Category Archives: Guest Blogger

Guest Blogger, Leah A.- How September 11th changed me

On September 11th, 2001, I was an American teenager living in Yangon, Myanmar, South-East Asia. My parents were teachers at the American International School and I was a senior in high school there. I’ll never forget how I heard about what happened back in the States.

I think it was about 3am our time, so of course I was sound asleep. My mom rushed into my room and woke me up. All she said what that school was canceled the following day and probably for the rest of the week too. My first reaction was sheer joy–the idea of having a whole week off of school was awesome and I was ecstatic. The school year had just started but I already had a serious case of Senior-Itis. Eventually, I asked my mom why school was canceled and she told me that there had been a few plane crashes in New York. All I replied was, “Oh that’s awful… well, I’m going back to bed. See you in morning!” Then I happily returned to sleep, with thoughts of school-free days in my head. At that point none of us knew how serious it all was.

However, all that changed in the morning when I woke up to find my parents glued to the TV. They were staring at the two planes crashing into the World Trade Center building over and over again. At first, I assumed they were watching a movie. I soon realized what really happened the day in the States. Suddenly, we all felt so far away and removed from New York. We called my older sister who was living in California at the time. We knew nothing had happened on the West Coast but we couldn’t help but feel worried about her. She was concerned with our safety too, but for some reason we felt safer being overseas then in the States.

At the time I didn’t think anything of it, but one of those days that we had off from school, I invited my two best friends over to my house to study and catch up. They were a Muslim and a Hindu. Little did we know that Muslims all over the U.S. at that very moment were being persecuted and eventually blamed for the terrorist acts of 9/11. It was such a perfect example of how far removed we really were from everything going on in the States at the time.

I guess I wasn’t truly patriotic until after September 11th. I knew how fortunate I was to be an American but I don’t think I really appreciated and understood what it meant to be an American. Going to international schools does this amazing thing to you, you somehow are able to forget where you came from and even what nationality you are and everyone was united.

Honestly, the full impact of September 11th didn’t really hit me until we came back stateside later that December for our Winter break. Let me tell you, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I especially recall seeing “Never Forget 9/11″ bumper stickers on lots of cars. That alone got me emotional! Just the thought of all those lives lost broke my heart every time I thought about it. I know that I will never be able to forget how I learned of the horrific events of September 11th and how it felt returning home to a changed America.

For more stories like this and my daily ramblings, check out my own personal blog at leahainla.blogspot.com/.

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Guest Blogger, Joe Carr- COIN at the Micro level

SHINWARI, Afghanistan — Just as night was approaching a small car
went off the road and went down a 130-foot bank. The car rolled
multiple times sending three of the four passengers to a local
hospital. Though the owner was unharmed, the outlook was grim for the
recovery of his car, as in the remote village of Shinwari in the
Parwan District of Afghanistan; there is no local towing service.

Fortunately, the Soldiers of Troop A, 1-172nd Cavalry Squadron, 86th
Infantry Brigade Combat Team (Mountain) happened to be in the area for
a leaders meeting, and when the village elders turned to them for
help, they soon found themselves providing a solution to a daunting
problem.

“We were at the Afghan national army compound and they asked us if we
could help,” said SFC Todd Gagnon an infantryman, from Alexandria,
N.H., and a U.S. Army Mountain School Instructor.

By the time they got to the scene a small crowd had formed to see what happened.

“We went and looked at it, and it was at least a 130-foot drop but it
was easy with these [Mine Resistant Ambush Protected All Terrain]
vehicles,” said Gagnon.

As the Soldiers set out to retrieve the car, Gagnon stationed his MATV
to stop traffic and use the winch installed on the front of the
vehicle. Another MATV was stopping traffic in the other direction
while Gagnon headed down the embankment.

“The hardest thing was using the cables, it was a small car and only
one place to hook it up and that broke about ten feet from the top but
we hooked it back up and pulled it up,” said Gagnon.

The crowd of onlookers grew as the car started to make its way back to
the road.

After they recovered the car, the Cavalry Soldiers, learned that that
they had saved the small town a lot of money in recovery costs.

“The interpreter said that we saved them about 1,400 U.S. dollars
because there is no wrecker service out there,” said Gagnon. “They
would have had to bring in a crane from a local jobsite, so that was a
good thing, and we enjoyed doing it for them,” added Gagnon.

