thedrifter
11-02-06, 07:18 AM
Funerals, flags close month
Grief, doubts linger after deadly October for U.S. in Iraq
By Ellen Barry, David Zucchino and P.J. Huffstutter
Los Angeles Times
WELLSBORO, Pa. – Four were teenagers. Thirty were 21 or younger. The oldest was 53. They left homes in big cities and small prairie towns and Southern hamlets to answer the call of duty in Iraq, where more than 100 soldiers, Marines, airmen and seamen died in October – the war’s fourth-deadliest month and the worst since January 2005.
On Tuesday, authorities notified the mother of 26-year-old Kraig Foyteck that her son, who was expected to come home in two weeks, was killed in Mosul in northern Iraq.
Foyteck, an Army sergeant who was awarded a Purple Heart last year, was killed when he was hit in the neck by a bullet or mortar, his family said. He grew up in Skokie, Ill., but his family moved to LaPorte while he was in Iraq.
“It is just heartbreaking,” Foyteck’s grandmother, Ginny Foyteck, said. “Just to know that you’re never going to be able to touch him or hold him again.”
Also on the final day of October, Sgt. 1st Class Tony Knier, who needed his mother’s permission to join the Army at 16, returned in a casket to the coarse green hills of central Pennsylvania.
Knier, 31, was killed Oct. 21 by a roadside bomb that fractured his skull.
On a day that the American death toll in Iraq stood at 2,814, a few of the mourners came right out and said it: They weren’t sure he died for a good cause. But all agreed on what serving in Iraq meant to Tony.
A price has been paid each month since the war began in March 2003. This October was worse than most, the Pentagon said, in part because American troops have been diverted to Baghdad, where Iraqi security forces have failed to control sectarian violence.
Most of October also coincided with Ramadan, the Islamic holy month, a time when insurgents in recent years try to intensify attacks. The October total could increase. The Pentagon sometimes delays announcing combat deaths.
There were scenes of finality this week in many towns, where the turned cemetery dirt was still fresh, or where burial ceremonies were being planned inside funeral homes.
In Aurora, Ill., on Monday, American flags held by volunteers snapped in a brisk wind outside San Pablo Evangelical Lutheran Church as mourners said farewell to Marine sniper Eduardo “Eddy” Lopez, 21. Lopez, a lance corporal, had survived duty in Afghanistan but was killed Oct. 19 during combat in the insurgent stronghold of Anbar Province.
Before he left for Iraq, Lopez had come to the church of his childhood to hear a final service. Afterward, he sought out the Rev. Alex Merlo and asked for his blessing.
“He said: ‘If something happens to me, if I die in war, take me back to our church. Make sure I get home,’ ” Merlo recalled.
The reverend kept his promise. Lopez was back at San Pablo on Monday, inside a flag-draped casket.
In Portland, Ore., a bugler sounded Taps and uniformed men fired rifles into the crisp air Monday to honor Staff Sgt. Ronald Lee Paulson. A civil affairs officer and Army Reservist, Paulson was killed Oct. 17 by a roadside bomb. He was 53, the oldest American to die in October. At Willamette National Cemetery on a hill high above the city, his widow, Beverly Paulson, accepted a folded Stars and Strips as bagpipes sounded.
Before being recalled to active duty in December 2005, Paulson had spent 14 years working at Gunderson Inc., a company that makes railcars and barges.
In Apex, N.C., the family of Army Maj. David G. Taylor, Jr. filed into a red-brick funeral home Tuesday to plan his services, scheduled for today. Taylor, 37, was the highest-ranking serviceman to die in October. He was killed when a roadside bomb exploded next to his Humvee in Baghdad Oct. 22 as he trained new arrivals.
Taylor was able to take midtour leave to be present when his wife, Michelle, gave birth to the couple’s first child, Jacob, now 4 months old. His family asked well-wishers, in lieu of flowers, to thank a soldier, police officer or firefighter for service to the country.
Most of the October casualties were Army. One-quarter were Marines. There were three airmen and two sailors. Each individual death dealt a blow to family and friends.
The faithful who gathered at San Pablo Evangelical Lutheran Church in Aurora to say goodbye to Lopez, the Marine sniper, were stunned and overpowered by a sense of loss. Lopez’s parents were joined in the rough-hewn pews by scores of uncles, aunts and cousins. Childhood buddies and high school teachers were there. So were shopkeepers and long-ago neighbors, a town librarian and Illinois’ lieutenant governor.
Merlo and the Rev. Michael Sneath, a Navy chaplain, conducted the service in English and Spanish.
“This was a young man who really loved his country, who wanted to be a soldier all his life,” Merlo told the mourners. “Now that he is gone, how do we live our life? How do we go on?”
