Just a Whisper Away.

You only think you will know how you feel when the person you love will pass on sooner than much later, but in reality you haven't  got a clue.  I cannot even fathom what I will feel like when it actually happens.  More later.

Panama 9, Last Journal Entry

Jan 20

Last night or rather yesterday morning we made our way back to Camp Rousseau.  Everything has gone as I suspected.  The lines, the waiting, the inspections.

If one has never gone through a military customs, one cannot appreciate what boredom and waiting in line is really like.

Last night they gave us a customs form to fill out.  On it we put down what we bought while in Panama.  The only thing I had to declare was a machete.  Later that night Jerry and a couple of others went to the local VFW down the road, drank, ate and watched the news.  We got plenty of each.

Before that however we were all herded into the "bubble."  The bubble is sort of like a Quonset hut but kept erect by blowing air inside it.  There we were instructed to dump our duffel bags on the floor and stand behind it.  Custom agents went through the baggage confiscating some objects or making sure other items were cleaned properly.  No amount of dirt or mud was allowed to be taken out of Panama.

At 9:30 we emptied our carry on bags on the cots we slept on and made to stand in line and they searched them and any carry on packages we might have had.  They then conducted a personal body search. 

We were taken to the plane, piled on and I went to sleep.  As I was drifting in and out of sleep I heard a bell go off.  I looked up and saw a sign that read, "fasten seat belt, Life vests under seat.  I thought we were going to crash because we started banking to the left at the same time.  I could not get the life vest free from under the seat and noticed that no one else seemed to be in a panic. I was puzzling what to do when the Captain of the plane came on and announced we were making or decent into Birmingham.  We landed with out trouble. 

Note: We flew from Birmingham to St. Louis, caught a truck and headed back to Independence.  The trip was over.   The adoption thing never happened.  I never got called up. 

Panama 8 continued

Panama 8 contiuned


......I felt it was time to go.  Our PNP escort accompanied us back to the Plaza.  The drummers were still there beating away.  The Queen was still there but another dancer had taken her place inside the circle.

I have found out you never go any where here with out stopping some where else.  As we watched the ritual one of the PNPs, the darkest one, jumped into the dance and he did well.  I've narrowed the dance down to this:  It is part of their African heritage and what they are doing has been done for years.  The dance is either a dance of the hunt or a mating dance or one depicting the normal hunt and court of women.  The woman acts oblivious to the man's aggression but when she is captured or allows herself to be swayed by the hunter or suitor she thrusts into the activity.  She sways her hips in his direction and then they dance closer and closer until the hips are joined and they are bumping and grinding.  At first this sound sort of hedonistic but before you pass judgement, how many bars have you gone to and watched or even participated in a similar ritual.  The men and women in the bar sit around and drink.  A man asks a lady to dance.  She refuses him but then finally the right guy comes along.  They have a regular dance, they go back to the table and drink some more (Conga dances all have a lot of alcohol also) and then a particular song come on and the mood is right and they go out and grind on the dance floor.  What sometimes follows is I am sure what follows in the Conga dance.  Places and times change but people are about the same all over.

We keep hearing rumors of activation.  I can't believe it, may be I wont allow myself to believe it.  If we do get activated I will go as a filler some where, but March seems to be the magic day.  If it goes on after that then perhaps, we shall see.

Panama 8

Jan 19, 1991

Last night the PNP (note: that is Panamanian National Police) and I went to Numbre.  The vehicle they drive is no good.  It starts easy enough but it quits a will.  Being a Major with the MP's and accompanied by the PNP I figured I would have no trouble getting out of the camp gate.  I usually just wave as I go by the guard.  This time however the PNP car, truck really, died in front of the gate.  Capt Johnson said he had it all worked out if there was a problem getting out and sure enough the gate guards were Engineers not MPs.  The MPs were having a party their last night in the field.  I knew this of course but never thought the MPs would turn the gate guard business over to Engineers.  They began questioning me as to why I was leaving.  After a few minutes of trying to contact the Provost Marshall word came down to let us pass.

