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Title
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Editorial Board Student Editors: Daniel Lynch Nick Rubino
Student Designers: Kevin Gross Kristina Maki Evalyn Armellino
Faculty Advisors & Editors: James Baltrum John Flaherty Michael McMahon Paul Gaszak Agnieszka Rowsey
egg | “Shipping Out” Robert Morris University Arts & Literary Magazine (volume 11 - Fall 2011) robertmorris.edu/publications/egg twitter.com/rmuegg
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Editorial Note It has been a terrific pleasure to oversee the completion of the eleventh volume of RMU’s arts and literary magazine, egg. Though this sentiment would undoubtedly be true while working on any of the previous volumes, being involved in the creation of this volume has been uniquely rewarding due to the fact unlike its ten predecessors “Shipping Out” is the first volume of egg dedicated to a particular topic or theme. The selected cover art for this volume of RMU’s egg is what is often referred to as the military service flag or service banner. The blue star service flag has been historically displayed in the doorways and windows of American households in which a member of the family was serving on active duty during wartime. If the family had two members serving, then the flag displayed two stars, and so on. This choice of cover art seemed more than appropriate given the fact that this particular issue of egg is dedicated to giving a forum to those RMU students who have served or are currently serving in the United States military – a population of learners who we are proud to have amongst us in the Robert Morris community. Since its inception in 2000, RMU’s egg has always tried to put on display the rich cultural landscape that makes up the Robert Morris environment by collecting expressive poems, prose, artwork, and photographs created by our students, faculty, and staff. As with each of the previous volumes of egg, the editorial board for “Shipping Out” hopes that this volume demonstrates just how complex and multi-faceted the lives and experiences of those around us can truly be. Thank you and happy reading!
Sincerely,
James Baltrum English Faculty College of Liberal Arts
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A special thank you to... Michael Viollt
President of Robert Morris University
Mablene Krueger Provost
Paula Diaz
Dean of the College of Liberal Arts
…and those who have served or are serving in the United States armed forces.
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Writings “War is Hell” by Russ Meredith
PG. 10
“My Winter Wonderland” by Nick Rubino
PG. 14
“Voices of the Deployed” by Ashley Shields
PG. 17
“October 31st, 2008” by Anonymous
PG. 21
“Happiness” by Brian P. Gilbertson
PG. 23
“Sick Call” By Nick Rubino
PG. 29
“The Chamber” by Sergio Alviso
PG. 34
“Crossing into the Blue” by Zakiyyah Woods
PG. 36
“The Gateway” by Laura Reich
PG. 42
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Photographs
Nick Rubino David Lapello Russ Meredith
PGs 15, 20, 28, 47 PGs 16, 33, 41 PG 22
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“War is Hell” Russ Meredith The following is a quote from General William Tecumseh Sherman. “You cannot qualify war in harsher terms than I will. War is cruelty, and you cannot refine it; and those who brought war into our country deserve all the curses and maledictions a people can pour out. I know I had no hand in making this war, and I know I will make more sacrifices to-day than any of you to secure peace.” War has been a part of this country’s rich history since its inception. Many men and women have experienced war and the calamity that accompanies it, including up to paying the ultimate sacrifice. These United States were born in the bosom of war. On November 11th of each year, we pay homage to those who have gallantly braved the harshness of battle and who live to tell their stories. This is one of them. My Father was a veteran of World War II, a Navy veteran to be exact. Growing up, I would, upon occasion, dream of following in my father’s footsteps. I dreamed of sailing the world’s oceans and visiting foreign ports and, of course, eating exotic foods. That dream became a reality on February 11, 2003. I had anticipated such a change because at a recent Navy Reserve unit meeting, I was asked if I was interested in being deployed. I earnestly answered in the affirmative. Once again my country was asking for my service. My heart raced in my chest and my palms were sweating. When I was told where I would be going, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My mouth became as dry as dust. I was bound for California for a week and a half for training and to make sure I’m physically, and mentally, fit to endure the mission. Following California I would be heading to Kuwait in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. The official orders called for service for up to a year. I was ready.
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Titles Author
The time came for us to board this behemoth of an airplane. With gear in hand and duffle bag in tow, I swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in my throat. My eyes scanned the plane from nose to tail for this was the first time I had ever boarded a plane from the ground. I was amazed by its sheer size. We got settled in for the 17 hour trip to Kuwait which included a quick stop in Germany for fuel. We finally arrived in Kuwait around 2 a.m. As I looked at the young faces of the men around me, I saw fear, and anticipation, but at the same time I saw bravery. These men have volunteered to be in harm’s way. Everyone had their game face on. Once our boots were on the ground, we walked to a staging area for further instructions. Almost instantly my nose was filled with the smell of hot jet exhaust. It was intoxicating. It added to the air temperature which by my recollection, was in the neighborhood of about eighty-five degrees. To us just arriving, it seemed very warm since the gear on our backs weighed in access of seventy pounds. I said to the guy next to me, “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.” We were told that during the day we will be exposed to temperatures exceeding one hundred and fifteen degrees. After each of us was issued a tall bottle of half warm water, we were off on a two hour journey that seemed to take all night. At this point, by my estimation, we had been awake for about 21 hours. It didn’t seem to affect those around me as much. Understandably so, for they were in their twenties, I was thirty-nine. Two weeks went by while we endured even more training. Living in the desert offered its own challenges. In addition to the extreme heat and all the physical problems it can bring, we were cautioned to be ever vigilant of what was around us. We were cautioned about things like scorpions, snakes, and camel spiders the size of your hand. Everyday life here was physically draining. In the morning, we awoke with a very thin layer of dust that had fallen on our faces, and a dry, pasty film in our mouths. Our eyes were ever so difficult to open, even slightly, Shipping Out 11