When they finally got the car to the top of the ravine the Soldiers
were surprised when the owner was able to jump in and start his
vehicle back up.

“He jumped in when it was almost to the top and it started right up,”
said Gagnon. “Even though the windows were all smashed and the front
was a mess he did not have a scratch on him.”

They knew by the sheer size of the crowd that they were really helping
out the local community and they were strengthening their relationship
with the local Afghans.

“There was quite a lot of people there not just because we shut down
the street, but to see us pull this car out of the ditch.” Gagnon
said. “The interpreter could hear the crowd talking and saying
encouraging things the whole time we were pulling it out.”

Supervising the event was 1st Lt. Peter Burnham who was very pleased
with the performance of the team and the outcome for the citizens of
Shinwari.

“They did an excellent job in the recovery of the car and helped out
the population,” said Burnham. “It just shows you that no matter what
mission you are on, you never know how it is going to turn out or what
could happen.”

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Guest Blogger, Andrew Lubin- Our 234th Birthday

Bouhammer Note- My apologies to Andrew for not seeing this in time before I left town all weekend. I know this was meant for yesterday’s birthday of our nation. However it is a great story and history lesson for all so I am honored to post this blog entry from Andrew.

Following the recent immigration debates arising out of Arizona and in Congress made me step back and think. “What makes someone an American?” Is it an accident of birth? Having a special skill? Or is it an attitude?

My grandparents names are listed at Ellis Island. It’s no big deal, so are the names of dozens of thousands of others. They came over amongst those human waves of Europeans in the late 1800’s who were coming to the New World for a chance for a better life.

My maternal grandmother was Mary Inez Ryan, from Ireland’s County Limerick, and we grew up listening to her stories of wailing banshees and the shrieking tree. She married Joseph Mendell, whose father had changed his name from Mendel when he arrived from Germany the generation prior. My dad’s side was also European: Louis Ljubon from Budapest married Aloysia Woelfl from Bavaria Both families settled in northern New Jersey, learned English, struggled through the Depression, and then both my mom and dad joined the Marines in WW2. Afterwards they were part of the first G.I. Bill class at Montclair State Teachers College and worked hard to give us kids a better life and more opportunities.

America has so many other stories…last month at FOB Dwyer I met Tuan Pham, a Vietnamese refugee whose grandfather and father were killed by the Viet Cong. His mother and sister left Vietnam as ‘boat people,’ and eventually got Pham out when he was 16…now he’s Major Tuan Pham, USMC, who enlisted three years after arriving here. While his is certainly a far more interesting family story than mine, it’s remarkably similar in that it started with folks looking for a better life, making their way to America, working hard, giving back, and helping build that which we call “The American Dream”.

And it’s worth noting the many stories of citizenship that started after 9/11: there have been some 55,000 immigrants who became Americans through their service in the Armed Forces. The ranks of the Marine Corps are filled with young men and women with fascinating accents who are “giving back” to their newly adopted country. Some of them “give back” a lot; think back to Sgt Michael Strank, one of the five Marines who raised the flag on Iwo Jima. He was born Mychal Strenk, in Jarabenia, Czechoslovakia, and learned English in the tough steel mill of Franklin Borough, Pa. Sgt Strank was killed on Iwo, three days after that famous photograph was taken. Or Mexican-born Marine Sgt Rafael Peralta, whose last act was to roll onto a grenade in Fallujah, sacrificing himself in order to save the lives of the Marines behind him. Other countries should envy immigrants like these two.

Perhaps they’re the strength of this country, this blend of farmers, tool & die makers, steel workers, and shopkeepers who arrived here with little more than an ill-fitting suit and a fierce determination to “do better.”

That’s the unifying feature that built the United States of America; they learned the language; worked their way into the social structure and politics of their new homeland, worked hard, tried to blend in, and in committing themselves to success, they gave this country a mind-set that anything is possible if one works hard.

Another mind-set was that of leaving the old ways behind. The old ways weren’t working; that’s why people came here in the first place. My Grandpa Lubin would never, ever discuss his hometown, or his life before he came here. “It doesn’t matter,” he’d say “I’m an American now, and being an American is all that counts.”

