The Wizard Of IZ

Dorothy: "Don't be silly, Toto. Scarecrows don't talk!"

2007-07-22T11:07:00.000-07:00

HELLO! I hate to have to keep apologizing for the delay in new posts...but here I am again. Please don't give up on me, I'm doing the best I can. It's been a busy, exhausting and at times rough several weeks. Today was supposed to be an easy day with nothing on my schedule but "try to look busy" work. Before I knew it, I had a series of surprise events on my schedule that ended with meeting the Deputy Prime Minister of Iraq Barham Salih.

The random series of powerful people that cross my path of life here happens so fast, sometimes I don't realize the significance of the moment until I think about it afterwards. The other day I literally bumped into the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman General Peter Pace in the hallway.

I just happened to be in the right place at the right time and he walked up to me, shook my hand and said "How are you young man?" Then he gave me one of his Challenge Coins.

People here are crazy for coins. I'll get into that in another post.

Less than 2 minutes before I saw General Pace, Iraqi Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki walked right by me with a very large security team. He didn't stop to say hello. The other week I helped make minor edits on the scripted statement for one of the several commanding Generals who announced U.S. troops would need a minimum of two more years here to allow Iraqi security forces to be trained and ready to take over. Within 24 hours that was THE Iraq news headline of the day. Every day, at nearly every turn I am a witness to history in the making. But because it's so common for everybody here, many don't take time to notice. I am still in awe of it.

The biggest challenge lately is sleep. Not enough and not quality. My brain feels mushy. I find it harder to concentrate and tougher to absorb information. Everytime I write or read something these days, I have to look at it 2 or 3 times to make sure I'm not glossing over a mistake or a critical fact. This is noticeable and annoying to me, as my reading comprehension has always been superior. The sleep issue is a combination of environment and stress.

The environment is just plain noisy and disruptive. It's not easy to stay asleep with helicopters literally flying so low over your hooch every night you feel like you're caught in an earthquake. And they ALWAYS fly in pairs. So when you feel the rumble of one going by, you have to sit there and wait 10-15 seconds for the second one to shudder past before you can express your verbal displeasure and try to get back to sleep. On top of the helicopters you have the window size A/C units that pump chilled air into each and every hooch on the compound. You have no choice but to keep it running 24/7 and every time the compressor kicks off it thumps the entire trailer with a sound almost identical to an incoming round.

That brings me to the stress part, there has been a lot of incoming lately. Sometimes it's close, sometimes it's far, sometimes it's very close. The smoke plume pictured below is from a rocket that hit about 200 yards from my office.

But more often than not the IDF just hit dirt, leaving a hole that looks something like this one below. This strike was about 50 yards from my office.

One day recently we had an unprecedented barrage of mortars come into the IZ. I was in my office alone. It started with the alert system blaring it's siren and The Big Voice shouting "Incoming, incoming, incoming!" Within seconds the explosions started. They hit the earth, or their unfortunate targets, with massive concussions. The blasts started about 1 mile away and started creeping closer and closer, like the giant footsteps of Godzilla storming through town. Very quickly it sounded like the big green lizard had come to see me personally. But this attack was different. It didn't stop after a few seconds. The blasts kept pounding and pounding around us. I lost count at 18 explosions as I ran for the hallway and the supposed safety of an interior corridor. I stood out there with dozens of people from a half dozen other offices. We were all grim faced, not really talking, just looking down or looking up and shaking our heads. Many people had their arms crossed. After about another minute the last echo from the last thunderous blast withered across the horizon. The whole group expressed a lot of verbal displeasure over the extent of the attack and that was before anyone knew the full scope of the casualties. This was the single largest attack against the IZ in the past 3 years. The final count was 42 mortars...18 wounded...3 killed.

I've been lucky for the most part with the incoming. Actually, not even for the most part. I've just been damn lucky. There have been several close calls. Just in the past month a 122mm Chinese made rocket landed 20-feet behind my hooch. I wasn't there and it didn't go off. I'm still trying to figure out if that's a good sign or a bad one. The EOD (Explosive Ordinance Disposal) team was pulling it out when I was getting home after a long day. This is the hole the digging and the rocket left behind.

My neighbor was visibly shaken by all this. He was in his room when it hit. If the rocket had exploded it would have undoubtedly thrown red hot chunks of deadly shrapnel right through both of our tincan-like trailers. My neighbor probably would have been injured or killed.

When the trailers do take a direct hit from a rocket, the structure is normally flattened.