The truck finally started and off we went.  As we turned by the store the truck died again.  Anderson, the PNP, could not get it started.  We sat there.  PNP King got in, did something and off we rode through the center of Numbre.  The starter was grinding still, the truck was back firing and the dogs, chickens, and people were scattering out of the way.  We eventually made are way to the little spot by the lagoon where we had been the night before.

There we drank beer, ate shark, yuka and steak.

It was Conga or Congo night in Numbre. (note: a description of this event can also be read on my first blog in October of 2010, there are some difference in what I wrote then and what I wrote later.)  I never did understand if it was Conga or Congo.   Nor was I sure of why the celebration was even taking place.)  Word came from the Plaza area though that they did not want to start the celebration or sing and dance until we showed up.  By this time Johnson, Fluer, and Hosenstine had joined me.  Before this I was the only non Spanish speaking person at the party and only one or two others spoke any English at all.

We all ventured up towards the Plaza.  There sat 3 drummers like you see in old jungle moves.  They began to beat a rhythm.  The women of the village began to sing and then the Queen of the Conga(o) appeared with a tall crown of jeweled and spangled material.  She began to dance and swaying rhythmically that looked like it was some sort of traditional African dance.  While she was swaying a man jumped out of the audience and began dancing also. She ignored him and as he approached her she dodged his aggression while keeping here rhythm going.  I realized that this was part of the dance.  He would accept his rejection and slink out of the circle that had gathered around the Queen and another man would jump in.

The little group we had stood out of course and apparently we were some kind of guest of honor.  I was the highest ranking officer there and the only one in uniform.  The Queen grabbed my hand and pulled me to the center of the circle.  The crowd cheered but none more than my friends who saw great sport in me being embarrassed.  I was no match for the natives, but with the natural rhythm I have I did not completely humiliate myself.  Each one of the Americans were eventually drug out in turn trying to do their interpretation of the dance.

We then returned to the lagoon area.  We drank beer and just kicked back.  All the American left except Johnson and I.  We just listened to everyone else talk, not understanding a word they said.

It was a mellow evening and it was made even more so when 3 guitar's players showed up.  They played Spanish music and one of the ladies began to sing.  Then each woman there took her turn singing making a strange lyrical sound.  While leaning against a palm tree listening and watching there was a power failure.  The music continued and to get more light another log was put on the camp fire and for a moment you forgot the war, forgot the deplorable living conditions that surround you and you were just absorbed in the moment.

Now I might add that all these women were over weight and basically ugly.  I say this so in the later years no one will think that there was anything going on more than there was.  In fact contrary to popular belief sorted behavior among NGs has not occurred often down here.  They talk a lot but do little.

Continued...........

Panama 7

Jan 17, 1991

The war in the middle east is still going on hot and heavy.  Air strike after air strike I keep hearing. I keep wondering what the ground troops are doing. Have they moved to their tactical assembly areas, to their area of operations.  I wonder what they are feeling.

I was at the the 549th Mps for a short while exchanging hand receipts.  Said good by to Bob V. and saw a little CNN.

The war gets closer.  Another unit got activated today for Desert Storm.  The 2175th MPs.  Part of them are here with us now.  They don't know it yet.  They are scheduled go go home Sunday.  The Panama duration provost marshal commands their unit.  He will be leaving.  There are only a few of us that know what is happening.  It is hard to watch these guys being excited about returning home and knowing that they will soon be leaving again and they haven't a clue.  I hope the bombing turns the tide so it will all be over soon.  Not for me but for them and their families and mine.

Myself, Johnson, and Rodriquez and a PNP went to town today on a pretend PNP patrol.  We stopped in the town plaza, drank a beer, dodged a real MP patrol and then went to the house of another PNP local, a shack really, 1 bed, 1 table, 4 chairs and a small kitchen with antiquated appliances.

There was not much communication except a translation or two.  We sat on the front porch, drank beer and looked at he gravel street, looking for the MPs.

A neighbor came by and invited us to her back yard that touched the lagoon.  And there we sat drinking more beer, watching the fish jump out of the water and the small boats returning from day of fishing.  No one could understand anyone else hardly.