And unlike the faux-patriotism espoused by so many of today’s politicians, the older generations understood that patriotism was something that was to be practiced, as opposed to lectured from the airwaves. On Monday 8 December 1941, most of the men of Harvard and many other colleges were on the recruiting lines, and by 1945 America had 12 million men under arms. Everyone volunteered; in fact my ex-wife’s father forged his father’s name to the paperwork, and joined the Army a year underage – Lewis Nash participated in the invasion of Italy and ended up fighting in the Battle of the Bulge.

That’s real patriotism. Everyone served, everyone helped out, and everyone pulled together for the common goal of protecting the American way of life that their parents and grandparents offered them.

That’s what makes the recent immigration debate so frustrating. Most of these 12 million illegals hunker down, work hard, and are taking the dirty jobs that most American citizens won’t. Sure many of them don’t speak English now, but then neither did my Grandfather Ljubon or Mychal Strenk when they arrived. America is still a country of opportunities for those who want to work, and given the opportunity, look at how the Strenks and Peralta’s have become an integral part of America’s history.

Maybe that’s it; being an “American” is as much an attitude as an accident of birth. Since people today aren’t digging the Erie Canal, or building the transcontinental railroad; perhaps today’s settlers are instead cutting lawns in New Jersey or working in an Iowa meat-packing plant. But hard work and attitude never hurt anyone, as Grandpa Lubin used to tell me; and as Grandpa’s Strenk, Peralta, and Pham likely told their boys; with attitude and hard work you can accomplish almost anything.

So let’s raise a glass to our 234th birthday – with more hard work and the same attitude, we’ll be celebrating 234 more.

Happy Independence Day.

Picture of Andrew’s Mom’s Boot Camp Graduation

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Guest Blogger, Andrew Lubin; Patrol Base McElhinney # 3

Bouhammer Note- The following is part of a series of dispatches (blog entries) from my good friend Andrew Lubin. Andrew’s site is andrewlubin.com/. Andy has recently returned from an embed in Afghanistan with the Marines and has given Bouhammer.com permission to publish these entries.

The debate on blowing a bridge continues. One patrol reported after meeting with the locals that they told him that while a lot of good people use this bridge daily, so do a lot of bad guys. But as 1st Lieutenant Carl Quist said ‘if we blow the bridge, we’ve put the good people to a lot of inconvenience. And if we blow one or two of the bridges, the bad guys can still use the other, and I don’t have nearly enough Marines to permanently guard a bridge and still complete my missions. So we’re still trying to figure it out. I think it is worth taking one out.”

PB McElhinney is supplied both by helicopter and by foot. At 0300 the resupply helo from Camp Hanson dropped off a sling-load of supplies that the entire post – both Marine and ANA – hustled inside from where it was dropped in a local field. Plywood sheets – concertina wire – smoke and frag grenades – cases of water were carried inside, inventoried, and stacked by 0400, and as the Marines and ANA settled down to go back to sleep, the sound of Islam’s morning prayer blew across the cool night air from the nearby mosque.

An integral part of 1st Platoon are the corpsmen assigned to it. There are three here at PB McElhinney, and they’ve been with them since the push into Marjah began back in February. An interesting crowd; one started as an engineering student in college, and another, the shortest and lightest person in 1st Platoon, carries medical gear that weighs as much as a Marine combat load.

Every 7 – 9 days a resupply convoy drives out from FOB Coutu with mail, special equipment, and to swap Marines. At PB McElhinney; the re-supply patrol was up and ready to walk out at 0645 to link up with the convoy. With Afghan village roads far too narrow for the massive MRAPS and other Marine vehicles, 1st Platoon needs to send a patrol out some 2 klicks to link up with the convoy on the main road. One Marine had to sign a witness statement concerning the detainee they’d taken a few days back, and other Marines were being rotated out. One of the docs came along; not only in case he was needed in a firefight, but also to help sort and carry in the medical items he needed replenished. Medical supplies, new boots, a mortar base plate and tripod, plus boxes of AA and AAA batteries were then humped back to base.

Part of the evening re-supply were boxes of T-rats, which seemed a special treat after weeks of MRE’s. Using a sheet of plywood and boxes of water as a serving table, the senior enlisted served the platoon a meal of spaghetti & meatballs, and green beans, with soft drinks purchased from the local bazaars (Pepsi from Dubai and pomegranate juice from Iran).