due to the dust mingling with the “crust” that usually forms in the corners. All we had to clean up with was baby wipes and the warm bottle of water we were issued each morning. There were no coffee shops, no fast-food joints, and no park benches to sit down on for a rest. We were in a war zone, and had yet to take our first shower. A few days later, while still in Kuwait, we were told the “air war” was underway. Baghdad was being hit with five hundred pound bombs. That night we could hear the bombs being dropped. I couldn’t help but think about the death and destruction that would be the result. Scenes of destruction I had seen on television came to mind. I felt like vomiting. The call came in to start our advance into Iraq, along with a full complement of Marines. To reach the Kuwait/Iraq border we had to travel some five hours by truck, humvee, or jeep in sweltering heat that seemed to drain all life from you. Everything you touched felt hot enough to fry an egg on. This was March, and summer in Iraq was still to come. During the long trek to Baghdad, we encountered many Iraqi nationals. Some waved a US flag and some waved banners that said, “Welcome USA,” while others said, “Go Home.” As a soldier or sailor you don’t have time to think whether or not you’re here because of politics. All you know is that Saddam Hussein is to be taken out of power, and that we are tasked with that mission. Marines led the fight. After all, I was a Navy Seabee, a construction type. I defend, while marines go and look for a fight. Young lives were lost that day, and they will hopefully never be forgotten. I may not have known their names, but I knew their families were about to receive the worse kind of news. To this day, I remember seeing the charred remains of bodies whose vehicles were hit by bombs and the smell of decaying flesh. I have some very vivid memories of my time spent in Iraq. Some are worth mentioning. Some are not. I remember it was 34 days before we had the chance to actually take a shower. The temperature being what it was, 12 egg
probably around 100 degrees, all of us were as sweaty coming out as we were going in. We put on the same uniform afterwards because we had no way of washing them. Eventually we were given 5-gallon buckets to wash our uniforms that we had worn for the last 5 days. We slept in 2-man tents, usually using our uniform tops as pillows. These are some of the “not so bad” memories I have. The more graphic memories from my days in Iraq are the screams of pain from those who had been shot. Young men screaming for a medic, pleading, “Please don’t let me die,” yet others were screaming for ammunition. By day’s end, five marines had lost their lives, and twenty were injured. When I finally laid my head down, I reflected on what happened that day: most of all the anguish-filled faces I saw. To this day I still do. Many unfortunate veterans of this war, as well as past conflicts, still have very vivid memories of their experiences. Many came home not being able to cope with family, friends and the world around them. They don’t come home asking for medals or for recognition. They only want peace and for all their friends to come home.
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“My Winter Wonderland”
Nick Rubino
Christmas is a wonderful time of year. You’ll spend time with the part of the family you think is weird but smile and talk to them anyway. Angry husbands will be outside hanging Christmas lights in the cold. Kids will be getting dragged through the mall while they’re crying. My experience is different though. I didn’t spend it in a place with snow on the ground, a big Christmas tree, or even with my family. I spent Christmas of 2005 in Iraq with my unit. It was about eighty degrees outside. Not as hot as you would think, but compared to Chicago, it was paradise. I didn’t have a horrible-looking sweater on. Instead, I was in uniform. Christmas Eve was pretty much the same as any other day. It was lonely and boring being away from my family. I’m not a huge family-type person, but this time it really set in. I was thousands of miles away from my family, and I had to admit it, I actually missed them. It may sound crazy to admit missing the chaos of one’s family. Everyone’s family drives them nuts; mine is no different: mom and dad fighting the whole time they are getting ready, me, my dad, and my sister waiting on the couch for my mom to get ready, going over to my aunt’s to see my uncle ignore the rest of the family that is female gendered. I wish I was making this up! Let’s not forget my crazy grandmother giving me and my sister a $20 gift and my cousins a couple hundred dollars worth of presents. Again, I’m crazy to miss it, but I did. I wasn’t the only one missing my family. Many of us had to bond together and be there for each other. I’ll quote myself on this one: “The Army: Forcing people to be friends for years.” A lot of the people I served with weren’t the type of people you or I would normally hang out with. That didn’t matter. White, black, green, blue, yellow. It didn’t matter. We were all in it together. It’s fascinating how people bond together in such situations. 14 egg
The morning of Christmas I remember waking up inTitles a dark tent. We stayed in these huge “carnival” style tents. They slept Author about 200, so a lot of noise didn’t really wake you up. I did, however, hear a lot of shuffling during the morning of Christmas. Was it Santa, who knows? When I woke in the morning I saw that my bosses had set up a tiny little Christmas tree and then hung glow sticks from it to look like the cheap little lights people hang up on their trees back home. The thought was cute, and I suppose it did the trick. They even had presents wrapped and put under the tree for us. It wasn’t much but a crappy T-shirt to remind me of the hell hole I was living in. It didn’t matter though. When people say, “It’s the thought that counts”—well, this time it was. Did this mean that spending my Christmas away from home was awesome? No. As a matter of fact, this may have ruined Christmas for me sub-consciously. Listening to Christmas music and decorating my house with crazy decorations just doesn’t do it for me. Am I ruined? I don’t know. How could this one event in history ruin Christmas for me forever? I don’t know that either. To me that shows more character than the parents at the mall forcing their child to take some picture on some old drunk’s lap.
Photo by Nick Rubino
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Photo by David Lapello
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Titles “Voices of the Deployed” Author Ashley Shields We all know someone who has served in the military, but have you ever asked them for their story? I had the privilege of asking four soldiers about their time in the U.S Military. Three of the soldiers are fellow students and the other is a friend’s older brother. You may find that some have seen more than most. Their story is the same—they served and they fought. Alan Quiggle is from my home town Worth, IL. He served in the Army between the years 1998 to 2001. His basic training took place at Fort Hill in Oklahoma. After he finished basic training he went to ATI where he was trained as a 14 Tango Patriot Station Enhanced Operator/Maintenance. By the time he was finished he was deployed to Saudi Arabia at the Prince Sultan Airbase. He was sent there for rotation, which lasted six months. He told me that the hardest part of being overseas, for him, was being away from his family. Alan also had a lot of help from one of his comrades Specialist Stinson, because he was in rotation with Alan. “It helped being with people I knew,” Alan stated. He didn’t see much of combat, but it was still a learning experience for him. Next was Bruce Hoover, who is one of the many students here at Robert Morris University who has served in the military. He went into the Navy between the years 2004 to 2009. He traveled all over, from Germany to Israel. He received his training at Great Lakes Naval Base in Illinois. Then he went to Norfolk Naval base where he was deployed onto the USS Anzio CG68, which is a Guided Missile Cruiser, as an Information System Technician. Bruce stated “I’m proud of the time I served, and I have lots of respect for the ones still there.”