There is another attack in which the outcome has really stuck with me. It was in the early evening several months ago. I had just walked out of the back of the Palace to head to the DFAC for dinner. The sun was setting and there were a lot of people milling around the area. I was just stepping into the dining hall when an explosion shook the building like a nearby crack of thunder. It was close enough that I could feel the percussion wave of the rocket's blast as I rushed further inside. Another group of people practically fell through the door behind me to get under cover. At first I brushed it off, no big deal. These things happen pretty frequently over here. Rockets fall, they explode, we move on. After eating I headed for my hooch, walking back the same way I'd come to the DFAC. The road was blocked by emergency vehicles and IZ Police SUV's. Marine Guards had set up a perimeter around where the rocket had landed and EOD crews were clearing the scene. I got a peek at where the rocket hit before one of the Guards told me to keep moving. They were doing everything they could to prevent a crowd from gathering. The rocket had hit a tree about 10-15 feet off the ground and exploded in a burst pattern that is pretty uncommon. It threw shrapnel in every direction, ripping through trees, trailers and anyone in the way. I didn't see anyone being treated, but knowing the number of people that were out there at the time I was pretty sure someone got injured. Then it occured to me...I had missed the impact by a slim 45 seconds. I had passed that exact spot as I walked toward the DFAC. 45 seconds. I thought a lot about how little time that was. If my routine that day had adjusted even slightly, I easily could have burned through an extra 45 seconds. Even so, it didn't phase me too much, I just shrugged "huh, close call", then headed for my hooch to get some rest.

I didn't realize how close until the next day. They announced in our morning meeting that two people had been killed by the rocket. One civilian contractor and one Army soldier. As I listened to my boss tell us what happened my sensations began to swirl. His voice faded as the one in my head began to scream "Holy s#!t, that WAS a CLOSE call. 45 seconds...45 F#$@&N seconds!" A quick phone call, a loose shoe lace, one more email to read.....45 seconds is 1/1000th of 1 grain in the sands of time. I had come within 45 seconds between life and death.

As the anxiety faded, reality dissolved back into focus in front of me. My boss was talking about the two people killed. The female civilian worked in the housing office. She was well known and well liked. The soldier was Master Sergeant Sean Michael Thomas.

He was considered a solid leader and a great friend. I did not know him, but I would later come to learn we had a lot in common. We knew many of the same people, we both had young daughters and we were both signed on for a 1-year tour in Iraq. The parallels may seem slight, but his death has really stuck with me. I attended his memorial service. The small chapel was filled. People were left standing against the walls and hanging in the doorways. No one wanted to miss a chance to show their respects. There was music and prayers and friends who spoke of what a good man Master SGT Thomas was. The most powerful moment in the service was the end. It was Final Roll Call.

Everyone is asked to stand and one of the lead officers, in his best Drill Sergeant voice, begins yelling out the names of fellow soldiers in the command.

"Sergeant Jones!"

"Here, sir!"

"Lieutenant Meyers!"
"Here, sir!"

"Corporal Smith!"

"Here, sir!"

"Master Sergeant Thomas!"

.....silence.....

"Master Sergeant Sean Thomas!"

.....silence.....

"Sean Michael Thomas!"

.....silence.....

Many people in the chapel were prepared for the Final Roll Call. Most were not. It was truly overwhelming and still upsets me to think about it. The silence hit like an emotional sledgehammer. For several people it was too much. Tears started flowing. Some had to sit down before the call was even finished. Others slipped out the door. I felt like I was going to throw up. Fortunately, the lump in my throat kept it from getting very far.

For Master SGT Thomas death had come too soon. A man on a mission and with a purpose. A man whose wife and daughter are left to follow their own path through a life of pain, veiled by the loss of a husband and father.

I am still numb at the thought of how 45 seconds in life can make such a deadly difference. I am also humbled by the thought of doing everything I can to make sure I make it home, safely, to my wife and daughter. But in the IZ, we all accept the risks.

Here is a link to an article about Master SGT Thomas by The Military Times

http://www.militarycity.com/valor/2659521.html

Lawmakers in D.C. are also working to name a Post Office after Master SGT Thomas in his hometown.

http://www.govtrack.us/congress/billtext.xpd?bill=h110-2765

Thanks for reading my blog. I promise I will make a greater effort to update this more frequently. I am going to try for at least one update a week. I will do my best.

Still to come....Nightlife in the IZ.

Tinman

All materials copyrighted and not for further distribution.

Scarecrow: "...some people without brains do an awful lot of talking... don't they?"

2007-06-29T22:42:00.001-07:00

There is still room for great strides toward success, but there will never be easy answers to securing freedom and security for Iraqis. The price to be paid for years to come will be money, mayhem and human lives. In many ways we are still working to fix the problems left by one of the leading mindsets of the early days after the U.S. invasion...optimism.

My favorite example, which can play as a metaphor for bigger and more important parts of the U.S. operation here, is so simple it's almost endearing.

