some. Some gave all,' " he said.
Other changes are subtle -- like the newfound certitude of a self-described "average kid right in the middle," Lance Cpl. Ed Waterson of Petoskey.
Waterson, 20, said his dad had doubts about the Marines in general and whether it was right for his son. But Waterson said he's returning home "with more self courage," his eyes open to places and people beyond Michigan.
Bragg of Bettsville, Ohio, said he worried about how he'd hold up when things got hot and scary.
"Will I freeze? Will I lock up?" he said. "The mind creates its own monsters, but when you really face them, deal with them, they're pussycats."
After the noisy blur of his first combat, he realized, "Hey, I did what I had to do."
But Bragg was ill-prepared for the loss around him, such as the death of Bryan Burgess, a sergeant revered by his men for an easy nature and quick wit when both were needed.
Burgess "taught me how to serve. He's the guy who made it not so crappy."
When his sergeant's death was announced at an Iraqi hospital, Bragg said he fell apart. "I just crashed," he said. "Rage overcame me. I punched at the air. I fell down."
Now, Bragg said, he has learned to balance the horror of the past, with what awaits. "It's all right to look at the past," he said. "Just don't stare. "
Contact JOE SWICKARD at 313-222-8769 or jswickard@freepress.com.
Ellie
CHANGED BY WAR: Marines prepare to return to their lives, but they're not the same
April 29, 2007
BY JOE SWICKARD
FREE PRESS STAFF WRITER
TWENTYNINE PALMS, Calif. -- Cpl. Michael Salazar is still balancing war's stern accounting -- the ratio of sacrifice to results.
"I think we should be there in Iraq," Salazar, 24, of Adrian said under a bright desert sun. "But, sometimes, it seems to me that it's a country that doesn't understand freedom -- just control. So, when I think about the guys we lost, I wonder."
Today, Salazar and more than 900 other men of the 1st Battalion of the 24th Marine Regiment return to their homes in Michigan and other states. For seven months, the members of the 1/24th fought and died in and around Fallujah, one of Iraq's most perilous regions.
In the next few weeks, after the hugs, speeches and honors, many will return to their lives as students, cops, contractors, executives, dads and husbands.
But for others there are profound changes: their faith and courage tested, marriages strained or strengthened, new careers and, perhaps, new homes.
They are changed men from the guys who started training last summer on the huge Marine facility in the Mojave Desert east of Los Angeles.
They are leaner, yes, and harder from combat. But there is something more about their voice, stance and stride.
They've carried out their orders, with valor.
For some, though, the struggle is harder and continues.
"I saw things I'll never un-see," said Cpl. Jesse Bragg, 29, of Bettsville, Ohio, as he wept in his barracks. "I heard things I'll never un-hear."
Looking out for one another
The men are headquartered at Selfridge Air National Guard Base in Harrison Township, and the Free Press has chronicled them through their Iraq deployment.
Many said they fought to give Iraqis a chance to build their own country. Twenty-two died; 45 others were evacuated with serious injuries, and dozens of others suffered lesser wounds.
They were shot by snipers, blown up by bombs. They endured bad quarters, a grueling schedule of raids, patrols and ambushes, stubborn infections and nerves scraped raw by hit-and-run enemies.
The men returned to the facility in Twentynine Palms, Calif., two weeks ago to decompress from war and prep for life outside the unit.
They were cautioned against blowing their military pay on high-priced toys and to curb their post-Iraq partying.
Their health was a major focus, with special emphasis on the residual effects of roadside bombs and the emotional strain of post-traumatic stress.
Marines were told to watch one another with the same care as they did on patrol in Fallujah. Signs of tension, personality changes and anger are flags to seek help for yourself or a buddy, the men were told.
"If you need to talk, talk it out," Deputy Assistant Secretary of the Navy Harvey Barnum told the men. "If you see a brother Marine hurting, help him."
The Marines had picnics with softball and soccer -- which some derided as mandatory fun under a ruthless desert sun.
Striding to the pavilion one day, Cpl. Eric Frazier of McMinnville, Tenn., was engulfed with hugs and tears.
Frazier stood fast -- his cane and artificial legs bracing against a fraternal avalanche.
Last they'd seen Frazier, his Humvee was torn apart by a hidden bomb, killing two men and shredding his legs. After months of therapy, Frazier was back home with his brothers.
He and the others will find challenges in the days ahead. A report last year in the Journal of the American Medical Association found that more than one-third of troops sought mental-health help within a year of returning from Iraq, and many more should have sought treatment, but didn't.