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Titles Author Just like the others that you have read about Joe Lyon was in the National Guard. He was in the service for seven years from 2002 to 2009. His first base was at The National Guard in Crestwood Illinois. From there he went to Fort Hood, Texas. He was a Small Arms Repairman. He has traveled all over the states and has been in Kuwait and Afghanistan. He saw some combat. Becoming a solider is a task all in its own. When you become so used to having to protect not only yourself, but other men and women you fight alongside with, then get thrown back into civilian life, and have to relearn how to be a civilian again, can take a lot of effort. Shane Nirider, much like many others, has gone through this change. He was a Marine. His journey, like many others, has him going to Camp Lejune in North Carolina. From there he was deployed onto the ship USS Oak Hill for a humanitarian mission, MEU, which means Marine Expeditionary Unit, to bring supplies and medical equipment. His unit wanted to build a small hospital and schools as well as houses, but that mission was cut short due to RPG, Rocket Propelled Grenade, fire causing the ship to turn back. His second deployment was to Iraq. He flew from Cherry Point to a Marine Corp. Airbase in New York, then to Germany, to Kuwait, and finally to Iraq. There he acted as military patrol in Ramadi. He has been on many different patrols’ and convoys. He helped guard a detention center while other members of his unit were in Aliased. Shane’s voice became very somber and it seemed as if he was staring into a distant memory, as if he was reliving the past, as he said, “While we were there in those cities, I saw a lot of my brothers die. Two of them in my own arms.” He breathed deeply.
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Titles Author Shane was in Iraq for only seven months. In that time he was lent to a Force Recon Unit as a sniper because of his high marksmanship. He also revealed that while he was there, he had a lot of time to think and in those times he thought about human mortality—and that scared him. “You may hear me joke about these things if you pass me in the hallways, but it’s a defense mechanism that we were taught to make light of memories, so it doesn’t weigh heavy on our minds. Because we do a lot of things that we shouldn’t have to do to other people. Things our minds can’t comprehend. Because it’s hard to cope when you look into a man’s eyes as he dies. Knowing that it was you who killed him. Seeing the fear and you can almost see the thoughts about everything he’s done in his past. Then you remember that the man you just killed, killed someone else’s mother, brother, sister, son, father, daughter, wife, or husband and that is the beginning of coping. Because you know you just stopped him from hurting someone else’s family. Unfortunately, you realize you just ruined someone else’s family by killing this man, and the guilt is overwhelming. It never leaves you. It is something that will haunt me forever.” Like many others, Shane has gone through and has seen a lot. Tonight as you kick back on your couch, ready to watch your favorite show, remember one thing. Many good people, like Alan, Bruce, Joe and Shane, go through a living hell; they see and do things that people are not supposed to do to others. They do this to keep alive, what many of us take for granted, - Freedom.
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Photo by Nick Rubino
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Titles “October 31st,2008” Author Anonymous
I laid on the side of the road in agonizing pain, my skin stretchedthe black and blue stains. I made a desperate shot for my car, one mile away. Tears and anger stained the entire way. I was scared of what people would say. I kept it a secret - for about a day. Staggering into the ER, the doctor had turned me away. I’ll never forgive him, not to this day. He said I was faking, but the injury didn’t lieA month later they said, “You’ll never be able to run again”, this is it for the Army - This is the end. Not long after, they handed me a folded flag and shook my hand. But the pain in my foot still haunts me, taunts me and reminds me of that day, when being a Soldier was taken away.
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Titles Author
Photo by Russ Meredith
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Titles “Happiness” AuthorP. Gilbertson Brian I fight everyday to keep my feelings and emotion in check. I get asked questions and I truly feel like I need to jump through the hoops to satisfy the ones around me. This is an honest no shit paper of how I feel about reading literature and how I’m feeling fed up with the questions I am asked. I feel that there is something that that I am missing. I think it was lost somewhere in Iraq and although people see my face, they can never truly know what I’m hiding. I can smile and play the game, but inside these people around me are so different from me, and I feel like such an outsider and out of place. I learned something that helped me find some hope, that maybe there really is some happiness in helping others. I have to someway explain a little bit. To begin at where it first started would probably be the best place to start but I can’t see it that way. I see the pain, laughter, anger and frustration. I see the misunderstanding of people I didn’t know and a longing for them wanting to understand me. My first night outside the wire, I was ready, or I thought I was ready. I remember all the training I received that built up to the moment that meant everything to me. I was there to protect my buddies. They had families to go back to, and it would be my job to eliminate any threat that presented itself. It became more than that for me. I felt anger when the shooting started. I was so enraged that the Hajis were trying to kill me and my buddies. How dare they? I would not give them the satisfaction of fear. I would not allow them to see me scared. I was better than them, better trained, and I represented generations that came before me. I know not everyone felt like I did, but my anger for them kept me from becoming useless when the shooting started. I saw it happen to other guys, and it angered me, but I had to remember that not everyone felt like I did.
