A friend (Anthony F.) of mine shared his story (November of 2007) how "things just fell in place" (God's perfect timing) with him getting accpeted as chaplain assistant for a Minnesota unit (based in Brainard) in the National Guard. The story mainly goes way back when he was living in Arizona. His former pastor (now deceased) kind of gave him a hint that he would be doing this years before. The word became confirmed when he moved back to Minnesota to live close to his parents here in the Morris area (Starbuck to be exact) this summer (2007). He was going to attend school in Minnesota State University-Moorhead for Mechanical Engineering because he knew he was "called" into church ministry and his heart was to learn how to run the sound-board if he was ever going to be in pastoral leadership of a church. In the mean-time, he had to make money and he ended up applying to the the Minnesota National Guard. The person interviewing him learned about his interest (ministry) and wanting to earn some money in the side, so he suggested to Anthony about being a chaplain! There happened to be only open position available, which with God's grace and provision-he got it! Currently, he is "preparation training" before the actual duty beginning next Fall. Anthony just was encouraged to see this all fall threw, which God was just preparing him for this-"for such a time as this".
"And who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?""-Esther 4:13-15
"The stories of Minnesota soldiers dating back to World War II are being shown in a film competition put on by the Minnesota Historical Society this summer.
Dr. Raymond Scalan, a soldier who helped save lives in World War II, is now a doctor at Abbot Northwestern.
He is part of the "Greatest Generation," but he is not only a war hero, he also survived the Depression.
Filmmakers have access to professional help and history center resources.
There are cash prizes, totaling more than $10,000. But the point of the competition is to bring different generations together.
"It actually connects people from my generation, with that generation and allowing them to sort of open up," Amanda Becker said, a participant in the competition.
The Historical Society will archive all film entries, preserving the stories for generations to come.
"
Minn. man gives millions in fund to soldiers, Posted at: 02/25/2008 08:47:17 PM
By: Nicole Muehlhausen, Web Producer (KSAX.com) "As the war in Iraq continues, so does the need to support the troops when they return home. One Minnesota man is taking it upon himself to provide some assistance.
Gene Sit created the Minnesotan�s Military Appreciate Fund to help soldiers and their families.
Shane and Michelle Clifton, of South St. Paul, both served in the Iraq war with the Navy, which means both qualify to receive a grant from the fund.
"I think it's amazing, I think it's wonderful. It's something you can never say thank you enough," said Michelle Clifton.
The Cliftons aren�t alone. The fund has awarded grants to 6,000 Minnesota military members, totaling more than $4 million.
The organization was started by Sit, who never served in the military and was actually born in China.
Sit said he came to America as a penniless child to escape the community revolution. He studied hard, worked hard, and eventually began his own successful investment firm.
He said for all U.S. gave to him, he wanted a way to give back.
"I'm very appreciative in terms of the freedom. The opportunities that we have," said Sit.
A few years ago, Sit started the Minnesota�s Military Appreciate Fund with more than a million dollars of his own money.
"We have this great country today because of the sacrifices of these men and women," Sit told 5 EYEWITNESS NEWS.
All Minnesota military personnel who served in a combat zone can receive $500. Those wounded in combat are eligible for $2,000 to $10,000.
"Some are using the money to go back to school. Some are using to pay everyday bills," Sit explained.
The families of those killed in combat qualify for a $5,000 grant.
"He's just as much as a hero as the folks over there, because it's so appreciated," said Shane Clifton."
New memorial honors WWII vets
Updated: 06/09/2007 10:25:19 PM
ST. PAUL (AP) - Vivid stories of bombing runs over Germany and beach landings in Iwo Jima flowed freely Saturday among thousands of World War II veterans who gathered at Minnesota's Capitol to dedicate a memorial to their cause.
Many showed up dressed in their military best, displaying chests full of medals and saluting fellow soldiers as they passed. Some flashed tattered enlistment cards and time-worn photos before snapping new shots next to war buddies, spouses, children and grandchildren.
"Everything we enjoy today - security, prosperity and the ability to enjoy freedom - was bought with the price of their service," Gov. Tim Pawlenty told a crowd estimated by Capitol security officials to be 22,000. "They set aside their dreams, so we could live ours. Today, we dedicate this memorial in honor of the greatness and goodness that Minnesota's World War II veterans gave the world."
