A bad month in Afghanistan rippled across the US
Jim Higgins
http://tinyurl.com/ycxfuzx
Every afternoon, seven days a week, Ed Epley has a 5 p.m. appointment
with the war.
He pulls a protest sign from his maroon 1961 Volkswagen van - he has
30
to 40 stashed inside - and joins a one-hour peace vigil at the Benton
County courthouse in Corvallis, Ore. Epley has been doing this, day
in
and day out, since the U.S. launched its first air strikes on
Afghanistan on Oct. 7, 2001.
"I really don't look at it as a job, it's just part of the daily task
of
being a citizen," says the 73-year-old retiree.
More than eight years later, this small, 365-day-a-year vigil may
seem
quixotic. But it stands apart for another reason: It has kept a
steadfast focus on the war. Even though hundreds of thousands of
troops
have served, even though more than 800 members of the military have
died, the marathon war in Afghanistan has, for long stretches, been
off
the nation's radar.
But one terrible month changed all that.
A record number of deaths in October forced the nation to take new
notice of Afghanistan as debate raged over whether President Barack
Obama should send tens of thousands more troops there.
The deaths of 62 Americans - including three federal agents - in
ambushes, roadside bombs and helicopter crashes turned a spotlight on
an
often overlooked reality: The war is forever shaping lives here.
In the month of October, that was painfully clear as young children
learned their fathers were gone; as young men who not long ago donned
high school football uniforms were mourned; as some soldiers came
home,
and others prepared to leave for a war that began its ninth year.
In these 31 days, the war rippled across America.
---
IN AFGHANISTAN, AN AMBUSH ...
The attack was quick and brazen.
With guns, rocket-propelled grenades and mortar shells, hundreds of
insurgents stormed a remote U.S.-Afghan outpost deep in the mountains
of
northeast Afghanistan. They attacked simultaneously from three sides -
a
mosque, buildings and a perch on high ground in the Kamdesh district.
The fighting at Combat Outpost Keating lasted almost six hours;
rocket
and machine gun fire left large parts of the base in flames.
When the deadliest battle in more than a year was over, scores of
insurgents were dead, but so were eight Americans and three Afghan
soldiers; 24 other Americans were among the injured.
The dead Americans were based at Fort Carson, Colo. They were members
of
the Fourth Brigade Combat Team, which already has suffered staggering
losses in Iraq: 64 deaths and more than 400 wounded in a 2004-2005
deployment.
What happened that first Saturday in October was soon felt in homes
from
Applegate, Calif., to Kincheloe, Mich., to Lovettsville, Va.
It was not just eight families, but teachers, coaches, pastors,
friends
and neighbors who mourned.
There was Spc. Christopher Griffin, a History Channel and Green bay
Packers fan; Staff Sgt. Justin Gallegos, who doted on his 5-year-old
son; Sgt. Joshua Hardt, who enjoyed fishing in the Sierra Nevada
mountains; Sgt. Joshua Kirk, a devoted husband and father; Staff Sgt.
Vernon Martin, who married his high school sweetheart and loved
children
(they had three), music and basketball; Sgt. Michael Scusa, who
prepared
for Army life as a teen marching around the neighborhood with a
brick-loaded backpack; Pfc. Kevin Thomson, an occasional prankster
who
adored the movie "Ghostbusters"; and Spc. Stephan Mace, a hunter,
fisherman and paintballer whose adventurous palate extended to raw
rabbit.
By time October was over, the losses would expand to 28 states in
this
one month.
---
IN NEW JERSEY, A ROLL CALL ...
In the quiet of his office at Temple Emanu-El in Westfield, N.J.,
Rabbi
Douglas Sagal devotes part of each Friday afternoon to the war.
Using a Department of Defense Web site, he gathers a weekly list of
those who died in Afghanistan and Iraq so he can read their names
aloud
at Friday night services.
Before the war in Iraq, Sagal told his congregation it would be
unforgivable if the nation proceeded as normal while men and women
were
fighting - and dying - overseas. And that, he says, is exactly what
happened.
So about five years ago, Sagal decided to do his part to remember the
fallen.
"It came out of my belief that really the great sin of our time,
maybe
the great sin of our generation is we send people to war and we
insist
on living our lives as if nothing is happening," he says. "I made a
promise to myself that we are going to know the names of those who
have
died in the service of our country."
Every Friday, just before the Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the
dead,
Sagal recites the list of war casualties since the last Sabbath.
After
the services, he says veterans or those with family in the military
invariably thank him.
"There's an unfair burden being brought on a small percentage of the
population," he says. "At the very least, we as a nation need to
understand there's an enormous price for the political decisions we
make
or support."
---
IN DELAWARE, A SALUTE ...
Inside the cavernous C-17 transport plane, Capt. Pete Hudlow had a
solemn - and unforgettable - glimpse of the cost of war.