But despite the levity from the better-than-normal meal; the war is never far away. Local villager Gul Baz lives in the next compound, only 50 yards away, and has become 1st Platoon’s eyes and ears into the villagers. He came over to say that five Taliban had hidden themselves in a treeline all day watching the PB. No weapons were visible; they just squatted in the trees watching and pretending to work.

The Afghan Army soldiers on base are an issue, unfortunately. They belong to the newly-formed 215th Corps, and virtually all are rookies; many only weeks out of boot camp. The 215th did not send an officer to lead them, but instead one senior enlisted. He has some military experience and speaks decent English, but is fighting a losing battle trying to train near-boots “on-the-job.” The soldiers simply need more training; a Marine who graduates boot camp receives another 6-9 months of training before he’s sent into combat, but such is the urgency to increase the size of the Afghan army that their soldiers are rushed into combat far earlier than is preferred.

The locals, most of whom remember when the Russians were here, understand soldiering and do not respect the current ANA troops, and in fact now trust the Marines implicitly. An unfortunate result is that since the locals are reluctant to cooperate with the ANA, making gathering intelligence on Taliban activity far more difficult for 1st Platoon – which correspondingly makes it far more difficult for the Marines to provide the security the locals request.

A further complication is that security remains sufficiently tenuous where the Government of Afghanistan programs promised by ISAF (“Government in a box”) cannot yet be brought out here; should a GIROA official be killed, the effect on the local population would be devastating. “Clear – Hold” is in progress; the “Build & Transition” phases are moving very slowly.

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Guest Blogger; John McDonald- Life as a Drill Sergeant / Problems with the NCO Corps

So… I have been doing a lot of thinking.. and going back to days past. In alot of ways, on a professional level, my time as a Drill Sergeant was the apex of my career.

Everyone knows I hated dealing with the bureaucracy. Dealing with Officers and some Senior NCO’s that thought they knew how to train civilians and turn them into Soldiers. But this post is not about that. This is about the good things of being a Drill Sergeant.

During my entire time in the military, I have witnessed the slow erosion of the NCO corps into what it is today. Only the oldest of the NCO’s remember back when “The Backbone of the Army” still had backbone. Some of the finest NCO’s I ever worked with, was back when I was a Private. I remember watching the best CSM I have ever witnessed, let alone work for (CSM Sneed) lock up a Major who came into this office with the wrong attitude. I cant remember if it was SFC Hxxxx-Pxxx or SFC (Darth Vader) Rxxx who told one our Platoon Leaders “sir this is my platoon, you are here to learn what the capabilities are of this unit and sign paperwork. So.. there is your desk, go have a seat, watch, and learn. Let me deal with the training.” Now maybe my brain is getting fuddled in my old age but I also recall a young SSG Troy Sxxxxxx, during the endless weeks of JRTC of not doing much, but staring at the grass and getting no fire missions, taking the senior SPC’s into the Fire Direction Center (FDC) truck and giving them FDC classes, utilizing the Mortar Ballistic Computer (MBC), and the M16 plotting board.

Back when I first started, anything to do with the welfare and training of Soldiers was NCO business. Officers stayed out of it. “Beans and Bullets” (was what is was all about). Well, since that time NCO’s have become broken. A combination of major very publicized poor decision’s, complacency, and outright laziness have besieged my beloved corps. And the Officers either chose to start accomplishing the NCO tasks out of need or because the NCO was weak enough to allow it.

So it is my belief and many of my peer’s that the NCO corps is broken. But I also believe it is healable.

How do we heal it? Well lets look at what made the NCO corps great back in the day (if you had to boil it down to the core reason), I would say it was “technical expertise”. Without the technical expertise the NCO had nothing on the Officer. The technical expertise applied to a couple areas. How to relate to the junior enlisted and actually teach, not just read power point slides, It applied to knowledge of how the Army actually runs.. not necessarily how the books say it should run, and of course the Technical Expertise of your individual MOS.

In order to heal it we have to give the “Backbone” what it was lacking to begin with. This is Education, both Formal and Informal. It goes back to the Adage. “Knowledge is Power”. This all starts at the very beginning.