The glass-and-granite tribute - built more than six decades after the war ended - comes as natural causes are increasingly claiming the lives the era's soldiers. Only about 47,000 World War II veterans out of roughly 320,000 who served back then remain in Minnesota.
As he looked up at one of 10 glass panels describing the state's involvement, 82-year-old Ray Peterson couldn't help but dwell on the frequent funerals he's been attending lately for fellow veterans.
"It's too bad it had to be so late," he said of the memorial. "But it's nice to get it before we're all gone."
Peterson toured the memorial in a flight suit similar to one he wore aboard a B-17 during 26 missions over Germany toward the end of the war.
Like Peterson, Burt Folk signed up for the war at age 17. But Folk, now 82, saw action half-the-world away on a Navy ship that took part in the Feb. 19, 1945 storming of Iwo Jima, a Japanese stronghold in the Pacific Ocean.
He too wonders what took so long. On Minnesota's sprawling Capitol lawn, the new memorial rests midway between existing monuments to the Vietnam and Korean wars.
"This is 62 years after the fact," Folk said. "They recognized all these other ones way before they recognized our efforts. Now we've got ours."
Crowds began swelling by midmorning and people sat in the beaming sun to save their spot. They gathered for a group photo and watched vintage World War II aircraft fly overhead.
Eighty-seven-year-old Hazel Anderson, a member of the Women's Army Corps, said Saturday was a can't-miss event for her generation.
The memorial, she said, "is like a bond. It means a lot to me."
A national memorial to the war was dedicated in Washington in 2004. Minnesota joins Illinois, Indiana, New York, South Dakota and some other states that have erected their own official World War II memorials.
It was authorized by state lawmakers in 2000 and cost $1.38 million to build.
Ten 8-foot-tall glass panels set on Mesabi Black granite slabs make up the perimeter. They detail Minnesota's war efforts - both in combat and on the homefront. They recognize the Iron Range's role in supplying raw materials for weapons, the Mayo Clinic's tests of high-altitude flying, local inventions such as the K-ration and the work of women in ordnance plants.
The memorial's interior is a declining granite plane meant to symbolize the depths of war paired with a gradually rising flower bed designed to represent the climb to victory.
"We don't want it to glorify World War II or any war," said retired Gen. John Vessey, who served as chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff under President Reagan. "We want the memorial to be a perpetual reminder of the blood and sweat that Minnesotans of our generation contributed to the earth-shaking years of World War II."
While the memorial is meant for him too, ex-Naval flight engineer Bob Hansen's mind immediately turns to his brother, one of the 6,462 Minnesota war casualties.
"The freedom we enjoy is not something that comes easily," he said. "Everyone who has been in the service can look at it from different angles and different personal values."
Before the official dedication, the names of each fallen Minnesota soldier was read aloud. The roll call took more than 3� hours to get from Bernie Aaberg to John Zylstra, both Army privates from western Minnesota who died six weeks apart in 1944.
(Copyright 2007 by The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved.)
"Paul Reuben�s twin daughters share their heartbreak and hope, after news their father�s finger was severed and sent to military authorities in Iraq.
As grisly as it may sound, Bree Reuben said it was good news to hear about her father�s finger. She said to her, it indicates he�s still alive.
"What's going on in his mind? Was he screaming, did they hold him down?" said Bree.
Those are the questions Casey and Bree Reuben try not to think about when it comes to their father � a former St. Louis Park Police officer.
Reuben spoke to his daughters four days before he was kidnapped.
"Last time we talked to him, he was like shaking. Scared. He was so scared. You can like hear it in his voice, him trembling," said Casey.
Both daughters said they were very close to their father.
"I've been feeling like something bad was going to happen for the last two weeks," Casey said.
They learned three weeks ago from the FBI that the government had obtained his DNA, but only this week did they learn it was from his finger.
While they�re safe at home, Bree and Casey feel tortured with so many questions.
"I wanted to know if it was from a live body or dead body, wanted to ask did it happen fast, because they can tell," Bree said.
The person they talked to, only had a short statement to read to them, and so their torture continues.
"It's like never over, it never stops. It just keeps on going and going," said Casey.