"We have to learn to not take things as seriously," said Maj. Christopher Kolomjec, 38, of Grosse Pointe Farms. "Everything you did had consequences. ... Now, we'll be around people who don't take things so seriously."
After months of military discipline, freedom can be daunting. Lance Cpl. Nick McGill, 22, of Toledo couldn't wait to swap his combat camo for a sports shirt -- until he faced a full rack of them.
"It was like there were too many," McGill said. "I couldn't choose. I had to wait."
Relationships ended or renewed
Others faced harder choices.
Dr. Lee White, a Navy doctor attached to the 1/24th, said the men were hit with a barrage of Dear John letters.
"Toward the end of the deployment it got to be almost epidemic proportions," he said.
He said one company with about 200 men had about 30 breakups. Some were unstable or hasty marriages, he said. In other cases, the partner back home may have found life better without the Marine.
Cpl. Brandon Smith arrived in Iraq on Sept. 24, his first wedding anniversary. "That says something," he remarked dryly.
After getting the bad news that his marriage was in trouble, he said, his wife's position was clear, but he still had hope.
Smith, 26, of Toledo said that if he knew his deployment might cost him his marriage, he would have done all he could to avoid going.
But even yet: "We needed to do what we did. Without sacrifice, the world is not going to be a better place."
Others, like Lance Cpl. Mohamad Salameh of Saginaw, left a shaky relationship only to find new determination in Iraq to rebuild his marriage.
"I'm nervous," Salameh, 25, said of his reunion with his family after months of long-distance talks. "I have changed -- my wife and son, too. He was 9 months when I left, and he's 19 months."
The war transformed him: "Hey, I was about to die. I attended funerals of men I was with. Now, I'm going to see everything for the happiness of my family.
"This has been a good lesson, realizing what's right and what's important. My son said, 'I love you.' I cried. These are feelings you don't have to hide."
Lance Cpl. Aaron Hummel of DeWitt left Hillsdale College in his senior year to serve. "I supported the war, but I was frustrated by just talking about it," he said. "I decided I had to put action where my beliefs were."
He was initially startled by his work -- like searching homes for insurgents or contraband.
"The way we did it was in a very intrusive manner. In America, no way people would tolerate it. It was pretty shocking at first," he said. "I really wish more Americans had a better perspective that the whole world is not peaceful and wealthy."
Combat tested Hummel's mettle and strengthened it, and without the ready access to chaplains and church services, he had to look within.
Hummel, 22, with boyish features, said deployment was "hard in ways I didn't expect. The fighting wasn't the hardest part -- it was dealing with constant orders from higher up without a reason."
He said it will take time to burnish social skills that grew rusty in Iraq.
"I'm sure I'll show stress, and I'm not sure how," he said.
He knows one thing: He won't be sharing war's depravity with his parents.
"I'm not going to tell everything that went on over there," he said. "I'm just glad they didn't have to go through it."
Leaving a mark
Some changes are visible -- like Lance Cpl. Shane Peltier's back. Peltier, 20, of Bad Axe spent $365 -- every last dollar in his pocket -- on a tattoo showing God's hands holding the dog tags of five dead comrades: Lance Cpls. Richard Buerstetta, Tyler Overstreet, William Spencer and Nicholas Miller, and Cpl. Chris Esckelson.
"Like it says, 'All gave some. Some gave all,' " he said.
Other changes are subtle -- like the newfound certitude of a self-described "average kid right in the middle," Lance Cpl. Ed Waterson of Petoskey.
Waterson, 20, said his dad had doubts about the Marines in general and whether it was right for his son. But Waterson said he's returning home "with more self courage," his eyes open to places and people beyond Michigan.
Bragg of Bettsville, Ohio, said he worried about how he'd hold up when things got hot and scary.
"Will I freeze? Will I lock up?" he said. "The mind creates its own monsters, but when you really face them, deal with them, they're pussycats."
After the noisy blur of his first combat, he realized, "Hey, I did what I had to do."
But Bragg was ill-prepared for the loss around him, such as the death of Bryan Burgess, a sergeant revered by his men for an easy nature and quick wit when both were needed.
Burgess "taught me how to serve. He's the guy who made it not so crappy."
When his sergeant's death was announced at an Iraqi hospital, Bragg said he fell apart. "I just crashed," he said. "Rage overcame me. I punched at the air. I fell down."
Now, Bragg said, he has learned to balance the horror of the past, with what awaits. "It's all right to look at the past," he said. "Just don't stare. "
Contact JOE SWICKARD at 313-222-8769 or jswickard@freepress.com.
Ellie