Friday, December 23, 2016
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.
Monday, December 19, 2016
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.
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.
Sunday, December 18, 2016
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.
......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.
Friday, December 16, 2016
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...........
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.
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...........
Thursday, December 15, 2016
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 14, 2016
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..
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..
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)