Later the owner fixed a combination of octopus, onion, Italian dressing, and liquid black pepper.  I was polite but let some one else finish my share .  The flavor was good but the texture undesirable.

We leave base camp tomorrow - Camp Thomas - tomorrow at 0945.  The long tedious procedure of coming home will begin.

Respond

I do not know how many people really read this blog.  The number says over 34,000 but I am just wondering how many of those hits are just little search engine bugs and not really anyone who actually reads any of what I wrote.  If by chance you do read this blog would you mind putting a comment at the bottom.  It can be anonymous, don't really need your name of email.

Panama 6

Panama Pundits - 6

Jan 17, 1991  (note: diary entry)

Yesterday was a big day.  The big news was "war."  Bush went and did it.  At 1900 hours EST our planes launched an air strike against Bagdag.  Desert Shield has now been changed to Desert Storm.

I was on the road back from Sherman and was informed at the gate.  Reactions are mixed.  Some think it is about time and some do a little gallows humor, some are worried, some take our position here in Panama as life threatening and still others feel that the war is a long way off and no outside influence will effect our mission here one way or another.  All are justified in their thinking.

The soldiers here cheer to let out frustrations and there is much hidden apprehension, gallows humor is always present during stressful situations because it allows our minds to deal with the unthinkable.  Some worry they will have to go or their children, loved ones or fiends.  No matter how remote a visible well publicized task force like ours could be a target of some sort or insurgency for propaganda purposes and there are those who think we are bigger and more important then we really are.

I have no idea what our command element is up to.  Whatever it is the rest of us will find a way to criticize.  However they are responsible so whatever procedures they take to protect us should be looked at as a big insurance policy.  So far they have closed down the camp, put out roving patrols, increased perimeter lights and I guess there will be more security procedures taking place.

There is talk about us being extended so rotations can go to Saudi, flights back home being cancelled etc.

I can truthfully say I am not concerned.  Partly out of reason and partly because I am a very very minor part of the great adventure.  Just to be on the peripheries of war is interesting.  Some of the guys gather around the radio and listen to the news.  Others are playing cards or sleeping.  It is the morning of the 17th and the rest of the day will see what direction we take here in Panama.

Now, the reason I was in Ft Sherman.  I made contact with Norma, the adoption lady.  She said that you must work with honest people in the adoption process.  An adoption cost about $1000.  She is going to call a Social Worker she knows and see what is available and then talk to me.  I may not be able to get back to her before I leave but I will write.  It works like this: you pick out a kid, you fill out the papers, get OK'd, heir a lawyer, pick up the kid.  The problem is that we are out of the country.  We might have to come one time and visit and then again to pick up the kid. 

I explained Jan and my relationship and my financial position.  The thought it was better if Jan applied.  That would limit us to a girl under Panamanian law.  Then I could adopt when we got home etc.

Norma also told me of an orphanage.  I went to visit.  Poor but neat but a notch above the other Panamanian housing I have seen.  (note to blog reader:  The adoption thing never got off the ground.  Norma did tell me she knew of a family that had about 9 kids and the mother was pregnant again.  She said that I could come back with Jan when the baby was born and get a birth certificate saying Jan had the baby when we were vacationing and thus make the child ours have the necessary proof to reenter the US with a child in hand.  I passed on the idea.)

The news has been full of Iraq.  But they keep saying the same old thing.  I can't believe it will drag on long and don't believe I will ever get close. 

Today we put up additional perimeter security lights, prepared generator holes, and filled sand bags.  It is in the name of physical camp security.

I did go into "town" and ate a fairly decent meal but still not been impressed with the food.  Tomorrow will be my last day at base camp they say but who knows, they change their minds a lot.  I would just as soon be in the jungle as at Sherman..

Panama 5

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Panama Pundits - 5

Jan. 13, 1991

I re-read my book about Alaska.  I would like to go there some day.  I attended a briefing on what to do if trouble starts tomorrow when the President of Panama visits our location.  I am supposed to be in one of the vehicles that will evacuate a General and an Ambassador to the prearranged helicopter landing site.  I really don't anticipate any trouble.

