Toll in Iraq War a Grim Milestone
Tempest
By Sharon Cohen and Pauline Arrillaga The Associated Press
http://ap.tbo.com/ap/breaking/MGB62TSUUYD.html
Their faces, smiling or solemn, are all too familiar in our newspapers
and on television. Their names sound a somber roll call - Smith,
Falaniko, Ramos, Lee - a roster that seems to grow daily.
U.S. military deaths'in the Iraq campaign passed 1,000 on Tuesday.
Thg troops lost are sons and daughters from city streets and rural
hamlets. They are teens who went from senior proms to boot camp and
battle, and middle-aged family men who put aside retirement and
grandchildren for the dangers of a war zone.
What they share is they will not see home again.
What does the number mean? On D-Day alone, more Americans lost their
lives. At the peak of Vietnam, hundreds of U.S. troops were dying each
week. And in just one September morning three years ago, 2,792 people
perished when two towers crumbled to the streets of New York.
Still, 1,000 is a grim milestone.
The conflict in Iraq has claimed almost three times the number of
Americans lost in the entire Persian Gulf War. And this time, the vast
majority of U.S. deaths - all but 138 - came after major combat
operations were declared over. "Mission Accomplished," read a banner on
the aircraft carrier where President Bush spoke on May 1, 2003. Sixteen
months later, the fighting goes on. So do tje funerals.
The lengthening casualty roster reflects a front line that shifted from
sandy deserts to shadowy streets, a stubborn insurgency, a conflict far
bloodier than many expected.
Back home, there is another growing count: Towns that lost future
firefighters and policemen, churches left without Sunday school
teacherq, families where infants will never meet their dads.
"It's almost like losing a community," says Luis Pizzini, al educator in
San Diego, Texas. Two of his former studgnts died in Iraq.
Ruben Valdez, 21, and Jose Amancio Perez, 22, grew up on the same block.
Now, the two young men lie buried a few feet apart.
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The fallen are an American mosaic.
The youngest was just 18. The oldest, 59. More than half had not seen
their 30th birthday, according to an Associated Press analysis of
Department of Defense statistics for those who died since the war
started on March 19, 2003.
The number of troops who have died reached 1,000 with the death *of a
soldier early Wednesday in Iraq; three civilians working for the
Pentagon in Iraq were also killed. The tally was compiled by AP based on
Pentagon records and AP reporting from Iraq.
Of those who have died, 97 percent were men; about two dozen were women.
While more than 600 were white, others were black, Hispanic, Asian and
American Indian.
There were kids who had never fired a shot at an enemy, and veterans of
Desert Storm, Bosnia, Kosovo - even Vietnam.
They hailed from the urban bustle of Chicago, New York and Houston, as
well as the cornfields of Silvana, Wash., and the coal mine country of
Varney, W.Va. - and from every state but Alaska.
They represented U.S. territories, and more than three dozen were born
in foreign countries, including Thailand, India and Poland. While many
had been naturalized, at least 10 died reaching for their vision of the
American dream: to become U.S. citizens.
Army Pfc. Diego Rincon, a native of Colombia, was among them. After he
was Iilled in a suicide bombing, his father, Jorge, lobbied Congress,
which passed legislation giving posthumous citizenship to his
19-year-old son and other foreign-born soldiers killed in battle.
Jose Gutierrez grew up an orphan in Guatemala, crossed the border
illegally, obtained a visa, graduated from high school, and eventually
became a Marine. At age 28, the lance corporal was buried in his native
land, an American flag covering his casket.
In a poem called "Letter to God," Gutierrez once wrote: "Thank you for
what I have ... for my dreams that don't die."
(The Iraq war also has claimed the lives of more than 120 foreign troops
who were part of the U.S.-led coalition; about half were in the British
military. Some 135 Americans have died in anti-terror operations in
Afghanistan, Pakistan and other countrieq.)
Although most - more than 700 - were in the Army, Americans who have
died in the Iraq war wore the uniforms of every branch of service. Among
them was the first Coast Guardsman to die in combat since Vietnam.
Some 80 percent were in the active-duty military, the remainder in Guard
and Reserve units.