On a chilly pre-dawn morning in late October, the Air Force captain
was
part of an extraordinary scene that unfolded in the darkness at Air
Force Mortuary at Dover Air Force Base. The president had arrived to
honor 18 of the war dead being returned home.
Obama's presence was striking not just because it was unprecedented
but
also because Dover's ceremonies have long been cloaked in secrecy. It
wasn't until this spring that the secretary of defense lifted an 18-
year
ban and allowed media to film transfers - if the grieving family
approves.
As much of the nation slept, Hudlow, a 40-year-old captain from
Tinker
Air Force Base (he's on temporary assignment) walked through the
cargo
area, verified the identifications, checked on the American flags
covering the metal transfer cases and made sure all were in the
proper
order to be removed.
Then, the honor guard teams escorted the fallen off the plane.
"Everything is deliberate, everything is planned, everything is done
with the utmost respect and focus on what we're doing," he says.
"There's a reverent, ceremonial mindset. Nothing about it is routine."
"It's a somber thing when it's one of the fallen," he adds. "But it's
a
little bit more emotional when you walk go into the aircraft, it has
no
cargo, and on the floor there are 20-something cases. ... It's
humbling.
It's got some sadness.
"We do what we're tasked to do. We give them the dignity and honor as
best we can."
The last soldier carried off was Sgt. Dale Griffin of Terre Haute,
Ind.,
son of a Mormon bishop, Eagle Scout, champion wrestler. (His family
was
the only one that allowed the media to photograph the return.)
After meeting with the families, Obama marched onto the plane where a
prayer was offered, then walked down the ramp and witnessed the
remains
being removed. He offered a crisp salute.
At 4 a.m., Hudlow's mission was over.
"There was a sense of accomplishment," he says. "We got these guys
back
on American soil."
---
IN CONNECTICUT, A TRIBUTE ...
Capt. Benjamin Sklaver's contributions reached halfway around the
world.
Though he was just 32, the Army reservist already had launched his
own
nonprofit clean water organization, worked on refugee health issues
for
the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and built wells
in
Uganda, where one villager dubbed him "Moses Ben."
The rabbi at his funeral told more than 1,000 mourners that Sklaver
was
"a warrior for peace."
If one of war's tragedies is lost potential, no one personifies that
more than Benjamin Sklaver.
Sklaver, killed Oct. 2 by a suicide bomber, founded the ClearWater
Initiative after returning from service in 2007 in northern Uganda.
As
part of a civil affairs unit there, he helped bring clean water to
embattled villages, building wells and creating protected springs in
area where pregnant women and children suffered from dysentery and
malaria.
"He believed in simple solutions," says David Abraham, his graduate
school roommate. "He saw water as a way to give people hope. He
thought
of the little things that would inspire people," remembering how
Sklaver
once used excess piping to build a soccer post for Ugandan children.
Friends say Sklaver was trying to meet with local leaders outside
Kandahar when he was killed. "He would tell me it was a dangerous
place
but he said, 'We're making progress. We'll get there,'" Abraham says.
His friends will now carry on his organization that has provided
almost
7,000 people, mostly Ugandans, with fresh water. The goal is to
increase
that to 250,000 within 10 years.
Still, they can't help wonder what might have been with Ben at the
helm.
"We'll never see," Abraham says, "what ideas he would have brought
back
from Afghanistan."
--
IN MASSACHUSETTS, A TOWN MOURNS ...
The yellow ribbons appeared almost immediately around light poles and
trees in North Attleboro, Mass. So, too, did the U.S. flags, candles
in
windows and lawn signs that read: "Rest Easy, Capt. Kyle Van De
Giesen."
In a town of 28,000, the death of a war hero travels with lightning
speed. It was a deeply personal loss to those who remembered the
little
boy who dreamed of flying, the star quarterback they cheered on
Friday
nights, the charismatic Marine who could tell a joke and make
everyone
laugh.
"This was a big blow to the town," says Mike Kirby, editor of The Sun
Chronicle and next door neighbor of the Van De Giesens. "He triumphed
at
everything he did in life. He was a Pop Warner football champ, a high
school football champ, a college football quarterback and a Marine
captain. I think people were aghast that ... this war would defeat
him."
Van De Giesen, 29, was killed Oct. 26 in a helicopter crash in
Afghanistan.
North Attleboro paid tribute with a moment of silence at a high
school
football game and a candlelight vigil that attracted thousands. Folks
lined the streets, clutching American flags as his funeral procession
wound its way through town, passing his house, his schools, the
football
field where, as a Red Rocketeer, he'd scored so many touchdowns.
It was particularly poignant for Kirby.
He had attended Van De Giesen's high school and college graduation
parties, his Marine pinning ceremony party, his wedding and his
daughter's baptism more than a year ago. At that time, Kirby says,
Van
De Giesen - who had served two tours in Iraq - told him he had asked
to
go to Afghanistan. "I signed up to defend my country," he said.
Van De Giesen was the first person from North Attleboro to die in
action
in war since 1970.