Jan. 15, 1991

Yesterday was great.  We setup the security for the President's visit.  We had listening and observation posts surrounding the camp, a security detail, evacuation helicopters, evacuation cars, crowd control, the whole nine yards. 

Like I mentioned earlier my job was to command one of the evacuation cars.  If something went wrong my driver and I were to get the President, a 4 star U.S. General and an Ambassador, in that order and take them to the escape helicopter.

Nothing happened.  There were a lot of Panamanians walking around in the woods and up and down the dirt road leading to camp, but they usually did that anyway.

I could see the President very plainly.  At first five helicopters landed.  A bunch of people got off in civilian clothes accompanied with some in military uniforms.  This one guy stood out from the rest.  He wore a white shirt and a big hat, so I took a picture of what I thought was the President.  A few minutes later a white helicopter landed and a short fat man got off in a business suit. I knew immediately by the deference he was given that he was the President, I had taken a picture of the wrong guy.  I tried taking another picture but was out of film.  A bus came out to greet the helicopter and everyone got on and was driven to the reviewing stand.

We, the US MP's, all had loaded weapons.  Apparently the Panamanian Government was not 100% sure about the loyalty of the local Panamanian National Police and wanted our back up.  They also had their own bodyguards.  We were told a little earlier that if the PNP started anything stupid we were to stop them.  They never really told us how to stop them but was told any encounter we might have should fall under the rules of engagement.  I guess we were supposed to shoot somebody in the head of something.

A few minutes after the President and his party had moved to the reviewing stand another helicopter landed.  No one was there to greet it and I noticed that two men in white got off the helicopter, looked around with darting black eyes and then a very tall distinguished man got off.  All three of the men starting walking our my way.  I was the closest person to the new arrivals so I walked towards them and when the tall man got with in hand shaking range he stuck out his hand and said, "Hi, how are you."  Fine I replied.  He then said, "I am Jerry Ford,"  in prefect English. Well it wasn't the Jerry Ford I knew.  I responded, "Hi, I am Conley McAnally from Independence, Missouri, home of Harry Truman, but who are you?"  He laughed real hard and said, "I'm the Vice President of Panama."  I saluted, said excuse me, and escorted him to the reviewing stand. 

In this haphazard way I met and was an additional bodyguard for three minutes to one of the leading figures of Panama who will probably be the President one day.  He was a very impressive looking man

Panama 4

Jan 6, 1991

I am tired; the wreck took it out of me emotionally.  Poor young man.  He had come to Panama for his first real great adventure of his life probably and died here.

The rest of the day was uneventful.  We returned to Sheraton and will be here for a few days coordinating convoy departures to what is now called Camp Thomas.  Presently I am sitting by the ocean, sea, or bay, or what ever you want to call it.  Anyway it is the entrance to the canal.

Jan 8

Went to see Bob Vaughn at his barracks.  We just talked and watched a tape he had.

Jan 9

Last night we returned to base camp to stay over night at least, or so they say.  Went to the river to wash our vehicles, we call it the Panamanian Car Wash.  Talked to Jerry for awhile.  He seems to be staying busy, busier than I.

Today so far has been interesting.  Johnson, another guy and I walked through the jungle area.  We went to the top of a hill and looked out over the ocean.  We later walked into Nombre and gave it a complete walk through.  Strictly third world I suspect, if I knew what a third world looks like.  We ran into Rodriguez, our interpreter, and he took us to a back ally place near the lagoon.  We found a house that had a picnic table outside under a wooden canopy where the owner served us lunch.  It was some kind of fish which we were not familiar with, a fried banana thing, might have been a polenta,  some sort of squash we think, and a rice dish consisting of coconuts and lintels.

Jan 10

Today is Darren’s birthday.  Went back into Nombre and ate lunch again at the same place we did yesterday.  We discovered that if we spoke Spanish the meal was $3, if we did not it was $4.  The lunch was octopus, shrimp, that rice dish again along with the fried banana thing.  I am really not impressed with Panamanian food.  Looks like we will head back to Ft Sheraton for awhile. 