When I first went to the “United States Army Drill Sergeant School” I was overwhelmed. It seemed that you had to be perfect to be a good Drill Sergeant. I was going to be expected to stand in front of damned near 210 civilians to give classes and demonstrations. During my first time on the little stage at Echo 1-34 giving a class, yet another “Death by Power Point” presentation, I could see it in the eyes of those Soldiers still awake. They were receiving the information, but it was not being learned… and I snapped.

All of a sudden I became a different person. I was up on that stage pacing back and forth, changing the tone in my voice from loud, and harsh, to soft spoken. I was relating the information to either personal experiences, or movies, or video games, and all of a sudden the Soldiers were sitting up.. eyes wide open. Information was being processed. I would say outrageous, often times “illegal” things (things that some officer deemed as inappropriate) to keep the Privates involved in the lecture. I developed a case of tourette syndrome . Foaming at the mouth. The number of Soldiers unable to stay awake dropped off dramatically.

This is when it occurred to me. Only an NCO can break that PowerPoint slide down “Barney style” so that the Soldier actually digests what the information means. Then it also occurred to me the awesome amount of power a Drill Sergeant really has. And I was instantly addicted to this part of that job.

The REAL power a Drill Sergeant has (and really ANY NCO HAS) is not in the amount of pain, or smoke sessions they can give (although smoke sessions are great training aides). It is in their ability to teach, and in the legacy they can leave behind. As a Drill Sergeant, I had the best opportunity to date to actually do what I felt is important in fixing my beloved Corps. I could mass produce “Mini- Macs” and set them forth into the military. It is often said there are three names you will never forget in your life. Your Mom, your Dad, and your Drill Sergeant. I put everything I had into those classes. I provided the best training myself and my battle buddies could come up with. Sometimes, even on the edge of what some officer said was legal. A couple times I even went to the other side of what was “legal”. I did this because I decided that the amount of power that was entrusted into me by the mothers and fathers of the Soldiers I was training, far outweighed the amount of butt chewing I would get. These Soldiers deserved outstanding leadership, and the best training that I could give them.

I am Proud of what I have done as a Drill Sergeant. I am proud of what every one of my battle buddies has, (past and present) , or will do. And now all I have to do is pray to the big man upstairs, that I set forth enough motivated Soldiers that a few of them will attempt to become a better NCO than I, and therefore fix my beloved Corps. God Bless you guys!

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Guest Blogger, Andrew Lubin; Patrol Base McElhinney # 2

Bouhammer Note- The following is part of a series of dispatches (blog entries) from my good friend Andrew Lubin. Andrew’s site is andrewlubin.com/. Andy is currently embedded in Afghanistan with the Marines and has given Bouhammer.com permission to publish these entries.

While superficially 1st Platoon’s mission of patrolling seems to be the same daily grind, 1st Lieutenant Carl Quist and SSGT Chris Whitman are pleased at how their relations with the locals are progressing. Every day builds on the one prior, Whitman explained, “every day of peace and stability makes the locals like us more and more.”

The continuous patrols are paying off in a multitude of ways. “We’ve captured a lot of IED’s and IED-making equipment,” Quist said,” from 10 – 30/lb IED’s, plus fuses, plus pressure plates. We’re burning up their supplies and our patrolling makes it more difficult for them to re-supply.” The locals are friendly and getting friendlier, he continued. “It’s a matter of trust and confidence; the shopkeeper up the road told me that they like the Marines and don’t like the Taliban, but don’t like the fighting. And while they don’t want to pay taxes to the Taliban, they’ll have to pay them to the Karzai government, so that’s a wash. But when I remind him that we’re the ones trying to bring schools and clinics, he nods and agrees.” Clearly the fight here is one of trust and confidence as much as firepower.

“The Taliban is scared of our firepower and our ability to use it so accurately,” Whitman said. “When we moved into this compound,” Whitman added, “we took fire within maybe the first 30 minutes; heavy duty stuff like RPK’s and other automatic weapons, and from all four corners; they wanted to test us right away – so we responded with heavy outbound fire and a Javelin.” Two weeks ago there was a firefight in which 1st Platoon shot two people who the locals identified as Taliban, which has dropped the level of incoming fire from machine guns attacks to that of scattered harassing fire. Plus four days ago a known bad guy was captured at a vehicle check point as he tried to flee on foot, Quist said, “he was carrying blasting caps and other IED-related items, so that may keep the area quieter.”