Sandbags

When work began to build housing areas for the American military and government employees who would bring democracy to Iraq, sandbags were a key building block. Every hooch is surrounded by sandbags for protection from incoming rounds. But with optimism built into the blueprints, someone came up with what I'm sure they thought was a superior concept. Biodegradable sandbags. Think about it...pretend it's 2003. It won't be long before we'll take the training wheels off Iraq's new government, hand over the keys and tell the Iraqis to drive carefully. The sandbags will be dissolving. All we'll have to do is push around some mounds of sand, sweep up and go home.

Four years later, the thousands of piles of hundreds of thousands of biodegradable sandbags are literally collapsing around us. The sandbags are disintegrating, pushed at an even more rapid pace by the extremely harsh weather conditions here.

It's not uncommon to have to step around or over the remains of a sandbag avalanche as you head in or out of your hooch. Iraqi work crews are slowly replacing the mini-mountains of crumbling sandbags with real ones. It's an enormous project that I am sure will cost more money than most of us will see in our lifetime.

But what choice do we have? We're going to need sandbags in the IZ a lot longer than we expected.

Please be sure to add my blog to your favorites and check back often for updates. Feel free to post comments. You can click on the photos for larger versions of my pictures.

Still to come...How 45 seconds in the IZ can mean the difference between life and death

Tinman

The Tinman Returns

2007-06-19T09:08:00.001-07:00

Many apologies for my delay in new posts. I was on my first leave from Baghdad for about 3 weeks and didn't have the time nor energy to keep this updated. My vacation was absolutely fantastic! The pressure of being in the Baghdad bubble has a tendency to sneak up on you. You don't realize how claustrophobic you feel until you are actually close to getting out. When it finally hits, you can't help but feel both ecstatic and panicked as you run for the exit.

I started my time off with 2 days at the Dead Sea in Jordan. I wanted to decompress before meeting up with my family in England. This was definitely the place to do it. There is nothing better then lots of sun, excessive alcohol and the extremely salient water of the Dead Sea to wash away the mental grime of a war zone. Most people have read about it, but swimming here is truly something that has to be experienced to be understood. It is simply an amazing feeling to be so bouyant on the water. You can stand straight up and bob like a cork with the water only coming up to mid-torso.

Next I was off to London for a day and a half.

This was just a quick transit but I managed to squeeze in a trip to the British Museum and The London Zoo. The Museum is massive and packed with an incredible array of history.

I spent a couple of hours here and probably only saw 25% of the entire collection. If you're ever in London this is a Do Not Miss location and it's free!

The London Zoo was very nice. It's a zoo. There are animals...'nuff said.

Before I knew it, it was time for the train to Worcester to meet my wife and daughter. They were waiting at the station when we pulled in. When my daughter saw me through the window I could actually hear her squealing above the sound of the train. The reunion was very special and that first hug was simply priceless. We spent a day with some old friends of my wife and then it was off to tour the English countryside.

We stayed on an old farm that had 8 or 10 cottages on site. They were all stables and barns from the 1800's that had been converted. They did an incredible job and spared no expense to make these comfortable and accomodating living quarters. The farm and surrounding scenery was peaceful, calming and breathtaking all at the same time.

Note: The picture is of the main farmhouse, not the cottage we stayed in. But the house is for rent...sleeps TEN! The people that own the property really put a lot of thought, money and effort into making the place a perfect vacation spot.

They even had a mini-cottage built on the playground for the children.

We spent HOURS in there and had quite a hard time convincing our daughter to come out.

The 8 days we had here flew by. We explored historic sites, gorgeous landscapes and LOTS of English pubs.

Saying goodbye again at the train station was very hard. I held my wife and daughter close, breathed them in and promised that I would see them again soon.

After an exhausting 24 hours of travel I landed in Dubai for 3 days of training. Dubai is a spectacular city and it seems like the whole place is under construction.

The atmosphere is very hip and there are a lot of beautiful and rich people walking around. I made some very good contacts during my time here and plan to fly a few resumes their way to see if anything interesting comes up. There is a LOT of money to be made in Dubai. But it's also a very expensive place to live and the traffic is absolutely horrendous. The typical 20 minute cab ride back to the airport took an hour and a half! Still, if you'll say "yes" to Baghdad why in the world would you say "no" to Dubai?!?

Then it was off to Kuwait for my military air flight back into Baghdad. You have to camp out at Ali Al Salem Airbase for a day. It's dirt and trailers and tents and hot and dusty.

You bunk out in the "transient tent" where at any time you can have 0 to 16 roommates.

I had about a 24-hour wait and I was feeling a bit depressed thinking about getting back. But once I made it, it didn't take long to find my track in the rhythm of life here. It may sound odd, but it was good to be "home." The IZ has a way of growing on you.

Still to come...Why you don't say "goodbye" in Baghdad.

Tinman

All material in this blog is copyrighted and not for further distribution

"There's no place like home..."

