The Freeport Flag Ladies
Remembering…
The day we flew in order to deploy to Iraq, we left from MS and initially flew into Freeport, ME for a brief rest and refueling stop. As we deplaned we were greeted by at least a few dozen veterans, citizens and well-wishers. There were middle aged and older folk who seemed like the wholesome New Englander types. They stood in two rows flanking us as we came down the aisle and they all shook each of our hands. They made sure we did not miss any one. Some were wearing their legion hats, several ladies had American flag pins or red, white and blues ribbons on. I was moved by this display of support, not so much out of the patriotism, but simply that they cared about us. They cared enough to come out and greet us. It was clear that on many of the veterans faces that this was an act of duty and an acknowledgement that they had been “there” once. And what they faced and what we were about to face was real.
The Freeport Flag Ladies had a small USO operation where they had a bank of cell phones for free use so that soldiers could call home. In their little storefront they also had some cookies and other goodies for us. On the walls were photographs from soldiers on their deployments in various group poses some with military equipment and others without. You could tell that these folks had made an impression with soldiers and in turn soldiers showed their thanks by sending tributes of photographs and combat patches.
On the door was a picture of Stephen King’s home. Apparently his residence was in the vicinity and was a local attraction. Out in the center of the small terminal was a real estate display. There were many handsome Maine properties, some beach and lakefront. They were all a small fortune, but it was fun to imagine what life might be like in one of these storybook like homes. Our layover was long enough for soldiers to make phone calls, have a snack (maybe even a lobster roll), and look through the magazine rack. One soldier lamented out loud that “girlie” magazines were forbidden in Iraq. From Freeport we flew to Dublin, Ireland where they serve Guiness for breakfast. “Just black coffee, for me. Thank you.” I tried to say it like I really meant it.
For many soldiers the deprivation of access to alcohol and fleshly media was a bit surreal for them. We have been told that it is very important to respect the norms of the host nation and that violations will be severely punished. Also, from the Army’s point of view alcohol use affects readiness. In a hostile environment, one never knows when they will be asked to be “on.” The expectation is that one is stone sober when handling weapons. Some of the soldiers that have come up to me and declare that they are giving up smoking as well. The first thing I always ask is, “Why do you want to put more pressure on yourself?” Often one will answer that they weren’t feeling that great smoking anyway. At that point I congratulate them and tell them that they have my full support.
Now that we are here, I am getting into a regular routine with almost all aspects of my life. Military institutions recognize that humans in order to feel secure need a routine and a degree of discipline. Aside from minor inconveniences of mindless bureaucracy and the occasional a**hole (obstructionist), what I am experiencing here at this place and time is mostly good. And a lot of it. Today, I watched Platoon on my computer. In the movie, Charlie Sheen’s character says something to the effect that soldiers are often viewed as the throwaways in society. They are called “grunts,” but when you want something done you know that you can count on them because they know what it’s like to deal with adversity and not complain about it. Thank God for grunts. They are beautiful in ways that others often miss. I know I am a soldier every time I learn of a loss of one. I pay close attention because I feel for soldiers. I know for certain a soldier would never accept or want pity, but when I see the photograph of a dead soldier I see someone who strove with God and Man. And I see something beautiful that has been lost.
The day we flew in order to deploy to Iraq, we left from MS and initially flew into Freeport, ME for a brief rest and refueling stop. As we deplaned we were greeted by at least a few dozen veterans, citizens and well-wishers. There were middle aged and older folk who seemed like the wholesome New Englander types. They stood in two rows flanking us as we came down the aisle and they all shook each of our hands. They made sure we did not miss any one. Some were wearing their legion hats, several ladies had American flag pins or red, white and blues ribbons on. I was moved by this display of support, not so much out of the patriotism, but simply that they cared about us. They cared enough to come out and greet us. It was clear that on many of the veterans faces that this was an act of duty and an acknowledgement that they had been “there” once. And what they faced and what we were about to face was real.
The Freeport Flag Ladies had a small USO operation where they had a bank of cell phones for free use so that soldiers could call home. In their little storefront they also had some cookies and other goodies for us. On the walls were photographs from soldiers on their deployments in various group poses some with military equipment and others without. You could tell that these folks had made an impression with soldiers and in turn soldiers showed their thanks by sending tributes of photographs and combat patches.
On the door was a picture of Stephen King’s home. Apparently his residence was in the vicinity and was a local attraction. Out in the center of the small terminal was a real estate display. There were many handsome Maine properties, some beach and lakefront. They were all a small fortune, but it was fun to imagine what life might be like in one of these storybook like homes. Our layover was long enough for soldiers to make phone calls, have a snack (maybe even a lobster roll), and look through the magazine rack. One soldier lamented out loud that “girlie” magazines were forbidden in Iraq. From Freeport we flew to Dublin, Ireland where they serve Guiness for breakfast. “Just black coffee, for me. Thank you.” I tried to say it like I really meant it.
For many soldiers the deprivation of access to alcohol and fleshly media was a bit surreal for them. We have been told that it is very important to respect the norms of the host nation and that violations will be severely punished. Also, from the Army’s point of view alcohol use affects readiness. In a hostile environment, one never knows when they will be asked to be “on.” The expectation is that one is stone sober when handling weapons. Some of the soldiers that have come up to me and declare that they are giving up smoking as well. The first thing I always ask is, “Why do you want to put more pressure on yourself?” Often one will answer that they weren’t feeling that great smoking anyway. At that point I congratulate them and tell them that they have my full support.
Now that we are here, I am getting into a regular routine with almost all aspects of my life. Military institutions recognize that humans in order to feel secure need a routine and a degree of discipline. Aside from minor inconveniences of mindless bureaucracy and the occasional a**hole (obstructionist), what I am experiencing here at this place and time is mostly good. And a lot of it. Today, I watched Platoon on my computer. In the movie, Charlie Sheen’s character says something to the effect that soldiers are often viewed as the throwaways in society. They are called “grunts,” but when you want something done you know that you can count on them because they know what it’s like to deal with adversity and not complain about it. Thank God for grunts. They are beautiful in ways that others often miss. I know I am a soldier every time I learn of a loss of one. I pay close attention because I feel for soldiers. I know for certain a soldier would never accept or want pity, but when I see the photograph of a dead soldier I see someone who strove with God and Man. And I see something beautiful that has been lost.
posted by Chaplain (CPT) Fokas at 10:45 AM
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