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Titles I remember the smell of burnt shell casings freshly ejected from my 50 cal, the sweat dropping and soaking into my body armor, the dirt covering my face and mixing in with my sweat. I Author had to readjust my night vision every so often to keep things in focus. The constant bouncing on the hard roads moved things around a lot. The adrenaline rushing through my veins with the satisfaction of seeing my rounds tear through a building where I saw muzzle flashes coming from. I felt more for the dogs on the streets then I did for the Hajis that were shooting at me. I remember telling my driver to swerve out of the way for a dog that wandered into the street, but 10 minutes later telling him to ram a vehicle that came too close to our convoy. The chow halls are where the real fun was at. I loved the food, I ate better in Iraq then I did back home. That was one thing I could really look forward to: walking into the chow hall, washing my hands, and then standing in a long but very fast moving line to get some good food. Every Sunday was all you can eat King Crab Legs and lobster, steak and A-1 sauce, fried chicken fingers nearly the full size of a chicken breast, Baskin Robbins ice cream, cheeseburgers, egg rolls, fries, breakfast burritos, eggs and bacon, sausage and potatoes, Gatorade, Red Bull, and everything else you could imagine. Down time on the base was spent either at the gym, which was so big and nice it rivaled expensive gyms you would pay for in the states, or writing emails back home from my hooch. We had internet, and when we were using it, we would hook up all our Xbox’s from one hooch to another using the Ethernet wires. We would then spend hours on end playing Halo - a bunch of guys fighting a war, playing a video game about fighting a war. It makes me laugh every time I think about it. Then there was Bell, Lamott, Karlan, Edwards, Ortiz and Ski. Those were my brothers. I would fight a bear for any one of them, and they would do the same for me. I miss them so much and never have I loved so greatly and felt so much for men I considered to be closer then family. There is no way I can explain or even begin to use words that would do justice to how much I truly felt for them. Even now I feel pain writing about them. 24 egg
Being home now, people don’t understand me. It’s hard Titles dealing with big crowds, feeling like I have to look over my shoulder Author everywhere I go. I feel naked and unprotected. I feel like I’m outside the wire with no protection or air cover, not even a radio to call a Blackhawk for a pick up. Every day when I go to sleep, I feel unprotected. I want to sleep with a weapon, like I did when I was over there, but if I did, I would be thought of as crazy. I am not crazy. I just see things differently now. I remember trying to get Lisa to agree to just at least let me sleep with my K-Bar at my bedside, I originally wanted it under my pillow. She freaked out and called me “Lt. Dan” referring to the character in “Forrest Gump” who gets wounded and becomes a wandering alcoholic war vet. It hurt so bad when she called me that. She could never know, she lives in her little bubble. I don’t want her to know, but I don’t want her thinking I’m crazy either. We got into a fight the other day, and she said that I use being a veteran as a crutch, and me being crazy as a crutch for when I get angry. She watched “Stop Loss” with me and couldn’t understand why I started crying when I saw the other soldiers in the hospital who were wounded in combat. It hurts because I care so much about her. I bite my tongue and put it all back inside that box I don’t open. People ask, but I’m afraid to open the box in front of them. I know what they will think and feel. In a word, they will think differently of me. Me the crazy one? Yeah right. I ask, will my anger end? It seems like I get so pushed so quickly now. My professors ask me questions like “Why is managerial accounting so important?” or “What is the difference between external and internal analysis?” or “why is literature important”. I fight to find the motivation that keeps me from being fed up. I just answer the question. I guess here, nobody is trying to blow up my Humvee, I still think though, if they did, I would not stop fighting until I eliminated them. So go ahead, try and hit my Humvee, try and shoot at my buddies. If you fight against me, I will end you. I will not die for my country; I will make you die for your cause, and then I will make your friends who support you think twice about trying to provoke this lion. If you hit me in the back, and you will see the lion’s teeth. Shipping Out 25
Titles I know that I had to do something different from what everyone else did when they came back home. I felt so numb to everything I liked before. It no longer had the same meaning. Author Snowboarding was now just something boring - like watching grass grow or something stupid like that. If I didn’t start doing something that was going to keep me on track and push me, then I knew I would fall into the cracks and get lost somewhere. All the time I was reminded of what really made me feel alive. It was the feeling when I put on my body armor, loaded my weapon, turned on my night vision and started hunting. They were out there, and I would find them. Then it happened, “Tango 219 taking fire!” “This is Ghostrider 121, we are enroute to your location, I see the fire, stand clear I’m opening up!” Smoke rose from the truck that was just hit with an rpg, jackknifed and nearly tipped over. I could see where the Hajis were shooting from. There were 3 of them trying to get inside the truck to capture the occupants. Rage filled me. I wanted them away from my buddies. I wanted them to go away, but they were already there, and I would make sure they never had another chance to do this to anyone else. I swiveled my turret and depressed my butterfly trigger on the 50. I aimed at the Hajis behind the mud and brick wall first and completely ceased their fire. My bullets tore through the walls like they were tissue paper. The others near the truck turned around to see their friends laying in a mangled mess, trying to crawl away. I then turned my weapon on them and watched as my rounds ripped through their bodies. I remember their bodies looking like ripped crimson rags of cloth being torn in 15 different directions. One of them was still alive when we rolled up. His lower body was detached from him and his intestines were hanging out as he crawled away from them. The TC got out and got the two truck occupants in our humvee. I put down fire on the building closest to us on the other side of the brick and mud wall. There were two men on the other side of the wall trying to crawl away. . I am not a person to put someone through more pain than is needed. I would have sent a medic for them, but as a convoy, we could not stop. We pulled out and continued to put fire down on the building, 26 egg
noticing the smell of gun powder, the smell of blood. That image is Titles forever burned into my mind. AuthorMy numbness begins, and I only care about my buddies now. What is the mission? I know what the mission is, to fucking hunt outside the wire and see if someone is stupid enough to pick a fight with us. I’ve never done drugs or any sort. I’ve only drank on special occasions. I have never had an addictive personality, until now. The adrenaline, smells and the anger, so addicting. So here I am now at school trying to keep a smile on my face so I can fit back into regular society while trying not to piss off the wrong people. Time and time again, I struggle to find the importance. Yeah, ok, it’s going to make me a richer person, more versed with life and culture. I will be able to understand better how not to repeat history and find the mysteries or life locked away in the words of some many great authors. Yeah, sure. I did find something though… Help others, and I can help find that happiness I lost a long time ago. That is what I need to do.