Reuben�s daughters want people to remember their father and needs to be rescued." Friend Of Hostage Paul Reuben Speaks Out,
By Vinnie at December 26, 2006 12:23 AM (Mypetjawa) "It's nice to be able to post something from the mail bag that isn't vicious, nasty, and disgusting.
Paul Reuben, and 4 others taken with him, are still missing in Iraq. A good friend of his, Mark Kocielski, has set up a website in support of Paul.
We pray for their safe return.
"MINNEAPOLIS (AP) - The aged sailors milled about the banquet room, some with cocktails, a few with relics from their World War II days aboard the USS Minneapolis (CA-36).
Together, the men survived close scrapes at sea, from the time they were nine miles offshore during the attack on Pearl Harbor to the Battle of Tassafaronga near Guadalcanal in November 1942, when a torpedo peeled off the bow of their ship.
But time is waging its own war, and the crew of the Minneapolis is losing. This week, the remaining Navy men from the heavy cruiser are meeting for the last time.
"The members are all either sick or died off," said 84-year-old former sailor Matt Rybinski, of Syracuse, N.Y. "It's getting awful thin."
About three dozen members of the USS Minneapolis Association are meeting at the Best Western Normandy Inn through Saturday for their 23rd reunion.
These "last reunions" are becoming more common, with most World War II veterans in their 80s and 90s. Of the 16.1 million men and women who served in the war, fewer than 3 million remain alive. WWII vets die off at the rate of about 1,000 a day, according to the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.
"I think for some people it's going to be very sad," said former division officer Marshall Hatfield, of North Oaks. They'll lose "the continuity of having these reunions. The continuity of their memories is there."
And with Ken Burns' World War II documentary series "The War" playing on PBS, there seems to be more fanfare over the typical cocktail hours, memorial services and banquets than usual. This get-together will be recorded by local filmmakers as part of the Minnesota Historical Society's "Minnesota's Greatest Generation" project, which is documenting the lives of wartime residents.
"This is the last time their stories are going to be shared as a group," said Randal Dietrich, head of the film project. "This collective memory of this ship resides in this room and nowhere else."
Founded in 1984, the USS Minneapolis Association has gotten together every year since 1985. The first reunion was in Minneapolis and drew more than 200 veterans, with other gatherings landing around the country, including San Antonio, San Diego, Niagara Falls, N.Y., and Seattle.
Members all served at various times on their namesake ship, a heavy cruiser commissioned by the Navy in 1934. The ship was one of the most decorated of the war, earning 17 battle stars during operations in the Pacific Ocean. It was decommissioned in 1947 and sold for scrap in 1959.
At its peak, the USS Minneapolis carried a crew of more than 700 officers and enlisted men. Forty-five died during the war. The veterans association has about 150 members left, with about eight dying each year.
When last year's gathering in North Carolina drew just more than 20 men, organizers decided the next reunion would be the last.
Don Bovill, a former captain's talker (he repeated every order given by the captain aboard ship), was on the Minneapolis from 1940 through the end of the war.
He had missed only a couple of reunions before deciding this summer that he and his wife were in no shape to fly to Minnesota.
"We're just too old," Kay Bovill said from their home in Arlington, Texas. (Don Bovill had his wife talk for him during a recent interview. At 87, he's on oxygen and gets too winded to speak at times.)
Kay Bovill, who has accompanied her husband to every reunion, said the former sailors relish gathering and talking about the funny things that happened during the war, not necessarily the memories of fighting.
"You'd be surprised at the things they did," she said. "We had dinner with the old cook at one reunion, and he said, 'Don, how'd you like those cookies with raisins in them?' Don couldn't help but laugh. They weren't raisins - they were weevils. But once they're cooked, they're good."
Rybinski said he had to make this reunion.
"I wanted to meet the old buddies," he said. "We broke up, and it's always great to see them after a while. You got to know these people better than their brothers."
Still, he recognizes that this organization had to end. He just lost a close Navy friend a couple of months ago, he said.
"Sometimes you go and the people you hope are there aren't," he said. "A lot of my friends are passed away, they're gone. It's probably time to quit."
What will Rybinski do next year?
"Nothing I know of," he said. "We just go on with our lives like we have been."
(Copyright 2007 by The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved.)"