The Taliban wanted him back; they forced a delegation of village elders to travel to Camp Hanson and beg for the Talib’s release; even bringing in an unknown woman to claim she was his mother and that he’d been arrested in error…but during the meeting some of the elders were gently shaking their heads at the Marines and motioning “no,”, and the young man remained detained.

During the “clear” phase, there were no civilian casualties, and the villagers quickly became respectful of the of the Marine’s weaponry, and how it was employed. “During one firefight,” Whitman remembered when “the Taliban occupied a house 300 meters away, and forced the family to stay downstairs while they shot at us from the rooftop. After the fight was over, the family thanked us for not using a helicopter to destroy their house!”

With the three patrols daily bringing in considerable daily intelligence, Quist and his company commander discuss their short and long term goals daily. Although the locals agree wholeheartedly the Taliban needs to be killed, the question of how goes beyond avoiding collateral damage – 1st Platoon struggles daily with how to kill Taliban that always fights in and around the locals…

…there is a big irrigation canal north of this area, bringing water and acting as a sort of boundary between the agricultural area and the desert. Three bridges cross the canal, and are becoming known Taliban crossing points, a situation that is being addressed by Quist and his CO. Should we destroy one or more of the bridges, the CO wants to know, and if we do, what will be the repercussions from the villagers as to their own transit, as well as the overall response? And the bridges are substantial, if it’s decided to take out a bridge; should it be via engineers or EOD?

The enlisted Marines enthusiastically recommend an airstrike, with Hellfire missiles, and are promptly ignored by Quist.

But despite PB McElhinney’s austere environment, Whitman ensures that Marine decorum and discipline remains intact. The compound is policed, with trash and wag bags being sent to the burn pit several times daily. They cut each other’s hair. Even though the Marine’s clothing hangs virtually in tatters, weapons are kept clean, and between the morning and afternoon patrols, there was a promotion ceremony; lining up in a column of two’s, 1st Platoon watched as two Marines were promoted to the rank of Lance Corporal.

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Bouhammer.com Fan proud of his T-shirt

I am so proud and honored that one of the fans of this blog wrote a posting on his Facebook page about how he wore his great looking Bouhammer.com T-shirt. He didn’t have a Red Shirt to wear for R.E.D. Shirt Friday so he chose to wear his Bouhammer.com T-shirt instead and is glad he did. He gave me full permission to blog about the events that took place. I was going to point my readers to the Facebook note, but if you aren’t a registered member of Facebook then you would never see it, so I am reporting the story here.

I am at Disney World for the last day today. I am here for business. As poor planning would have it I didn’t bring a red shirt along for Friday. And yes I am too much of a tight wad to buy one here. Two shirts I did have with me are Warrior Legacy Foundation and Bouhammer. The Warrior Legacy Foundation t-shirt out lived its useful life. I wore it in the extreme humidity of Florida for three straight afternoons. Needless to say, it picked up some stench all its own. Friday rolled around and I knew wearing it all day in close quarters with other human beings would not be an option. I did have a nice fresh Bouhammer shirt ready and raring to go. I proudly put on that bad boy this morning. I was getting ready for the test I was going to take and decided I needed a break. I walked over to the Boardwalk Bakery for a cup of caffeine. There was a gentleman inside ahead of me. He bought his two cups and headed out. I bought mine, thanked the lady for my time here, and went outside. The gentleman ahead of me was just outside. I said goodmorning. That is when it started. He noticed the Bouhammer shirt and let me know he liked it. He asked if I was there (Afghanistan). I told him that I wasn’t. He let me know he was a Vietnam veteran. That is when I knew having a Bouhammer shirt paid off. I thanked him for his service. I told him about LZ Lambeau that just took place in Green Bay.

Then I was just there. There to listen to his story. There to appreciate the sacrifice that he and his fellow soldiers made. There to reflect on the sacrifices he is still making, through the memories of comrades whose lives ended all too soon. There to reflect on the sacrifices that families and soldiers still make today. Remember Everyone Deployed. That’s just what I had the opportunity and privilege to do.

I love it when God makes these things happen in my life. I never served. As some may know, this is a big source of guilt for me, but when I get to interact with friends and strangers who have offered so much that guilt drifts away. It drifts away because I know I have another purpose. A purpose to be there and support as best I can all those who have done or are doing the job I didn’t.

God bless them one and all.