Have you ever noticed that some people are "unflappable?" When the
sky is falling so many people run around as if they are suffering from a
frontal lobotomy...all but a few at any rate. I had a theory about that
when I was growing up. Every serious event in life is mitigated by
experience and the perspective it sometimes grants.
Winston
Churchill, former Prime Minister of the UK, once said there is no more
exhilarating feeling than being shot at...and missed. Having been shot
at tends to make many crises less substantial. Winston Churchill was
shot at in World War I. He was an inspirational leader for the crisis of
World War II. Its because he had perspective (among other things).
While
the title of this post is not credited to Churchill, it was from the
Ministry of Information in his government. Its the perfect condition
that I strive to emulate during any particular crisis. I never thought
that my theory would take a dose of horror before it cemented itself as a
personal philosophy.
I was 22. Aside from being a nerd in high
school I turned out just like any other 22 year old male. Because I was
bored in College I joined the Air Force. I found myself stationed in
Frankfurt Germany at a base called Rhein Main. It was the hub for all
military air travel in Europe. I was far away from any conflicts. I was a
base cop just learning the tricks of the job. Just fast enough to be
exciting but just slow enough where I didn't feel my life was in danger
every time I went on duty. As life altering assignments went...this
wasn't one of them.
That kinda changed on October 23, 1983. The
Islamic Jihad exploded two bombs equivalent to 12,000 pounds of dynamite
outside the American Marine barracks in Beirut. It instantly killed 220
US Marines and twenty US Navy and Army personnel. It also killed 58
French paratroopers and the wife and four children of the Lebanese
janitor at the building. All these people were asleep during the attack.
- After the Explosion
Generally
speaking I am a stoic observer of the brutality that man perpetrates
upon humanity. I can't say that I would argue this trait is something to
be emulated. It simply is because I have seen too much of it. Still, at
22 it was shocking but half a world away from me. Distance has a way of
inoculating you against this sudden shock and it allows you to
categorize and assimilate without too much trauma.
- But few survivors
That
didn't last. While I was on shift one night I was informed that Rhein
Main would be a hub in the repatriation of the bodies. This meant honor
guards, tighter security, aircraft escort, and crowd control as the
planes landed and preped for flights back to the US. We all groaned but
realized at the same time that this duty was a substantial effort and we
were constantly reminded of the grieving familes back home. This was
the first time "closure" entered my vocabulary. There were thousands of
people waiting for that and none of us were going to be the cause of its
delay.
Before a single plane arrived something changed. My
seniors became more somber. Commanding officers lost the pep in their
step and everyone in the know stopped answering questions or speaking
about repatriation. The cloud of doubt lifted quickly or at least some
of the confusion anyway. But most people at my level were still bemused
right up to the first aircraft arriving. And the first tent went up in
the back of the base.
There would be no "hub" in the conventional
sense: planes coming to Rhein Main then going to the US. Instead they
stopped there. They began to unload flag draped caskets (the ones we are
all so familiar with today). The incoming planes became so numerous
that they asked for volunteers or volunteered people to lift and carry.
Some caskets could be lifted by six people and others by just two. I was
all pretty much numbed up by then as casket after casket came to the
base, was carried off the planes and then placed on trucks for continued
transport.
There were hundreds. US flags everywhere. If it hadn't
sunk in how serious it was before then It had by the time the aircraft
were empty and departed. It took almost a whole day to unload (that's 24
hours). Chaplains everywhere. Honor guards at continual attention
around the clock. Distinguished Visitors. Some families who cashed in a
few favors to meet the plane in Germany and transport back with the
body. Tears. Crying. I saw allot of women in uniform, on-duty...never
seen so much running mascara in all my young days. No one talked. If
this was as hard as such things got then there were stronger people
there than me.
It
had only begun. The trucks with the caskets never left the base. I
later found out that there was a veritable tent city in the back of the
base. That's where the trucks went. It was all extremely odd. No one had
actually informed the police squadron the reason for the change of
plans. All we knew was that a new secure area was to be manned and
guarded.
Then another call for volunteers. But by now there were
tell-tale signs that gave it all away before they could explain it to
us. Formaldehyde. Because of the sickly sweet pall that descended on the
base, the population finally got it. Rhein Main was a morgue.
Somewhere
the decision had been made that we were the perfect location to conduct
a function that had to be done before repatriation: identification. The
volunteers were needed to help identify the dead. I can't think of one
person who didn't raise their hand. But I can think of a few who wonder
if it was one of the wisest decision ever made.
There was no
way-no way-anyone can prepare themselves for such a task. No matter who
you are you can't help being changed, altered by seeing what we do to
each other. This was now ground zero for all to see. My safe harbor away
from the immediate ugliness was overcome by obvious and immediate
tragedy.
Oddly my initial thought when I saw the first victim was
that he was just like me and too young to be lying there dead. Most were
under 25 years old. Some were 18 or 19. I learned so many things that
day about how we destroy people. There were some bodies there that had
only few scratches on them but were just as dead. They were killed by
concussion. The many attending doctors were required to account for the
exact nature of death for each Marine. One doctor turned the Marine's
head to the left and his eyes went right. Nothing inside the skull was
connected. It went on like that one after the other for a month.
The
volunteers like me were used to identify individuals through dog tags
and finger prints. And I suppose that is the root of my nightmares
(which thankfully I no longer have on a regular basis). If they still
had their dog tags I would record those. Most, however, had the dog
tags blown clean from their bodies. In that case I would take their
finger prints. This is when I learned why some caskets were carried by
only two people. Some of the caskets had a strip of masking tape across
the top. It said simply "Parts." I can't begin to describe opening one
of those caskets so I wont try. I would find the limb and take prints
from it. Eventually we were able to determine which part went with which
Marine. On and on day after day. So many kids dead. So many of us sick
to our stomachs. A month of formaldehyde cloaking the base. A month
where people whispered, where there was precious little laughter, and
much too much quiet trauma.
I know this post is grim. But I became
a stronger person for this experience. In time after this event I would
be shot at, I would respond to murders, rapes, robberies, beatings and
the list goes on. But nothing ever shook me like that day in October. It
made me a stronger person but I suppose it also caused cracks in my
youthful ignorance. For me it validated my philosophy of experience over
crisis. But it certainly took its toll at great cost.
We were all
offered counseling after the departure of the dead. I didnt take it. I
didn't understand what changes it would create. Today they call it post traumatic stress disorder. I laugh when people tell me I have PTSD, especially when I
think of all those shattered families. But when the nightmares revisit its a
crazy frightening memory. I have met others who have gone through the
ordeal or had close friends and family who died there. I see myself in
their eyes and realize we were all casualties. We learn from our ordeals
or they destroy us. Keep calm and carry on.