2007-05-20T10:36:00.000-07:00

In Baghdad, your hooch is where your heart is. Who wouldn't love to live in the largest trailer park in the Mideast. With more and more people coming in and fewer places to put them, it's a continuous turf battle. The situation was getting pretty sketchy on my cat & mouse game with the housing office and the existence of my "roommate". I held them off for about 2 weeks after the phone calls started and then finally I had to take drastic measures. I whined and got my boss involved. One of the Iraqis that works in our office likes to joke that he has a "Clint Eastwood style presence." He walked with me down to the housing office and calmly but assuredly told the manager that I should not have a roommate because my job demands difficult hours and to be on call 24/7. The short but very wide woman tried to protest. There was a few moments of uncomfortable silence and my boss finally cut through it like a hot slug from a .45. His eyes went sharp and he said "Look, it's just not an option." The woman begrudgingly relented and said I needed to submit a letter of justification. Nothing happens in government without some kind of paperwork. So I got that in ASAP and was sure to mention the important people I work with (wink, wink) and 2 days later my single room request was approved! It's mine all mine! Every inch of the 7' x 18' just screams freedom! I had the 2nd bed removed and hoped to have it replaced with a computer desk and pleather executive chair like my neighbor has. Guess I was a little late to the game on that. Unfortunately all they had was a dusty green plastic patio table and a dinky, well-worn fabric office chair. I told them to bring it anyway. Here in the IZ, you have to take what you can get.

Please be sure to add my blog to your favorites and check back often for updates. Feel free to post comments. You can click on the photos for larger versions of my pictures.

Still to come... No more rounds at The Baghdad Country Club

Tinman

Oz: "A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others."

2007-05-03T06:36:00.000-07:00

In my heart, I am terrified for the future of the children in Iraq. When you catch them in a relaxed, normal moment you can see it in their dark eyes. You can hear it in their small voices. They are exhausted... physically, emotionally and mentally. It fills their heart, pumps through their veins and runs straight to their soul. It encompasses every waking moment and long, fitful nights filled with terrifying dreams that play like horror movies in their young minds. They are exhausted by violence...by turmoil...by bombings and gunfire and kidnappings and destruction and fear and helplessness and hopelessness. Exhausted by death. Exhausted by life. This is not the existence for every Iraqi child. But it is for many. Probably for most. Strife and turmoil are a rite of passage for children in many troubled areas of the world. But the long-term potential for what is happening here could be much worse. Generations of Iraqi children lost to war and brimming with the life-long anger that fills the void of children who are surrounded by violence and starved of a natural and nurturing upbringing. But even in a war zone, it's not all bad. Iraqi children are quick to smile, to shake your hand, to ask your name and to tell you their's. Some speak surprisingly good English. For others the response, no matter what you say, is always a thumbs-up and "Cool...cool." Spending time with them is sad and uplifting at the same time. I have been fortunate to take part in several outreach programs during my time here. A few weeks back I went with a group of military friends to a neighborhood in the IZ where several families live in heartbreaking conditions. One family of six survives in a tin shack about 10' wide and 20' long. Their front door is a drape. Another family lives in the front half of a home where the back half collapsed after a rocket or mortar attack. We arrived in three separate SUVs packed with boxes of clothes, toys, toiletries, food and candy. The street was empty when we pulled up, but as the word spread people started coming from all directions. We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes then opened up the backs of the SUVs. The crowd that had gathered was mostly women and children. Their eyes went wide when they saw the boxes nearly overflowing with the donated items. We tried to hand things out individually to be sure that what we were giving away was going to Iraqis who could use it. But it quickly became a feeding frenzy. Both children and adults started reaching into the vehicles and into the boxes and just grabbing whatever they could. We suddenly found ourselves swarmed and realized we needed to control the situation more firmly. So we closed the boxes and raised our voices telling everyone to slow down and back up. There was one mild-mannered older teenager named Mark who helped us get things calmed down. Then we gradually handed things out to a few people at a time. The youngest kids would come to the vehicles, take what they were given and bring it to their parents. Then they'd rush back and tug at our shirts and arms shouting "Me..me! Baby...Baby! Me...me!" I made sure the smaller children got something special just for themselves. A doll, a teddy bear or toy. To see the excitement in their faces and their eyes light up was truly amazing, but heartbreaking at the same time. Once the items were all gone the mood quickly became normal again. We were thanked repeatedly by everyone. They would grab our hands, look us firmly in the eye and say "Shukran. Shukran." ("Thank you. Thank you.") Despite the chaos of the gathering they were truly grateful and tried to express it the best way they could. We were invited for tea by one family. But this was not a good area to stay in too long, so we had to decline. But promised we'd be back.

I have also joined The Green Zone Council (The GZC) here at the Palace. It's a group of military and civilians working to rebuild Iraq's Boy & Girl Scouts program. It used to be one of the premier Scouting organizations in the world until Saddam broke it apart and turned it into more of an Iraqi Military Youth group.