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Titles Author
Photo by Nick Rubino
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Titles “Sick Call” Author Nick Rubino So you wake up for work at about 5:30 am, and you feel like crap. You are experiencing flu-like symptoms and think you should stay in bed. Oh yeah, that’s right. You don’t get sick days in the Army. You don’t get to call your boss and tell him sorry, but you’ll be in tomorrow. So, let’s go through what we have to do to get this taken care of… 1. Get in your workout uniform, or “PTs”, and drive to work. Don’t forget your silly reflective belt that you’re going to wear in the day light. 2. Drive yourself to work all sick and miserable feeling. When you get to the gate for your ID check, you sit in what seems like a mile long line of cars. For some reason every unit at Ft. Bragg decided to have morning formation at 0630. This means you are not only sick and don’t feel like dealing with the ten minute long line, you also might be late for formation and by late, I mean you aren’t there at 6:20. Another funny thing is that on Mondays you have to leave 20 minutes early, but by Friday, there is no line. You get to the gate at the same time every day so where is everyone? There isn’t any day off. It’s like as the week goes on, less people come to work. I don’t get it... 3. You get to your unit, or place of work basically. It’s 6:28, and by now your phone has been ringing off the hook as you are looking for a place to park. The people you work with have been told by your boss to call you and see “where the hell” you are. For the record, you’re not late yet. As you drive by, everyone is in formation so now you are really nervous. The only place to park is on a grass median which is illegal, but hey, you gotta do what ya gotta do to be on time. Now, you do a full dead sprint to formation just in time for your boss to do roll call. Shipping Out 29
Titles 4. When your group is released to go do PT (aka run 4 miles), you finally get time to tell your boss that you think you have the flu. He tells you to suck it upAuthor and deal with it. You try to insist, and after much badgering, you finally talk him into letting you go to sick call. Sick call is basically the same as going to the doctor. He tells you to go upstairs and fill out a sick call slip. 5. So now you have a sick call slip, and you have to fill it out. You can’t decide what to write in the symptoms category. In the symptoms category, you write down, well, your symptoms. So if you have, hmm, something like hemorrhoids or it burns when you pee, you have to write it on this little piece of paper that your immediate boss, your highest boss, and a few other people at the clinic will be looking at. 6. Now you have to give this to your boss to hand to his boss. You can’t hand it to him yourself. You get a lec ture about how you should have come in at 6 if you wanted to go to sick call. You think to yourself, yeah, I got it. He also comments on your weight and your PT score and that you need to be doing PT and not going to sick call. Mind you, he will be staying at his desk while we all go workout. He does that every day. 7. So we go back outside. At 21 years old, I have my little permission slip signed to go to see the doctor. The head boss, the 1st SGT, comes out and calls everyone together to make any announcements, see who is missing, and then calls everyone to the side who is going to sick call. 8. So now, we’re alienated off to the side. We’re the lepers, outcast from the group. It feels like everyone is whispering about you being a shit bag. I don’t know if it’s some kind of warrior mentality or what, but if you miss the workout for one day, the guys will act like you’re not tough like them or something.
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9. The 1st SGT comes around and looks at your slip to see Titles what’s wrong with you. This clown has to point out Author how he has never been to sick call in his 18 years in the Army. Blah blah blah. “My ass you haven’t,” I say to myself. 10. After that ordeal, I’m pretty grumpy. I just want to go home and not deal with this. I get to the clinic, and there is a huge line. Yeah our health care is free, but you get to wait forever to get it. I should have gone in early. 11. I go to the check-in nurse who seems like I am inconveniencing her by asking her to do her job. Typically these women are wives of Army guys. The higher the rank of their husband, the snobbier they act. It’s like they think they hold the rank of their husband. I call these women the gatekeepers. They can make or break your day and your appointment time. 12. So now I am in-processed at the clinic. I get to sit and wait at this point. After 15 minutes, I finally get called. 13. I have to get my blood pressure taken, my height, my weight, and fill out a questionnaire. This is the same process you have to go through every single time you go to the clinic. The questionnaire is the best part of it all. It asks if you feel a loss of interest in things, if you feel suicidal, if you feel depressed, etc. One time for the hell of it I decided to check all the boxes yes. Much to my surprise, nothing happened. I didn’t even get asked about it. 14. So I’m back in the waiting room at this point—and I wait. I wait and wait and wait some more. After about an hour and a half, I finally get called. 15. I don’t actually get to see a doctor, I see a Physician’s Assistant, someone who is almost a doctor, but isn’t. They don’t have to carry mal-practice insurance, and they don’t get paid by the person. They get paid a flat rate by the government, so they couldn’t care less how fast they see people or how good of a job they do. Shipping Out 31
Titles 16. The PA is going to ask you a couple of questions and kind of act like you are faking it. I get that they would treat you like this because, in fact, a lot of people do Author fake injuries to get out of PT in the morning. If you go in for something like a cold or the flu, they ask you the same question every time, “have you been sick for longer than 10 days.” Now, as a seasoned veteran of going to sick call, of course I answered yes. If you don’t, you’ll get handed some cough syrup and sent on our way. 17. At this point, I literally have to tell the “doctor” what I want. It’s sad that I know the exact name of the antibiotics that I need and that I have to practically beg for them when I get sick. 18. I finally get my scrip written. At this point it took me something like 4 hours to get to this point. All that for about 10 minutes of this guy’s time. 19. I head on over to the Pharmacy to wait for my prescription. I got over there at about 10:45. I waited around until about 11:30, and then all of the sudden they shut all the gates over the windows. On a nice little sign I see something that says there is a lunch break from 11:30 to 12:30. Beautiful. 20. I guess I’ll go eat lunch and come back. My boss called and wants to know where the F@#K I am. I tell him everything that I have been dealing with, and he just tells me to hurry up and get back to work. He acts like there is something super-important going on. I call my buddy. They’re just sitting around. 21. I finally get my scrip after about, what, 6 hours since I got to work. Luckily, I talked the doctor into giving me “quarters” (aka, get to go home) for 24 hours. With some good acting, I get to go home and crawl back into bed for the rest of the day.
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21. I finally get my scrip after about, what, 6 hours since I Titles got to work. Luckily, I talked the doctor into giving Author me “quarters” (aka, get to go home) for 24 hours. With some good acting, I get to go home and crawl back into bed for the rest of the day. 22. Before I get to do that I have to go back to work to show my boss my permission slip signed by the PA. He’s not happy about it, but he has to let me. I can tell he’s judging me, but whatever, I’m almost done with this crap. 23. 13:30, home at last.