"APPLETON � A nearly 10-hour standoff between law officers and a U.S. Marine Corps combat veteran of the Iraqi and Afghanistan wars with sniper and special operations experience ended peacefully withthe apprehension of the suspect shortly after 1 p.m. Sunday.
The suspect, Casey Meyer, 25, of Milbank, S.D., but more recently of Appleton, surrendered to SWAT team officers and offered no resistance, according to Swift County Sheriff Scott Mattison. The sheriff reported that a high-powered rifle equipped with a telescopic sight and ammunition were recovered.
Meyer was transported to the Appleton hospital where he was treated for ingesting vodka and sleeping pills. He was subsequently transported to Woodland Centers in Willmar for detoxification and psychological services, according to the sheriff.
..."
"ALEXANDRIA, MINN. - When Brian William Skold died shortly after dawn Sunday on a rural stretch of interstate highway in central Minnesota, he may have been drunk. Members of his family told authorities that he may have been suicidal.
Was he still at war? Members of his family said no.
Officers tried for 90 minutes to negotiate with the Iraq war veteran as they chased him along and off Interstate Hwy. 94 before he fired two or three blasts from his shotgun. Officers responded, shooting Skold dead, and the body of a Minnesota National Guard specialist who survived a 13-month deployment to Baghdad lay dead.
"We want you guys to know that this incident was not a direct result of his service in Iraq. He loved his country and he served it proudly," his ex-wife, Amanda Skold, told reporters Tuesday.
Others aren't so sure.
"I don't know enough about his situation, but it doesn't surprise me that we're seeing more incidents like this," said James Schulze of rural Stewart, Minn., whose son Jonathan, a 25-year-old Marine veteran, committed suicide in January.
The Schulze family alleged that Jonathan twice told staff members at the St. Cloud Veterans Medical Center that he felt like killing himself and that they turned him away. A report by the VA's Office of the Inspector General said those allegations could not be substantiated, but a federal investigation has led to procedural changes at the hospitals.
"My heart goes out to these parents," James Schulze said Tuesday. "Obviously, [Brian Skold] had issues. ... The magnitude of the problem -- it's a time bomb waiting to go off."
Don Pappenfus, a Vietnam-era veteran and a Sauk Rapids City Council member, also wants to know whether the mental scars of combat could have been a factor in Skold's death.
"They're going through hell over there, and then some of them are coming home and not getting the help they need," he said. "I'm mad about it."
What officials know
It's unclear what sparked the chase and standoff with Skold, Douglas County Sheriff Troy Wolbersen said. But family members told authorities that Skold, who served in Iraq in 2004 and 2005, had been suicidal since getting home, though they seemed to back off from that in their statement Tuesday.
Members of Skold's family's called for help shortly before 4 a.m. Sunday. Skold's truck was spotted by authorities about a half-hour later as he traveled west on I-94. He was followed into a rest area 2 miles east of Alexandria, where a sheriff's deputy joined in on a cell phone conversation with him.
Skold left the rest area and drove into the city of Alexandria, where members of a city-county SWAT team took up the chase, authorities said. He then went back onto I-94 and drove east until officers used "stop sticks" to disable Skold's 1994 Chevrolet pickup just beyond the exit at Osakis, Minn., about 120 miles northwest of the Twin Cities.
As a deputy continued to negotiate with him, Skold left his truck several times, brandishing his shotgun. The second or third time he fired the weapon, officers returned fire. A doctor at the scene pronounced him dead.
Two veteran Alexandria police officers have been placed on administrative leave because of the shooting: Sgt. Chad Schroeder and officer Tony Kuhnau. Alexandria Police Chief Richard Wyffels said the officers may be reinstated by the end of the week. Up to 15 officers took part in the chase and standoff.
Authorities said they had no information about Skold's mental or physical condition beyond the family's warning. They emphasized that the investigation continues, and they offered no clear link between Skold's behavior and his time in Iraq, but his death comes at a time of increasing concern about mental-health issues among returning military personnel.
An autopsy in Skold's death is being conducted by the Ramsey County medical examiner's office.
The shooting occurred about 6:55 a.m., and a portion of the freeway was closed until about 3 p.m. Sunday.