According to Wikipedia: After the Baath party took control in 1968 and especially after Saddam Hussein seized power in 1979, youth groups were retooled to serve the state. One replacement program, Saddam's Cubs, offered "summer camps" where 10 to 15 year-old boys endured 14-hour days filled with hand-to-hand fighting drills.

So the GZC is working with former Iraqi Scout Leaders to rebuild the program to what it once was. A couple of weeks ago we had 50 scouts come in from the Red Zone for a camp area cleanup. We've got control over a huge and beautiful plot of land inside the IZ. We are working to get the Government of Iraq (GOI) to designate the land as a permanent camp site for Iraqi Scouts. It's about 6 or 7 acres of beautiful wooded and open land surrounded by a 12 foot wall that Saddam used as his personal hunting ground.

They had animals caged there and would let them out anytime he felt like a "sporting challenge". The cages are still there. The land needs a lot of work to get cleaned up and be useable for the Scouts. All the children had a great time and all the adult Scout leaders are truly good hearted people.

Many of them are literally putting their lives on the line for this program.

I went to an elementary school here in the IZ not too long ago to help with a cleanup project. This was a pretty sad place. The school is very rundown and operates with minimal support or teaching supplies. The classrooms are all just broken desks with a chalkboard. Several rooms had large puddles on the floor from roof leaks. When I heard the school had a room full of donated computer equipment they were hoping to get assembled I volunteered for that mission. The teachers didn't know what they had or how to make it work. Since I had the best tech skills I became the project manager. I wasn't sure what to expect from the donated equipment. When they opened the storage area it was piled high with dusty, dinged and dreary looking desktop PC's and LCD monitors. The whole time we were pulling the stuff out we were murmuring to each other, "is this stuff even going to work?" We decided to start with one. After clearing and cleaning the room we pieced the first PC together...we wiped down the filthy equipment and plugged in the monitor, mouse and keyboard. There was a breathless moment when I hit the power button. Sure enough, the computer lights came on and after a few seconds that familiar Windows XP logo lit up the screen. There were cheers and high-fives and the kids rushed to the keyboard. In the end, we were able to get 15 computers working. Suddenly the school had a genuine, fully-functional computer lab! The students were ecstatic and the teachers were amazed.

But they really don't know yet what they are doing or what they can accomplish with the computers. I told them I'd be willing to come back and do training classes for the teachers and the students. If they learn to use the computers they can offer so much more curriculum for the kids...music, art, writing, etc. The possibilities are endless.

If enough people are willing to help the Iraqis help themselves, the same can be true around the IZ and across the country...endless possibilities.

Please be sure to add my blog to your favorites and check back often for updates. Feel free to post comments. You can click on the photos for larger versions of my pictures.

Still to come...Guess who won the cat & mouse game over my hooch?

Tinman

All Material Copyright 2007(c)

"We must be over the rainbow!"

2007-04-21T06:03:00.000-07:00

*NOTE: For some reason I am having a hard time getting this post to format properly. Sorry if it looks weird on your screen, but I am tired of trying to fix it.

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It's only about 5 square miles, but there is plenty to see inside the IZ.

A few weeks back I was given a personal tour of the most notable sites by an Iraqi-American working for the Department of State. He fled Baghdad with his family decades ago and returned after the fall of Saddam to help rebuild his country. I was the only civilian in the group of about a dozen on the small bus that rolled out of the Palace compound parking lot. It made me a little nervous that I was the only person in the tour group not wearing body armor. When I said that I had not been told I needed to bring it, I was assured it wasn't a requirement. Somehow that didn't make me feel any more secure.

The first stop is the #1 tourist picture spot in the IZ. The official name is "The Hands Of Victory", but most people here just call
them "The Crossed Swords."

These are bookends to the massive "Grand Festivities Square" where Saddam would do his infamous handwave and blasting of the shotgun for big rallies. Despite the history surrounding them, the swords are very cool to see. The two sets of swords are mirror images. On each end, two fists rise out of the ground each gripping a massive sword, the tips of which touch at a peak about 130 feet high.

The bases are said to have been cast from Saddam's own arms and hands. As with most Saddam era memorials work began to tear down the swords. But even as the first parts came off Iraq's Ministry of Interior stopped the project. Since this is actually a war memorial and not a Saddam memorial there is growing support to preserve the swords and just replace the arms and hands.

At the bottom of each monument helmets of Iranian soldiers killed in the Iran/Iraq war are piled as if they are spilling onto the ground from large nets. Some have graffiti scribbled on them, others show the bullet holes made by the soaring slug that presumably precipitated the demise of its owner.

The next stop is the MASSIVE "Tomb of the Unknown Soldier". It's a giant circular structure with a clamshell top that covers the tomb holding the reported remains of an Iraqi soldier. This site is so big you can reportedly see it from space, much like the Great Wall of China.