Jan 11

The trip back and forth between Sheraton and Thomas is getting routine.  The people still wave at us as we go by and we of course wave back and when we stop for some reason always pass out candy to the kids that seem to flock around the vehicle.  Jerry was there doing an inventory or something.  That night in the military club I ate pizza and won $12 on a nickel slot machine.

Panama 3

Panama Pundit 3

Jan. 3, 1991

We convoyed over to Camp Russo to deliver a 5 Ton truck and pick up two smaller vehicles for the return trip to Base Camp.  We almost had to transport a large sum of money back to the Base Camp, which I was not looking forward to, but it got cancelled at the last minute.

While at Russo we heard that an American helicopter got shot down in San Salvador.  The American soldiers that survived the crash were executed by the rebels.  It was a couple of hundred miles away but it did make us stop and think.  We realized that we “weren’t in Kansas anymore” and there were people in the general area that didn’t really like us. 

Captain Johnson said he had heard that Air Force One had landed at Howard AFB near Russo, but I didn’t believe him, so we decided to check it out before we returned to Base Camp.

Jan 4, 1991

The trip back to Base Camp was uneventful.  I did miss a turn in a town called Solo Palto.  There were five Panamanian bar fly’s hanging around the outside of a bar.  I guess they had been there all day according to their appearance, watching all the trucks go by.  They all pointed in the direction we were supposed to go.  As I was turning the convoy around I drove by them, leaned out of the jeep and yelled, “American Stupido.”  Which is Stupid American in Italian.  They understood what I meant and laughed very heartedly.

The set up of the Base Camp had made a lot of progress in the two days we had been absent.  We put our gear away and walked into town, if you can call Numbre a town.  They have a dirt road, shacks, two grocery stores (or a least a place where you could buy food), a café operated out of a house and an Asian Restaurant that also doubled as a grocery store.  One of the grocery stores had a bar.  We went to the one that had the bar.

There were a bunch of Panamanian playing something that looked like dominos and a pool table that was infested with beetles.  We didn’t play pool, just drank their $0.25 bottled beer, called Panama oddly enough.

Jan 5, 1991

We got up and took a ride to Ft. Davis and requisitioned material to paint directional signs for when the main body arrived.  Captain Johnson and I took the material down to a rocky beach and painted them.  We needed to clean our brushes so after soaking them in kerosene we cleaned them in the ocean.  I had been watching the waves and had figured out that every 5^th wave was larger than the other 4.  So when the 5^th wave was coming in we would dash back up the rocks.  I did not count on any abnormality in the wave cycle.  One wave took us by surprised and drug us both off the beach into the Atlantic Ocean.  Lucky for us there was a large boulder that we latched on to or we would have been picked up by some sort of current and our bodies found floating in the Gulf of Mexico or off the tip of Florida.  We took longer to dry than the paint on the signs.  We returned to Base Camp after driving by the supposed Air Force One, which it was not, and finished our brush cleaning on a sand bar in the Numbre River next to Base Camp.

Jan 6, 1991

We got up early and drove into Ft. Sheridan to pick up a truck convoy to lead to the Base Camp.  Just as we were about a mile away from camp we heard over the radio that there had been an accident on the road just ahead and a medivac helicopter had been requested immediately.  From a hill we watched as a group of men tried to save another man’s life.  We halted all traffic going down the road and took in the event.  Apparently the driver of a fork lift had lost control of his machine, the fork lift started to bounce, he un hooked his seat belt and stood up trying to get a better view of the road and guide the lift around the pot hole and large rocks.  The lift turned over and trapped the young man under the lift just below his waist.  It crushed him but he was still conscious.  Controlled panic developed.  His band of brothers immediately called for assistance, but the only medical helicopter available was in Panama City.  It was dispatched immediately but distance was against him.  They did what they could for the young man but by the time the helicopter arrived the 19 year old National Guardsman from Sikeston, Missouri was dead.  The Base Camp was named after him, Camp Thomas.  Some day I might write a story about that.