Photo by David Lapello
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Titles “The Chamber”
Author Sergio Alviso
On a hot afternoon in front of a cinder block room with no windows, we were told that this was the next phase in training. We had to go through the gas chamber, and as our instructors constantly reminded us, it was not going to be fun. We had this gear on top of our regular uniform, which was supposed to help in case of a biological attack, but it also made you feel extremely hot especially with the sun at full force that day. We had to run around in this gear and have our gas masks on. Breathing through a gas mask is a little more difficult than breathing without it, since the filter has to clean all incoming air. Running around in big circles with your body covered in layers of clothing and the sun at full shine was a nice way to spend the afternoon. Covered in sweat, we were ready to enter the room in small groups. The first group that went inside remained there for almost ten minutes. When they came out all of them were coughing and had tears in their eyes. Every other group had someone that came out throwing up, but I didn’t think much of it. Our group’s turn came up, and we entered the room. Someone inside was placing little tablets on a container that emitted smoke. The person in charge told us to start doing exercises with our masks still on. I didn’t see the point, since the mask was doing a good job at blocking the CS gas. Then when my sweat got in contact with the gas I started to feel a burning sensation on my skin. All exposed skin started itching, but I refrained from scratching because I knew it would itch more. They told us to lift off our masks from our faces. We did that, and I closed my eyes and held my breath for a couple of seconds until I heard them say it was okay to put our masks back on. I quickly put the mask back on, and at the same time my face felt like it was burning. I was surprised I was not coughing so I did not understand how the other groups all came out in such a bad shape.
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Titles Author The person in charge told us that we could see how much difference the mask made, and we could not help but agree. He then said we had to take our masks completely off and put them on top of our heads. I had a feeling that the worst was about to come. We took our masks off, and I closed my eyes and held my breath. I was going to do the same thing as before, but this time it was a longer time. I started to hear people coughing. I was still holding my air until almost everyone was coughing. Then I made the mistake of opening my eyes to look around - big mistake. As soon as I opened my eyes, tears started to stream down my face. This was nothing though. The worst was about to come. I couldn’t hold my breath any longer and thought that a small breath of air couldn’t do much harm. I let all the air I was holding out and inhaled. Instantly I felt something strange - the air felt hot and I started coughing. I had to inhale more of this air which, of course, resulted in more coughing. After what seemed to be forever, we were taken out of the room and into the open air outside. I was coughing and had tears in my eyes just like everybody else. Fortunately, I didn’t throw up like some of the others. This training was designed to improve your confidence in the gas mask, and it did its job. I tried telling them every year that I had full confidence in my mask when it was time for the yearly gas chamber training, but unfortunately that didn’t get me out of the required training.
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Titles “Crossing the Blue” Author Zakiyyah Woods
February 17, 2006, Lackland AFB, Texas—hundreds of excited friends and family scream—cameras flashing, and camcorders recording as they observed marching robots take their place. The sun was shining while we march down the rocky pavement, the sounds of three hundred overly excited trainees was all that I could hear! Loudly--we yell the Air Force cadence, (which are songs we sing while marching or running), dressed in our formal blue uniforms under our long trench coats, shiny black shoes, our chest poked out, while marching with coordinated arm swing (left foot forward, right arm forward, right foot forward, left arm forward), which for some was difficult to do “With two left feet!” Here goes nothing! “Everywhere we goooo, everywhere we goooo, people wanna knooow, people wanna knooow, whooo we aaarree, whooo we aaarree, soooo we tell them, soooo we tell them, we’re not the Aarmmyyy--the ground-pounding Army, we’re not the Naavvyy--the deck-swabbing Navy, we’re not the Marine Coorrppss--the jarhead Marine Corps, we’re not the Coast Guard--lazy lazy Coast Guard, we are the Air Force, we are the Air Force--the mighty mighty Air Force, the mighty mighty Air Force. Sound-off (1-2), sound-off (3-4), 1-2-3-4, (1-2, 3-4)”. At that very moment, I could feel chills and goose bumps flow down my slender body. The feeling of accomplishment - with flashbacks of the moment I arrived to Lackland AFB (as scared as Jerry was of Tom from the cartoon Tom and Jerry!), thanking God that it was finally “OVER!” Zakiyyah Woods, an 18 year-old young lady from the Southside of Chicago, Illinois (a city famous for amazing deep dish pizza and hotdogs) employee at KFC, (Kentucky Fried Chicken) and a party girl. She decided that boxing up chicken, preparing mashed potatoes, and dealing with whining customers was not her “Cup of Tea!” Although she was young, she was ready to escape from her parent’s home to start a new life far far away. 36 egg
She figured enlisting in the United States Air Force would be a Titles great way to do so, not even the deep dish pizza from Giordano’s, could keep her in Chicago. After grueling weeks of signing Author paperwork, medical exams, briefings, physical training (which did not help me one bit), and swearing oaths, she headed to Lackland AFB, Texas with a dozen other new recruits. I was lucky to meet great people who were also excited about what was to come. While waiting at the airport, four of us decided to go grab a big juicy burger, a large french fry, and a large chocolate shake to wash it all down “Yummy”. We were not sure when we would be able to eat delicious food like that again (at least that’s what my recruiter told me). Next thing I know, a tall lanky guy came stomping through the airport yelling, looking for the four of us (all we wanted was a stinking burger), obviously he didn’t give “A flying fuck (excuse my language)!” That’s when all the fun started! At 04:45 (military time), Reveille (a song you will learn to hate) sounds off throughout Lackland AFB (Air Force Base), Texas. The words “Get up get up get up” was all that was heard echoing throughout our enormous dorm room from Technical Sergeant Hayes (military