There is a room below the tomb where dozens of glass cases stand empty in darkness. This was one of the sites looted during the coalition invasion. Many important and priceless artifacts were taken from here. When I asked about this during our tour an Iraqi guard swept his arm across the room and then moved it above his head in a swirling motion. He said in rough english, "Awll thees...Ali Baba." That's how Iraqis describe stealing, a reference to the character in the story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.

When we were told our guide was going to take us to Believer's Palace, I was excited to think about getting a close up tour of this bombed out building. But, I had no idea how close. When you pull up next to the palace the damage is really incredible to see. We were all just milling around looking at the massive holes blown through the sides of the thick marble walls when our guide said, "Ok, let me go get the key so we can get inside."

I almost squealed like a schoolgirl. We were actually going to get to walk right through the devastation...the centerpoint of destruction...ground zero.

It's a pretty eery place inside. Silent and dark with musty, dank air. But the damage is INCREDIBLE! This was one of the first sites we hit in 2003 because of an extensive bunker system built beneath it.

The 1000 lb. bombs definitely destroyed the palace, but the bunker was mostly untouched. I read somewhere the designer said the bunker was built to withstand a nuclear blast. We carefully weaved our way through the debris from one end of the destroyed palace to the other.

We were given free reign, allowed to walk wherever we wanted and I took advantage of it. While most in the group kept together and stayed in the main rooms I explored the more obscure routes and examined the handiwork of good old American destructive ingenuity.

I was pretty surprised we were able to walk around in here. It's very dangerous. You're stepping over and climbing onto debris just to make it a few feet at a time. But it was SO F'n COOL!

Just when I thought the tour couldn't get any better our guide asked "Who wants to go up into the tower?" I was first in line.

The tower stands just behind Believer's Palace. There are a lot of rumors about what it was used for during Saddam's time, the most prevalent being a sniper's tower. It's a hazardous climb of several hundred feet. In places the spiral steps and railing were ripped apart by flying debris from the explosions in Believer's Palace, punching huge ragged holes into the heavy steel. As you get to the top of the circular stairs, your head starts to spin from the climb and the height.

But the view made it more than worth it. Normally Baghdad's skyline is very murky, but a strong storm had blown through the night before clearing the air and allowing us an unprecedented view for miles around. Here is what Believer's Palace looks like from above.

You get a great view of the Embassy up here as well.

It was easy to see across the entire IZ, this is the distant view of The Tomb of the Unknown and behind it the giant Grand Mosque that is under construction in Baghdad.

The tower was the end of our adventure for the day.

We all had to get back to work and stop pretending to be tourists in the IZ.

Please be sure to add my blog to your favorites and check back often for updates. Feel free to post comments. You can click on the photos for larger versions of my pictures.

Still to come...My one man hearts and minds campaign.

Tinman

"Come on, everybody to the storm cellar!"

2007-04-20T07:54:00.000-07:00

Enjoyed my first Baghdad dust storm last night.
I was unfortunately without my camera as it started to roll in. It started about 6pm. The entire horizon north of The Palace turned into a light shade of burnt orange. As the storm moved across the compound you could see the dividing line between the normal cloudy sky and the blustery dust bin overhead. There are no typical local weather forecasts around here and unless you make the effort to keep up on the web you never know what to expect. This picture was about 7pm, when it's normally still pretty light out. Walking outside the dust washes over you like dry, weightless rain drops. It takes a couple hours for the taste and smell to fade away. If you want to enjoy a similar experience in your own home pull the bag out of your vacuum cleaner, give it a good shake and breath deeply. This was a fairly mild storm that only lasted a few hours. One guy shrugged off the conditions as he stepped outside for a smoke saying, "This is nothing. Wait until you see a sand storm." Next time I won't get caught without my camera.

Please be sure to add my blog to your favorites and check back often for updates. Feel free to post comments. You can click on the photos for larger versions of my pictures.

Still to come...How 45 seconds in the IZ can mean the difference between life and death

Tinman

All Material Copyright 2007(c)

"I'll get you my pretty... and your little dog to!"

2007-04-15T01:32:00.000-07:00

I've decided to change how I update this blog to make it more current. There is so much happening almost every day, if I just keep writing to try and get everyone caught up I think I'll be playing catch up until I leave. So I am going to begin posting more current updates interspersed with my adventures up to this point.

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Once inside the Palace compound (it's officially called The Embassy Annex and was formerly known as The Republican Palace) life is pretty good. They feed you, do your dry cleaning and try to provide plenty of activities when you are not working long hours for weeks on end. There is a large pool, a small movie theater, horseshoes, ping pong, pool tables, karaoke nights, salsa nights, poker nights and all kinds of other theme nights. Some events are very well attended. Others, no one shows up and the organizer ends up standing around with a clipboard looking a little pathetic. You can't help but feel sorry for them. Imagine spending days planning a party and no one comes. I've attended a few events, but in 2 1/2 months here I've only had 4 full days off. But here that's actually an advantage. Staying busy helps the time pass more quickly.