Wolbersen would not say which relatives had contacted Skold by cell phone during the incident, citing a continuing investigation by the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. The BCA is expected to turn its results over to the county attorney in a week, the sheriff said.
In good standing
Skold enlisted in the Minnesota Army National Guard on Dec. 30, 1998, said Lt. Col. Kevin Olson, Guard spokesman. Skold served with the 1st Battalion, 151st Field Artillery based in Montevideo and was deployed in Baghdad from late 2004 through 2005. He was in good standing at the time of his death. The 151st lost three men in combat in Iraq.
Olson declined to discuss possible causes of the incident. "Once police make their final report, we'll be able to evaluate that," he said.
Skold was not a patient at the Minneapolis Veterans Medical Center, according to Ralph Heussner, public affairs officer there. It was not known whether he had contact with the St. Cloud Veterans Medical Center for problems arising from his service in Iraq.
Kari Pearson, who lives on a farm neighboring the one where Skold grew up, said that he was divorced recently but "was a wonderful father" to his four children.
"I don't think we ever will understand" what happened, said Pearson, who added: "He was very sociable and enjoyed life. He was so proud to go to Iraq."
Pappenfus said he and other vets discussed Skold's death during Memorial Day observances in Sauk Rapids.
"We all stood there in the cemetery, and I shook my head," Pappenfus said. "I said, 'Here we go -- another one.' "
He said he will seek more aggressive screening for problems among returning combat veterans in a planned visit with U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs officials next month in Washington, D.C.
"I don't think the president and the government are doing their job with these young men and women who are coming back from the war zones and trying to turn their lives back to a regular world again,"he said. "Something's bothering them, and the screening isn't there."
Pappenfus said he talked with Skold two or three times after he returned from Iraq. "He was a great guy, and it shocked me when I heard what happened," he said.
'Model student, respected'
Skold was a graduate of Lac qui Parle Valley High School in Madison, where Principal Jon Fulton said that teachers recalled him as "a model student and a respected young man."
Mike Bredeck, 58, a counselor at the high school when Skold attended, said he "came from a good, hard-working family" that lives on a farm outside the town of 1,700. "Brian reflected that in every way," he said.
He was the middle of three children, and younger brother Jeremy served alongside him in Iraq. His father, William, is a carpenter. His mother, Margaret, worked at a Madison bank.
The family attends St. Michael's Church in Madison, which is Bredeck's church. Brian Skold's picture was displayed there during his deployment.
"When his unit came back, we were all happy to see them," Bredeck said. "You expect they'll come back and go on with the next phase of their lives."
[email protected] � 612-673-4514 [email protected] � 612-673-7253 "
"ST. PAUL, Minn. - In the end, Chad Malmberg put his framed Silver Star on the wall and stowed away his helmet, some old uniforms and the dusty combat boots he had worn in the Iraqi desert.
He was a hero, now, and proud of it. Malmberg had quickly entered his last semester of college, blending easily into the anonymity of campus life. Within months, he had his degree.
It took months, too, to break some habits. Such as hugging the center line when he drove and swerving whenever he saw anything on the road, fearing hidden bombs. And ticking off a check list � gun, ammo, food � every time he went outside.
He was home, he was safe, he was whole.
So many others could not say as much: John Kriesel, Josh Hanson, J.R. Salzman, Corey Rystad, Bryan McDonough ... some came back with broken bodies, some came back to eulogies and grieving loved ones and final resting places.
But none of them � none of the 5,000 men and women of the 1st Brigade Combat Team/34th Infantry Division of the Minnesota National Guard � came back unchanged by their 22-month deployment, and their sojourn into the cauldron of Iraq.
Their time at war won a commendation in Congress as "the longest continuous deployment of any United States ground combat military unit during Operation Iraqi Freedom."
And for every man and woman who served, there was someone at home, hoping and waiting for their return.
There was the young wife who scoured the Internet each morning, searching for news stories about the area where her husband was based � trying to gauge the dangers. The little boys who eagerly checked e-mail every night for messages from their soldier-father.
There was the father who wondered how to break it to his soldier-wife that their baby girl had uttered her first words � and she had missed it. The mother who walked to work praying for her soldier-son's safety � telling herself if she arrived without a phone call he was OK.