instructor). I could hardly remember where I was, but all I could do was jump up anxiously out of my twin size bunk bed, and briskly run to my wall locker, which stood two feet away from the foot of the bed. Nervousness swam throughout my body, not knowing what to expect or even how to react to this situation. By now it’s approximately 06:00 a.m., time for the most important meal of the day, breakfast. Little did I know, clearly breakfast was not that important to them, only because we never had much time to eat! My technical instructor TSgt. Hayes (Technical Sergeant) always said “Give us breakfast, and we’ll give you lunch and dinner!” Meal time was often chaotic. So if your instructor says “it’s a nice sit-down time to eat”, he or she is full of it. But, then again, there are exceptions, “for people who are dying!” It’s now 06:30a.m., and it’s dorm setup, which means clean-up time (so much fun). By 09:00 a.m., everything from drilling, classes, record checks, shots, and uniform issue are all taking place. Now it is 17:00 (5:00 p.m.) which is usually Shipping Out 37
dinner time. The amount of time you get to eat depends on how Titles far along you are in basic training. Generally, the closer you get to
graduation, the longer you have to eat. 19:00 (7:00 p.m.), set up Author the dorm for night-time, clean-up details, shine your boots, align shoes, shine chrome along the floor, and roll clothes in our wall lockers. Sometimes we were able to have a “patio break” (snacks, and phone calls),” if the instructor feels that we have earned it. By 21:00, lights out. You’ll hear Taps (it indicates lights out), which means finish whatever it is you were doing “And get your ass in the bed” (If it was one thing I loved - it was that song) Integrity First Service before Self Excellence in All We Do Every day, thousands and thousands of proud individuals devote themselves to protecting freedom, upholding peace, providing relief and supporting policy around the globe: West coast, East coast, Europe, Persian Gulf, and the Pacific. For many young Americans, the benefits of serving your country can be magnificent: training, honor, education, travel, pay and most importantly--self-discovery. Nevertheless, military service is definitely not for everyone! It requires self-discipline, intense physical work, time away from family and friends, and teamwork while protecting America and its citizens at home and overseas. For some, these commitments inflict too great a burden. February 17, 2006, Melva Woods (my mother) states, “My two kids and I got up early that morning, excited about my daughter and her graduation from the United States Air Force. I really didn’t know what to expect, if she looked different, or maybe even gained or lost some weight. Around 8:00 a.m., we were told to attend a mandatory orientation, which gave all family and friends the “Run-down” of what was to come later on that day. After the orientation, we headed outside to line up for the Airman’s run (this occurs before the graduation). By the time I started to see a group of trainees running, I was almost in tears trying to hold back my emotions! I started smiling from ear to ear, and screaming “GO ZAKIYYAH, THAT’S MY DAUGHTER”, hoping she heard me! She looked like she lost some weight, and
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also got a little tan. They were shouting songs while they were Titles running, uniformed. I could feel the excitement from everyone; it was definitely an amazing moment. Author running, and it was so uniformed. I could feel the excitement from everyone; it was definitely an amazing moment. As we march towards all of our family and friends, fists clinched tight - two inches away from our side, with perfect arm swing “We look GOOD”. There were bleachers that were setup in an “L” shape. They were full, of family and friends from all over the world. Everyone was all there supporting their soon to be “Airmen in the United States Air Force”. I don’t know if I was more anxious about seeing my family, or finally being DONE with seven weeks of “HELL”. Anyway, one of the “Technical Instructors” began to sing the Star-Spangled Banner. Every Technical Instructor yells “Present Arms”, all military members, and trainees sharply salute - while friends and family stand up and place their hands over their hearts. This gesture takes place to pay respect to the flag. At that moment, I felt very proud to become a part of this remarkable team! It was no longer about all the hell I went through throughout those seven weeks: not being able to talk to my family on a regular basis, the lack of sleep, the technical instructors yelling in my face—telling me to get on my face (push-up time)! For the first time I felt that I was a part of something bigger than myself. The Graduation begins, “Left, left, left, right, left - left, left, left, right, left”, as I glance out the corner of my eye, I could see and hear family and friends crying, and taking pictures, screaming their kids’ name! Maybe for some, it brought back old memories. Then out of nowhere I hear, “ZAKIYYAH, ZAKIYYAH, WE ARE SO PROUD OF YOU!” I started to really put on my “A-game”, I began marching like I was about to win a GRAMMY! My heart was beating faster and faster, I wanted to look perfect for my family. My technical instructor yells - EYES RIGHT (quick 45 degree head turn to your right) - still marching on beat right next to and with the person to my right. Before I knew it, the graduation came to an end, and we were able to finally hug and kiss our parents and friends. My mom was still crying! Shipping Out 39
Although I was so very happy to see my mom, brother, and Titles sister, it was somewhat of a sad moment as well. I have gained so many great friends from the time I arrived to Lackland AFBAuthor to the time I graduated. We all shared a bond that no one else could ever fathom. From the first week of in-processing, learning to shut the hell up, working as team with everything we were told to do—to our half-way mark - which was Warrior Week! Living in a tent in the middle of January with only a sleeping bag, MRE’s (meals ready to eat - disgusting), a canteen full of water, helmet, simulated M-16, and a field jacket over our camouflage uniforms. Take a second and picture how hard it was to remove all of that crap just to utilize the latrine (bathroom in military terms), and showering was not even an option! I thought I died and went straight to HELL! Even though it has been over four years since that experience, I still remember everything like it was just yesterday. If I could do it all over again, I would - in a heartbeat! Maybe I’d even change the decision I made to separate from the military. I am proud to have served four years in the United States Air Force - it was a defining time in my life; one that I will cherish until the day I die!