After the service, a mile-long caravan of mourners slowly made its way to the St. Paul Lutheran Cemetery in nearby Montgomery, Ill., an hour southwest of Chicago. Gathered under a blue sunshade, family members clung to one another. Nearby, the military had laid out an M-16, a helmet and dog tags.
Foyteck’s mother, Connie Foyteck, said she knew something was wrong when she didn’t get her daily e-mail from her son Tuesday. A few hours later, military officials came to her door to tell her the bad news.
“They caught me so off guard,” she said. “I just want to hold him one more time.”
Foyteck served with the 2-1 Infantry, 172nd Brigade, based in Alaska. He was awarded the Purple Heart in December after breaking four bones in his back.
He was supposed to have finished his tour in August, but the day before he was scheduled to leave Iraq, he was told he would be staying for two more months.
Foyteck was looking forward to spending time on his new boat, sailing along the lake near his new house, his mother said.
Betty Tidwell stood near her son’s flag-draped casket inside a funeral home in Pennsylvania and recalled his campaign to join the Army Reserves at age 16. Tony Knier tried several times to persuade her to sign a release. She finally relented, but only after asking for a promise from the recruiter that her son would not be hurt. The recruiter said he could not promise anything. But he would try.
On Oct. 21, Tidwell received the call that her son was gone. “I must have fallen down,” she said, “because my husband picked me up.”
The war that claimed her son means different things to the people who loved him.
Tony’s brother, Richard, 33, wants to stay the course. “Now that we’re there, we’ve got to finish what we started,” he said.
Tony’s uncle and godfather, John Knier, 69, said Tony “did what he had to do. He figured he was doing it for himself and for the whole country.” He grimaced, and then went on: “I feel bitter toward the war. We’re not going to gain nothing out of it. It means nothing.”
Tony’s best friend, Brett May, 31, said, “There’s no justification at all.”
Tony’s widow, Bobbi Knier, is struggling to explain Tony’s death to their three children. Kayli, 2, is too young to understand. On Tuesday, she picked up her aunt’s cell phone and engaged in a cheerful, imaginary conversation with her father.
Marcus, 8, had told his mother that he was angry with her and his father for saying that Tony would be just fine in Iraq.
But the next day, at his father’s funeral, Marcus said: “Put this in the paper: My dad will never be forgotten.”
The Associated Press contributed to this report.
Ellie
Grief, doubts linger after deadly October for U.S. in Iraq
By Ellen Barry, David Zucchino and P.J. Huffstutter
Los Angeles Times
WELLSBORO, Pa. – Four were teenagers. Thirty were 21 or younger. The oldest was 53. They left homes in big cities and small prairie towns and Southern hamlets to answer the call of duty in Iraq, where more than 100 soldiers, Marines, airmen and seamen died in October – the war’s fourth-deadliest month and the worst since January 2005.
On Tuesday, authorities notified the mother of 26-year-old Kraig Foyteck that her son, who was expected to come home in two weeks, was killed in Mosul in northern Iraq.
Foyteck, an Army sergeant who was awarded a Purple Heart last year, was killed when he was hit in the neck by a bullet or mortar, his family said. He grew up in Skokie, Ill., but his family moved to LaPorte while he was in Iraq.
“It is just heartbreaking,” Foyteck’s grandmother, Ginny Foyteck, said. “Just to know that you’re never going to be able to touch him or hold him again.”
Also on the final day of October, Sgt. 1st Class Tony Knier, who needed his mother’s permission to join the Army at 16, returned in a casket to the coarse green hills of central Pennsylvania.
Knier, 31, was killed Oct. 21 by a roadside bomb that fractured his skull.
On a day that the American death toll in Iraq stood at 2,814, a few of the mourners came right out and said it: They weren’t sure he died for a good cause. But all agreed on what serving in Iraq meant to Tony.
A price has been paid each month since the war began in March 2003. This October was worse than most, the Pentagon said, in part because American troops have been diverted to Baghdad, where Iraqi security forces have failed to control sectarian violence.
Most of October also coincided with Ramadan, the Islamic holy month, a time when insurgents in recent years try to intensify attacks. The October total could increase. The Pentagon sometimes delays announcing combat deaths.
There were scenes of finality this week in many towns, where the turned cemetery dirt was still fresh, or where burial ceremonies were being planned inside funeral homes.
In Aurora, Ill., on Monday, American flags held by volunteers snapped in a brisk wind outside San Pablo Evangelical Lutheran Church as mourners said farewell to Marine sniper Eduardo “Eddy” Lopez, 21. Lopez, a lance corporal, had survived duty in Afghanistan but was killed Oct. 19 during combat in the insurgent stronghold of Anbar Province.