I hesitate to tarnish the image that some of you may have of me enjoying the glamorous life in Baghdad at one of Saddam's former palaces. But the worst part of this whole deal is the living arrangements. They SUCK! Everyone lives in trailers behind the Palace. They are small and poorly built with a shared bathroom for anywhere from 2 to 4 people. My trailer is one room about 7'x18' and that is one of the big ones. For the lingo here, you refer to it as your "hooch." There's a bed, a crappy metal cabinet for your clothes, a small fridge, a TV and dreadfully slow internet access. I am in between roommates right now and am working on keeping the place to myself. While I work the official channels, I have to play a cat & mouse game with the housing office to keep them from putting a new person in here. So I routinely rearrange some clothes on the other side of the room, make the bed look slept in and throw some trash around to give it that realistic "lived in" look. The game gets more interesting when they try to send a replacement roommate.

It starts with a phone call

Them: "This is so & so in the billeting office. We tried to send a new roommate to your trailer and they came back and said it looked like someone was already living there."

Me: "Umm, yeah that'd be my roommate."

Them: "But we don't show you as having a roommate."

Me: "Hmm, well I don't know what to tell you. It's the same guy that's been living there since I got here."

Them: "But our records show you as being the only one in that room."

Me: "No, I definitely have a roommate. I don't see him that often, we work opposite schedules. But he was there just the other day."

Them: "So, what's his name?"

Me: "It's Joe....something. I don't know his last name. I think he works at one of the FOB's (Forward Operating Bases). "

Them: "Hmm, well we'll investigate and see what we can figure out."

Good luck with that. They may have the power, but I have the upper hand in the game. See it's really not my problem...it's my roommate's ;) and since they are dealing with hundreds of trailers and thousands of people confusion is standard protocol in that office.

There's no such thing as a hooch with a view. This is what everyone looks at when they step out their front door. Sandbags are stacked around each hooch to protect them from incoming rounds, mortars and rockets. But the sandbags are only good if they take the hit. If your trailer takes the hit, it's like punching through paper.

My first week here I trudged back to my hooch late one night from a long day at the office. I was beat. I dropped my bag and flopped onto my bed with a sigh, letting my right forearm collapse across my eyes. The lack of quality sleep and dry air here make your eyes hurt constantly. I was tired, but I was hungry. It was getting late. If I wanted something to eat I needed to hurry before the DFAC closed. It's a 10 minute walk from my hooch. I pulled my arm down and forced my eyes open to an irritable squint.
I was about to pull myself up from my lumpy, uncomfortable mattress when I noticed something on the ceiling. At first I thought it was a bug. I stood up and looked closer...not a bug. It was a bullet hole. A bullet hole right above my bed. A bullet hole directly over where I lay my weary head every night. I couldn't trace the round, but the crew that came to seal up the hole found it.

They left it for me as a souvenir. It's one of my favorite keepsakes so far. We get a lot of IDF (Indirect Fire) in the compound. Occasionally someone gets hit.

Living at the Palace means learning to exist within a fishbowl of security. There are numerous guards, gates and badge checks everywhere you go. The RSO (Regional Security Officer) holds regular briefings to keep people updated and informed. For emergency situations they have a public address system that covers the entire compound. We call it "The Big Voice." It's used to put out security announcements and emergency alerts. If the detection systems pick up an incoming mortar or rocket a siren goes off and The Big Voice booms "Incoming, Incoming, Incoming!" When that happens you theoretically have a 10 second warning to take cover.
With no real place in your hooch to dive to safety you're supposed to strap on your body armor. That certainly takes longer than 10 seconds, but you should make the effort anyway. We had a very active few days not that long ago. The siren and incoming alerts started about 2am one morning. It's like the world's worst alarm clock. I roll out of bed, put on my body armor and sit there waiting. A few minutes later The Big Voice comes back with a few more words of wisdom, "All clear. All clear. All clear." So off comes the body armor, I crawl back under the covers and try to find The Sandman again. Less than an hour later..."Incoming, Incoming, Incoming!" Same drill. Armor on...wait for the all clear...armor off...back in bed. The third time it happened I was so tired I could barely see straight, my head felt like it was encased in bubble wrap. I got out of bed with a strong verbal expression of displeasure, put my armor on and waited. Usually the all clear comes within a couple of minutes. After 10 minutes of trying to keep my eyes open I figured I could at least lay down and wait. When my real alarm clock went off at 7am I tried to jump up but was held down by the armor. I groaned and expressed some more displeasure. My neck was stiff from sleeping with the helmet on and my back was sore from the weight of the armor. I peeled it off and threw it to the floor. The all clear never came. Now when The Big Voice tries to keep me up at night I just pull my armor over me and use it as a blanket.