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Photo by David Lapello
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Titles “The Gateway”
Author Laura Reich
Lackland Air Force Base, San Antonio, Texas, June 24, 2010. After being grounded for 3 hours at O’Hare Airport because of tornado warnings and then traveling over 1,200 miles via airplane with two young girls to San Antonio International Airport, picking up a rental van, getting lost, checking in and getting one hour of sleep, we finally arrived at Lackland Air Force Base’s main gate at 6:00AM. Why are we here? To see my (at the time) 19 year old son, Michael, graduate from basic training. Until this day, we had not seen him for over two months. His phone calls were very few and far between. They were timed, and you could hear the drill sergeant in the background yelling a countdown. No matter where I was when I got them, I dropped everything to hang on to his every word. It was hard to hear the homesickness and nervousness in his voice the first couple of calls. The helplessness I felt as his mother, not being able to comfort him in person really tested my composure, so wherever I was when those calls came in, I had to sound strong for the both of us. There we were, me and my two daughters: Samantha, 15, and Hayley, 13, waiting in a vehicle line with the rest of the families and friends to pass through the security gates. It was like waiting to get into heaven: you were either getting in or you weren’t if you didn’t have the proper clearance. I was so wound up that morning that I couldn’t figure out how to start the mini-van I had rented. I finally had to ask another hotel guest to help me only to find out that you don’t use the actual keys, they are for the trunk and doors! We were so nervous, tired and excited all at the same time. Where do we go, what do we do, how long until we get to see him, will they let us talk to him, will we recognize him? According to the USAF website, “The first stop for all Air Force, Air National Guard and Air Force Reserve enlisted personnel is basic military training at Lackland AFB, Texas. The 37th Training Wing, 42 egg
Lackland Air Force Base, San Antonio, Texas, is the largest Titles training wing in the Air Force. The 37th TRW provides basic military, Author professional and technical skills, and English language training for the Air Force, other military services, government agencies, and our allies. As home to the 37th TRW, Lackland Air Force Base is also known as the Gateway to the Air Force. The Gateway, as its name implies, means that enlisted personnel in the active Air Force, Air National Guard and Air Force Reserve all begin their careers here by completing Basic Military Training. In a typical year, between 30,000 and 40,000 new Airmen complete this intense, 8-1/2 week training course.” Thirty to forty thousand Airmen per year? If you take 8-1/2 weeks of training, divide it by 52 weeks in a year, then you average in 35,000 Airmen who annually graduate and divide that by 6, you are looking at about 5,800 people. Then you factor in their friends, families and military staff, that’s a lot of people! The 2000 census treated the base as a town. It is 6,835 acres = 10.6796 mi². Between the size of the base and the amount of anticipated people, were we even going to find him? We just followed the cars in front of us for a couple of blocks and parked in a small lot. It was a beautiful sunny day in Texas. My anxiety was growing stronger by the minute. My poor girls just remained silent following me closely because they were a bit anxious themselves. We had planned so long for this and the moment was finally here and none of us knew what to expect. We felt like lost lambs in the woods. After following more people, this time on foot, we encountered an information table set up with handouts of maps and an agenda of the two day extravaganza: Airman’s Run, Airman’s Coin Ceremony, Retreat, Parade/Graduation, Open House and Town Pass. This lessened my fears. Now I had something to follow. We figured out where his unit/flight would be standing for the Coin Ceremony and made a plan of where we would sit. Next, we had to go find a spot on the street that was located behind the lot where the Coin Ceremony was to take place to watch the Airman’s Run which was to take place first according to the agenda. That would be our first glimpse of Michael and all of the other cadets. We found our spot and sat on the curb and Shipping Out 43
and waited. We still had another half hour before they would Titles come, and the street was slowly filling up. As that half-hour ticked by, the girls and I people-watched. There was every race, Author nationality, age, size and shape, including newborns and infants that you just knew this was their first time meeting their fathers. People were dressed up and down or like us, in between. Some were holding signs they made for their Airman and we all had cameras or camcorders on the ready. I was making phone calls and texting family that we made it and we’re OK because it was so late when we got in, we were just waiting now. Finally, in the distance, you hear the “jodies” (they are traditional call-and-response work songs sung by military personnel while running or marching). Then you see the first flight coming. I just held my Flip camcorder in front of me and held the record button down and prayed I would not miss him. I was a wreck again, trying to hold the camera straight and not cry because I was so overwhelmed with mixed emotions: happiness, pride and anticipation of that moment when we would see him. They each had their own banner that told you their unit and flight. The worst part was they all looked the same! We actually missed him the first time he ran by but thankfully, they turned around and came back so you could get a second chance if you didn’t see them the first time. The second time was it, we seen him and the girls screamed “there he is!” I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was so thin from all of the training and diet and red from being out in the Texas heat all those weeks. I was starting to relax a little more now that I had seen him but the heat was growing more intense by the hour. The Airman returned to their barracks to put on their dress blues; their full uniform. Every piece of clothing on them has to be worn a particular way; they are very strict so they needed some time to get ready. While they were gone preparing for their coin ceremony, the girls and I got our seats in the bleachers (they were thankfully shaded). I left the girls to save our seats while I went to the gift shop to get souvenirs; bumper stickers that said “Proud Grandparent of a US Airman” t-shirts for me and the girls and of course, waters. Again, the band starts up, the stands are packed, people are waving their maps and agendas like fans in front of their 44 egg
faces to cool themselves, all the important officials march in and Titles take their places at the podium and chairs set aside for them. Shortly Authorafter, they announce all the flights and units as they too march in and stand in their predetermined positions in the open lot. After a half-hour or so of speeches, anthems and other ceremony rituals, the MTs (Military Trainees) pass out the coins to each of their Airman. They receive these coins after completing their field training. They symbolize their right to be called “Airman” and it is supposed to be one of the most significant events in their military careers. Once this ceremony is complete, we were allowed to walk out onto the lot and find them. The Airman were not allowed to move until we found them and anyone who didn’t have someone there for them, had to wait until they were told they could leave. I felt so bad for some of those people but so blessed that we were able to be there for Michael. It was chaos though, so many people pushing through each other to find their person. When we got to him, we all fell apart crying and laughing. I hugged him like I hadn’t seen him in years! After that he was allowed to leave for a few hours on his Town Pass (Friday afternoon and all day Saturday they are able to leave the base and visit the local San Antonio area). Michael got his belongings and we headed back to our hotel which was less than ten minutes away. All he wanted to do was sleep in the air conditioning and in a real bed for a bit. So, we let him rest while the girls, and I swam. Later we grabbed dinner and then had to bring him back to the base. The next day was graduation! Now I am really feeling better; we are all relaxed, and I actually knew where I was going. We headed back to the base at 7AM, boarded buses that took us to an airfield where the ceremony was to take place. Again, we found our places in the bleachers with cameras ready. The girls were exhausted but were staying strong for me and their brother. The bands began their march and the flights fall behind in formation and parade in front of us. More announcements and speeches follow. The ceremony is finalized with all of the Airmen reciting their oath of enlistment - more tears of pride. We all met on the field after its conclusion, and he left with us for the day. We ate Shipping Out 45
plenty of meals, shared a ton of laughs (the training stories were Titles the best), caught a minor league baseball game, saw Toy Story 3, shopped, visited the Riverwalk in downtown San Antonio, Author took a bunch of pictures and just relaxed. Sunday came too fast for me. It was difficult to say good-bye once more, but life had to go on. Again, bad weather in Chicago delayed our flight back home, but we were happy because we gained a few more hours of time with each other. Finally, back on the ground around 10PM in Chicago, the girls and I headed for the car in the long term lot after being dropped off by the shuttle bus. It was a quiet drive home with the girls asleep, but it gave me time to absorb the events of those past few days with my family. We were a team again for a short time and shared in something that would stay with us forever and something that no one could ever take away. We made it through those gates, the gateway; we saw and rejoiced.
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Photo by Nick Rubino
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