This was a war where families were sometimes just a mouse-click away from their soldiers, where a mother who had just given birth dispatched cell phone photos of the baby to her soldier-husband, where home front celebrations � graduations, birthdays, even weddings � were shared across the continents, via Web cams and video hookups.
But there also were moments in Iraq, some terrifying, some heartbreaking, that could not be shared with others far away.
The day a doctor pleaded on behalf of a wounded Iraqi boy, knowing his words could mean the difference between life and death for the child. The afternoon a husband grieved his loss by softly muttering his wife's name on a bomb-scarred road. The day troops gathered to remember a buddy at a memorial service that closed with a somber roll call, the soldier's name repeated three times to no reply.
There were many such experiences in nearly 500 days in Iraq.
Over that long haul, the soldiers drove 2.4 million convoy miles, conducted 5,200 patrols, discovered 462 improvised explosive devices, captured more than 400 suspected insurgents.
This is the story of a very long deployment of a very long war � of how members of the 1st Brigade Combat Team/34th Infantry Division lived and died in Iraq, how their families endured while they were gone, and how what happened in a far distant land still resonates today.
___
Malmberg's mother, Teri Walen, didn't want him to go to Iraq. She didn't support the war, didn't think her only son should be there. She tried to talk him out of it.
"Do you think war is a good thing?" she asked when he called one night.
"No," he replied. "What do you think, I'm crazy?"
But Malmberg was stubborn and determined, and convinced his mother he had good reasons for going. Wiry and intense, a mixed martial arts buff and former Army welterweight boxer, Malmberg had eight years of military training � including a stint as a paratrooper at Fort Bragg, N.C. � but he had never served his country in combat. Now he had the chance.
On July 15, 2006, the official word came down: The 1st Brigade Combat Team � nicknamed the Red Bulls � would be deployed. Some 2,600 folks from Minnesota, bolstered by two Guard units from Iowa and Nebraska and troops from 33 other states, would put their lives on hold to take up arms.
These were not, for the most part, full-time soldiers. They were members of the National Guard, farmers and factory workers, salespeople and mechanics, doctors and students. Among them were fathers and sons, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, pool-playing buddies, former high school football rivals, classmates and neighbors.
Malmberg was just a semester shy of finishing college, but his degree would have to wait. He bought a $400,000 life insurance policy and named his sister, Jess ica, as the beneficiary.
But Teri's biggest worry really wasn't that her son would die in Iraq.
Her fear was that he'd be disabled and need care the rest of his life � that he would be unable to pursue a childhood dream and become a police officer, like his father and uncle.
Death or disfigurement were not the things Chad feared; he was afraid only that he might fail the soldiers who depended upon him to lead an infantry squad.
And so he packed his gear and headed south, to Camp Shelby, Miss., where the 1st Brigade Combat Team holed up for six months in barracks that had been flooded by Hurricane Katrina.
There, amid downed trees and buildings that had lost their roofs, they trained, practiced their marksmanship, studied Iraqi culture and learned to work as a team.
As they edged closer to Iraq, some made big changes in their lives.
John Kriesel and his longtime partner, Katie, dashed down to City Hall in St. Paul, Minn., with their two sons, Elijah, 4, and Broden, 3, to wed.
Kriesel � the kind of guy who dressed up in his brother's Army fatigues when he was just 10, the kind of guy who persisted in his relationship with Katie only when she confirmed she had voted for George W. Bush � was all pumped up to go to Iraq.
He asked Katie for permission. It's not a fair question, she said � if she said no, he'd resent her, and if he said yes, she'd blame herself if anything happened to him.
"Will you regret it when you're 30 if you don't go?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
On a family vacation in Florida, Kriesel talked with his sons about the war. He was going to fight the bad guys, he said, in a faraway place called Iraq so everyone there can be free.
Are you going to die? his boys asked. No, he assured them.
Are you going to come back OK? they asked. Yes, he said, I'll be fine.
Kriesel talked of death only once, with Katie.
Promise me one thing, he said: If I die, don't go on TV and criticize the war, as the mother of one fallen soldier did, famously � "Don't go Cindy Sheehan on me." And don't let my boots be used in one of those anti-war demonstrations.
The granddaughter of two World War II veterans, the sister of a soldier, Katie understands the military. You can depend on me, she told her husband.