About 70 percent were killed in action, and there were more than 160
accidental deaths, many involving vehicles.
Yet numbers are only part of the story.
Those who died were as different as they were the same: There were
homecoming kings and class presidents, Scout leaders and Little League
coaches. A young man from the projects who put a hip-hop beat to
"Amazing Grace" on the bus to church camp. A lawyer fascinated with
tanks. An Army specialist nicknamed "Ketchup" who would sneak food to
Iraqi children.
There was Trevor Spink, a 36-year-old staff sergeant in his third tour
in Iraq. His steady, confident gaze was once the face on Marine
recruitment posters. Now, his mother has decided, that portrait will
adorn his tombstone.
There was Army pilot Aaron Weaver, 32, who had survived cancer and a
rocket attack in the 1993 battle of Mmgadishu, Somalia, recounted in
"Black Hawk Down." The Bronze Star recipient and father of a baby girl
was so determined to go to Iraq, he secured special medical clearance so
he could fly.
"Nobody wants to leave their buddies behind," says his father, Mike
Weaver. "Being an Army Ranger - it's a close-knit family."
So many were so very young, men and women just beginning lives filled
with promise.
Marine Lance Cpl. Aaron Austin, 21, proposed to fiancee Tiffany Frank by
telephone fpom Iraq. They set a wedding date, Dec. 11.
"We had the church reserved, the pastor reserved, the reception hall
reserved," Tiffany says. "Now I can only dream about what we would have
had."
Roger Rowe already had everything he wanted: A 34-year marriage to his
childhood friend, four children and seven grandchildren who called him
"Papa." Still, at 54, the Vietnam veteran had no hesitation about
serving in Iraq as part of the Tennessee National Guard.
"He said, 'What a lifetime experience this will be to be able to help
that country,'" remembers his widow, Shirley. "He was always an optimist."
Others saw the military as a steppingstone: a way to save money for
college, buy a first home, broaden horizons - or build a career.
James Adamouski, a 29-year-old Army captain, had already served in
Bosnia and Kosovo and had many accomplishments: He was a West Point
graduate and former semiprofessional soccer player in Germany. He also
was about to start Harvard Business School, and had his eye on politics.
During a Memorial Day visit to the White House last year, his father,
Frank Adamouski, spoke briefly with President Bush about what might have
been. "I always knew I was going to have breakfast in the White House,"
he recalls saying. "But I always thought my son was going to be
president when I did."
Army Pfc. Jesse Buryj had his own plans - to become a Canton, Ohio,
police officer. He enlisted because he was too young to join the force.
The 21- 1/2ear-old newlywed died a hero, credited with saving fellow
soldiers when he fired more than 400 rounds at a dump truck attempting
to crash a checkpoint.
"I know he went out in a blaze of glory," says his mother, Peggy. "They
say he showed no fear and gave no ground."
Others expressed bitterness over the loss of loved ones in a war they
considered unjustified.
"It just rubbed salt in the wound to hear them talk about, well maybe
they didn't have all the information, maybe the intelligence was
faulty," says Oliva Smith, whose 41-year-old husband, Bruce, was killed
when a missile downed his helicopter.
There is another void almost too great to fathom: More than 500 sons and
daughters have been left without a father, and at least five boys and
girls lost their mothers.
Some two dozen soldiers had wives who were pregnant, men like
23-year-old Micheal Dooley - who had picked a name, Shea, from afar for
his first child. His widow, Christine, now takes Shea to the mausoleum
where Dooley rests, presses her daughter's hand to her own lips and then
to the wall of the crypt, telling her: "That's the way we kiss Daddy."
These 1,000 men and women are home again, their war over.
The Rincon house in Conyers, Ga., is filled with memories of Diego: His
neatly pressed uniform is spread out on his bed, his framed citizenship
papers are on the wall.
Diego Rincon was cremated, but he has not been laid to rest. His family
isn't ready for the final goodbye.
"One day when I'm old," his father says, "I'm going to bury him in
Arlington. But not now. Not right now."
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"Ignorance is an evil weed, which dictators may cultivate among their
dupes, but which no democracy can afford among its citizens."
- William H. Beveridge, 1944