Before he left for Iraq, Lopez had come to the church of his childhood to hear a final service. Afterward, he sought out the Rev. Alex Merlo and asked for his blessing.
“He said: ‘If something happens to me, if I die in war, take me back to our church. Make sure I get home,’ ” Merlo recalled.
The reverend kept his promise. Lopez was back at San Pablo on Monday, inside a flag-draped casket.
In Portland, Ore., a bugler sounded Taps and uniformed men fired rifles into the crisp air Monday to honor Staff Sgt. Ronald Lee Paulson. A civil affairs officer and Army Reservist, Paulson was killed Oct. 17 by a roadside bomb. He was 53, the oldest American to die in October. At Willamette National Cemetery on a hill high above the city, his widow, Beverly Paulson, accepted a folded Stars and Strips as bagpipes sounded.
Before being recalled to active duty in December 2005, Paulson had spent 14 years working at Gunderson Inc., a company that makes railcars and barges.
In Apex, N.C., the family of Army Maj. David G. Taylor, Jr. filed into a red-brick funeral home Tuesday to plan his services, scheduled for today. Taylor, 37, was the highest-ranking serviceman to die in October. He was killed when a roadside bomb exploded next to his Humvee in Baghdad Oct. 22 as he trained new arrivals.
Taylor was able to take midtour leave to be present when his wife, Michelle, gave birth to the couple’s first child, Jacob, now 4 months old. His family asked well-wishers, in lieu of flowers, to thank a soldier, police officer or firefighter for service to the country.
Most of the October casualties were Army. One-quarter were Marines. There were three airmen and two sailors. Each individual death dealt a blow to family and friends.
The faithful who gathered at San Pablo Evangelical Lutheran Church in Aurora to say goodbye to Lopez, the Marine sniper, were stunned and overpowered by a sense of loss. Lopez’s parents were joined in the rough-hewn pews by scores of uncles, aunts and cousins. Childhood buddies and high school teachers were there. So were shopkeepers and long-ago neighbors, a town librarian and Illinois’ lieutenant governor.
Merlo and the Rev. Michael Sneath, a Navy chaplain, conducted the service in English and Spanish.
“This was a young man who really loved his country, who wanted to be a soldier all his life,” Merlo told the mourners. “Now that he is gone, how do we live our life? How do we go on?”
After the service, a mile-long caravan of mourners slowly made its way to the St. Paul Lutheran Cemetery in nearby Montgomery, Ill., an hour southwest of Chicago. Gathered under a blue sunshade, family members clung to one another. Nearby, the military had laid out an M-16, a helmet and dog tags.
Foyteck’s mother, Connie Foyteck, said she knew something was wrong when she didn’t get her daily e-mail from her son Tuesday. A few hours later, military officials came to her door to tell her the bad news.
“They caught me so off guard,” she said. “I just want to hold him one more time.”
Foyteck served with the 2-1 Infantry, 172nd Brigade, based in Alaska. He was awarded the Purple Heart in December after breaking four bones in his back.
He was supposed to have finished his tour in August, but the day before he was scheduled to leave Iraq, he was told he would be staying for two more months.
Foyteck was looking forward to spending time on his new boat, sailing along the lake near his new house, his mother said.
Betty Tidwell stood near her son’s flag-draped casket inside a funeral home in Pennsylvania and recalled his campaign to join the Army Reserves at age 16. Tony Knier tried several times to persuade her to sign a release. She finally relented, but only after asking for a promise from the recruiter that her son would not be hurt. The recruiter said he could not promise anything. But he would try.
On Oct. 21, Tidwell received the call that her son was gone. “I must have fallen down,” she said, “because my husband picked me up.”
The war that claimed her son means different things to the people who loved him.
Tony’s brother, Richard, 33, wants to stay the course. “Now that we’re there, we’ve got to finish what we started,” he said.
Tony’s uncle and godfather, John Knier, 69, said Tony “did what he had to do. He figured he was doing it for himself and for the whole country.” He grimaced, and then went on: “I feel bitter toward the war. We’re not going to gain nothing out of it. It means nothing.”
Tony’s best friend, Brett May, 31, said, “There’s no justification at all.”
Tony’s widow, Bobbi Knier, is struggling to explain Tony’s death to their three children. Kayli, 2, is too young to understand. On Tuesday, she picked up her aunt’s cell phone and engaged in a cheerful, imaginary conversation with her father.
Marcus, 8, had told his mother that he was angry with her and his father for saying that Tony would be just fine in Iraq.
But the next day, at his father’s funeral, Marcus said: “Put this in the paper: My dad will never be forgotten.”
The Associated Press contributed to this report.
Ellie