He was killed on his last mission before he was to head home to
welcome
the birth of his second child, Colin Joseph. The baby arrived four
days
after his father's funeral, on the day Van De Giesen was supposed to
reunite with his family.
"To die under these circumstances," Kirby says, "it's just much too
much."
---
IN VERMONT, A COUNTDOWN ...
Her husband has just left home to prepare for his second tour in
Afghanistan and Betsy Charlesworth already in wondering what it will
mean for their year-old son, Marty.
How, she wonders, will he react when his father returns after being
away
a year?
"I said to Rob ... 'Marty is not going to know you and he may be
afraid
of you.' It breaks my heart. It absolutely breaks my heart," she says.
They'll be in touch by phone and Web cam, but Betsy says, "I am fully
prepared for him (Marty) to look at Rob and say, 'Who are you and why
are you in my house?' ... That's probably the toughest thing. He's
probably not going to remember him."
Rob Charlesworth, a 39-year-old lieutenant colonel in the Vermont
National Guard, flew to Fort Polk, La., at the end of October. He'll
deploy early next year, one of 1,500 "Green Mountain Boys."
He'll be back for the holidays, but Betsy says they've already
prepared
for his departure: Rob has handed over the bill-paying duties and
written his will. She has adopted his 11-year-son, Myles, from a
previous marriage.
She tries to remember the lessons of her husband's first tour in 2003
-
they were just dating then - when he told her not to panic every time
she heard about bloodshed in Afghanistan.
Still, Betsy knows Afghanistan is "a scary place."
"People ask me, 'Why don't you tell your husband to get out of the
Army?
You have three children. He could die.' But this is his passion," she
says. "This is what he has been called to do. We all will die. I feel
that if God is going to call him in Afghanistan, that's what's meant
to
be. He could also walk out the door and be killed. ... I just pray
that
he comes home safe and sound and we're all family again."
---
IN LOUISIANA, READYING FOR TOUR NO. 4 ...
Col. Will Roy knows exactly what his 83-year-old father thinks about
his
fourth tour to Afghanistan.
"My dad keeps saying, 'You've done enough. You've done enough,'" says
the 49-year-old colonel who arrived in Fort Polk, La., in October to
prepare for his deployment.
Next year, Roy will lead the 86th Infantry Brigade Combat Team, which
has more than 3,000 soldiers, about half from the Vermont National
Guard. It will train and mentor Afghan security forces.
Roy says he reminds his father, Henry, of his service in the Marines
in
the Pacific during World War II - he signed up when he was 16 - and
how
he was away for five years. "So what I'm doing - there is no
comparison," Roy says.
But he does appreciate his father's angst. When his own son, Adam,
now
22, was deployed to Afghanistan - he returned last summer - they had
a
final phone call, where he told the young man he was proud of him,
urged
him to keep his head down and do the right thing.
Then he called his elderly father and said, "'Hey, Poppy, I really
didn't understand what you were going through. Now I get it.'"
Roy says he's excited about returning to Afghanistan, where he has
many
friends. He's determined to help bring peace and stability to the
country.
"When people ask me how long we should be in Afghanistan or Iraq, my
response is 40 years," he says. He knows that raises eyebrows but, he
says, he's not talking about a huge military presence - but a full
international economic and diplomatic commitment to get the country
back
on track.
He likes to provide a biblical analogy to his soldiers:
"How long," he asks, "did Moses take the Jews into the desert?"
And then he answers: "Forty years."
---
IN OREGON, THE VIGIL GOES ON...
Meanwhile, Ed Epley is in year nine in the vigil at the county
courthouse in Corvallis.
He's among 8 to 12 regulars who gather from 5 p.m. to 6 p.m. -
weekends
and holidays included.
Mike Beilstein, a city council member, still comes by a few times a
month. He helped launch the vigil in 2001 when he brought a "Peace on
Earth" sign to the courthouse the day after the first air strikes on
Afghanistan.
"We never feel we're wrong, but we've asked ourselves is this the
best
way to address the issue," Beilstein says. "Would I be more effective
going home writing letters? That question has been there from the
start
and it's there now, but now that we've been doing it, how do we quit?"
Most days, about 10 people or fewer show up. On the October
anniversary
of the war, about 50 did. When big announcements are made - including
events tied to the Iraq, which also is part of the protest - the
numbers
swell.
They've endured shouts of "nuke them," "go back to Russia," "dirty
hippies, get a job." Motorists have pelted them with cans and food.
They've also been greeted with peace signs, honks of support and
letters
from as far as New Zealand and Tunisia. (Al-Jazeera taped a segment
on
the vigil.)
"The message does get out," Epley says. "It's really hard to tell how
much effect we're having. People will stop by and write letters and
say
they do appreciate we're out there. That's what keeps us going. ... I
think most of us realize we're never really going to win world peace."
As for the future?
"I don't know what the signal is going to be to say, 'Let's call it
quits,'" he says. "We never thought we'd be here this long."