J.R. Salzman and his fiancee, Josie, also decided to marry before he shipped off to Iraq; if something happened to him, Salzman wanted Josie to receive spousal benefits.
Salzman drew a four-day pass from Camp Shelby, and they eloped to New Orleans. The city was still recovering from Katrina; the courthouse wasn't open, the phones weren't working right, but Josie was undeterred. They married in a brief ceremony at a judge's elegant home.
In Iraq, Salzman would be just another soldier. At home, he was a celebrity of sorts � the five-time world logrolling champion, a title that earned him appearances on ESPN, stunt work in a Steve Martin movie and fan mail from all over.
That was how he met Josie. One day she tuned in to ESPN's "Great Outdoor Games" and there he was, brown-haired, muscular, confident, agile, rolling along. She dropped him an admiring e-mail. A date at a Steak 'n Shake followed, along with the discovery they had common interests (including fishing) and small-town roots (he was from Wisconsin, she was from Michigan). Love blossomed.
When they said goodbye, Josie was just 19, and had been a married woman less than a month.
___
Dathan Gazelka was at Camp Shelby, along with his younger brother, Daniel. They left behind a proud father, and a nervous mom.
Dathan would be a team leader in Iraq. As a former Guard recruiter, practically every guy under his command would be someone he signed up. He'd played pool and shared beers with them, he knew their families, too. He felt a special sense of responsibility; they were going because of him. There was no way he'd stay behind.
He wasn't crazy about leaving his wife, Mandy, and his family. Anyone who wasn't scared about heading into a war, he thought, was either lying or crazy.
Dathan left behind for his wife two things: a flashlight and a shotgun, just in case she needed them for protection in the remote, wooded area where they live outside Bemidji, Minn.
Mandy may look delicate with her porcelain features; she's anything but. She's handy with a gun and has hunted deer, grouse and small game since she was 12. She also knows her way around the tool box: She can fix a hot water heater, replace a flat tire and do any task around the house.
She put on a brave face when she said goodbye to her husband in Mississippi. No tears, she told herself. It wasn't until days later, when she was home alone, that she cried.
So many goodbyes, none of them easy.
___
Janelle Johnson signed up for the Guard as a teenager, but now she was a full-time Guard member and the mother of two little girls. Emily was not even a year old, and Elizabeth was 4. It was her duty to go, but she wondered: Would her girls forget her? And how would her husband, Chad, manage?
She prepared him as best she could. She created a spreadsheet of all their bills. He would have to write the checks now, take the girls to day care and the doctor, make them dinner, and tuck them in every night.
Her mind raced with questions: Would Chad know when to start using solid baby food for Emily? Would he remember all the appointments with the pediatrician? He hadn't read all the baby books. She had. He didn't have a mother's instincts. How could he?
Janelle knew he would need support. She spread the word to her sister, her mother, the day care teacher: "Take care of my babies."
She left her girls reminders, too. She videotaped herself holding her daughters in her lap and reading them stories, so Chad could play them when she was gone. She recorded herself playing with baby Emily, so she could see her mom's face.
Chad works for an environmental drilling firm and he had already told his bosses he couldn't travel anymore. He needed to be home every night.
Before she left for Iraq, the Johnsons took a vacation together in Florida. Emily was a year old, but her mother had missed nearly half her life while training in Mississippi.
She tried to get her baby to take her first steps, but Emily wasn't ready.
And when Emily injured herself in a fall and Janelle tried to scoop her up and comfort her, the little girl screamed and looked at her as if her mother was a stranger.
That night, in bed, Janelle cried: Emily doesn't remember me. Chad tried to reassure her.
A few days later, Janelle kissed her daughters goodbye. You won't see me for a long time, she told Elizabeth, and with that she returned to Mississippi, her stomach aching with emptiness.
Col. David Elicerio, commander of the 1st Brigade Combat Team, had visited Iraq in September 2005 to check out what lay in store for his troops....
"Whether or not you agree with our current foreign policy, it is important we all support the brave men and women serving in the U.S. Military. You may not be sure what to do, how to help, or how to get started. These 101 ideas are offered to help propel you to get started and then guide you as you move forward. Be sure to watch our exclusive flash movie called a Special Tribute at www.A-Special-Tribute.com"
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