Panama 2

 

New Years Eve was spent going between Ft. Sheraton and down the coastal road to Nombre de Dios.  Three trips were made in all because one we had to find it, 2 we had to deliver 2 MP guards and two caterpillars, and 3 we had to bring the MP’s their overnight gear and feed them. 

It was a lot of riding but I saw a lot of the country side.  The country is pretty except for the trash.  It seems to be everywhere.  The houses are literally shacks  There are some exceptions but not many. If my pictures come out I’ll write what they are in some detail. 

The people are nice looking with their mix of Spanish, Indian, and black blood.  There are a lot of blacks here.  They seem to populate the cities while the more Indian looking people are in the forests.

Some of what I write will not make since because it will be in cryptic form.  It will be that little lost tantalizing part of social history lost forever that only the viewer can remember.

-waited at port for convoy commander.

-stopped traffic on lonely road, tried to tell a Panamanian to wait 5 minutes.

-a lot of pumps in the road.

-A young couple and naked little girl watched the convoy go by.  They were living inside a whole dug into a mountain side.

-a church is next to a whorehouse.

-saw the Caribbean Sea at midnight.

-saw European tourists in strange places.

-found a drunk in the road.

-the roads are rough and would not pass for anything resembling a road in the U.S.

-met Bob V’s.company commander, Capt Peterson.  We both agreed that Bob hadn’t changed a whole lot.  I’ll try to look him up before I leave (Bob was an employee of mine at UMB.  I talked him into joining the army.  I apologized to Capt Peterson.)

-Went to see Bob V. at his company area.  Small world.  He was a gate guard at the compound we were staying at on Sheridan.  He is homesick and has an attitude about the army.  I tried to pass on all my wisdom about moving forward and not looking back.  Someday he will understand our conservation.

Panama 1

Panama Pundit

Note to reader:  The series I have chosen to call Panama Pundit are a series of extracts from a diary I kept while deployed to Panama in late 1990 and early 1991.

December 29

Sgt Fortner and I reported to the Kansas City armory this morning.  We loaded our vehicle and were driven to Fulton, Missouri by Sgt Hess.  There we were to meet up with several guardsman that would accompany us to Panama.  Sgt Hess brought his girl friend along for the ride.  The only reason I mention that is that she too was in the National Guard and she was leaving for Saudi Arabia in a couple of days.

In the armory at Fulton we sat around and watched TV.  The Chiefs beat the Bears and then we watched a war film, appropriate I guess.  We got a call from Jeff City and were told that instead of 0300 the next day we would be picked up at 1830 that night.  Side note – We had a contract meal from KFC.  It was to much chicken for one day, two meals.  We leave in about an hour.  We will probably sit in the St. Louis airport for hours.

December 30

I road to St. Louis on a bus along with Jerry Sonderagger and 30 other guys.  They put us in some sort of army office building and we slept on the floor waiting for our plane.  Rumors abound as to when we will leave.  The best rumor is that we will take off at 0930.  We shall see.

We left at 1230 after eventually being pushed out of the snow (the plane that is – some how it got stuck in a snow bank.)  The plane headed towards Panama and we were entertained  in flight by two movies:  My Blue Heaven with Steve Martin and Dick Tracy staring Warren Beatty.  I watched all of MBH and slept through DT.

We landed at Howard AFB in Panama on the Pacific side and were taken to a place called Camp Russo.  Henceforth referred to as the Bubble.  It was some sort of structure that was kept erect by blowing air into the facility to inflate the structure.  The doors had airlocks so if you left the door from the outside open while you opened the door to the inside it started to deflate.  The Bubble was used for in-processing  Tomorrow we are supposed to lave for Cologne on the Atlantic side

I am back, I think.

After numerous attempts and stupid computer access failures, I have once again been able to get to my old blog.  We shall see how this all works out by trying to post things in a little bit, or perhaps tomorrow.

I have been off this blog for a long time and lost all passwords etc.  I just recently got back in by trial and error.  From time to time I will be posting again, what exactly I am not sure.