In the IZ that's a close as you can get to sleeping safe and sound.

Please be sure to add my blog to your favorites and check back often for updates. Feel free to post comments. You can click on the photos for larger versions of my pictures.

Still to come...A personal tour of the IZ and a quiet stroll through a disaster zone.

Tinman

All Material Copyright 2007(c)

"We're not in Kansas anymore..."

2007-04-07T11:23:00.000-07:00

The oddest part of this whole experience has been how different my background is from nearly everyone else I've met along the way. I don't mean this in a bad way, it's simply reality. I didn't realize nor even consider the disparity until the 1st day of DSAC. The class began with everyone having to stand up, give their name and a brief synopsis of their background.

The answers from the rest of the class were something along the lines of "My name is such and such and I've spent the last blankety blank years with..." (enter the name of a government entity here). EVERY single person in my class of about 30 was either former military, Department of Defense (DOD), Department of State (DOS) or some other government agency with an acronym of it's own. Being the back of the class kind of person that I am, I heard almost everyone else's story before it was my turn. As the verbal baton of truth moved closer towards my seat my mind raced. Am I.....in the wrong class?.....a victim of mistaken identity?.....about to be uncovered as a government fraud?

The people around me all had backgrounds that actually applied to where we were about to go and what we were about to do. They understood how the government "works", how to bob and weave through the bureaucracy and most of them knew what all the acronyms whizzing past my head actually meant. There were times the instructor would speak sentences that were 50% acronyms. As I'm looking around panicked, trying to figure out what the hell this guy was talking about everyone else is nodding and smiling in agreement and recognition.

Then it was my turn....I stood up, swallowed hard and decided to shoot from the hip.

I gave my name and position at the Embassy and said "I spent the last 15 years working in television. Considering everyone else's background I'm not really sure what I'm doing here. Maybe someone made a mistake, I don't know. But, um, I'm excited to be here and call me crazy but I can't wait to get to Baghdad."

That brought some laughter out of the rest of my classmates and since no armed guards came in and escorted me out of the room I figured I was in the right place. For the rest of the 10 days of training people who couldn't remember my name just referred to me as "The TV guy." I figured, fair enough.

Throughout the initiation and training to get to Baghdad there was one thing I feared most. It had nothing to do with an aircraft tragedy or IED (Improvised Explosive Device). It was getting here, being on the ground and having no one there to meet us and absolutely no idea where we were going.

That is exactly how our arrival began...then it got worse.

The Blackhawk drops into the LZ (landing zone) like a stone, but lands like a feather. We scrambled to heft our luggage to the ground and move quickly away from the whirling blades of the chopper. We were all wearing 35 lbs. of body armor and helmets and trying to lug a year's worth of gear across the tarmac. The Blackhawk lifted off again and the thud-thud-thud-thud-thud from its rotors faded into the sky.

As the silence washed around us we started looking around the LZ. It was just a giant paved parking lot surrounded by tall cement barriers (T-Walls). So there we stood. We'd come halfway around the world in 4 days. We finally made it to Baghdad and there was no one even waiting for us. Never one to overlook the obvious I said, "Where the hell are we supposed to go?" There were no guides, no one to ask for directions, not even a sign with a big arrow saying "This Way ===>". So we moved toward what looked like an opening in the T-walls and hoped for the best.

We found a street and headed in what we thought was the general direction of the Embassy. There was a lot of cursing as we rolled and dragged our luggage down 3 blocks of broken, crumbling sidewalks.

While we were in Washington, DC we each got government ID's called a CAC ('kak' - Common Access Card). These are supposed to get you access to certain federal sites and facilities...we found out a little too late that does not include secured U.S. Embassies. The gate security at the Palace is handled by guards for a contracting company. Most are Peruvian or some similar South American origin. They are all extremely nice guys but their English is no muy bueno. They took one look at our CACs and started shaking their heads. One guard raised his eyes and started looking past us as if he were gazing across a distant horizon. He shifted his feet and adjusted his grip on the M-16 draped over his shoulder. His body language spoke volumes. He had chosen to ignore us. The other guard at least acknowledged our situation. He tapped his finger on the CAC I was holding and said, "Nooo good...no embuzzy batch." Feeling a little testy I said, "So what are we supposed to do?! We just got here." He just shrugged his shoulders. I'll never be sure if that meant "I don't know" or "I don't know what you're saying."

We finally persuaded the guards to get their American supervisor to come out. He was a big guy with a bad attitude who made it exceptionally obvious he could care less if we got inside the Embassy or not. The problem was our Point Of Contact (POC) wasn't there to meet us and we had no way of getting in touch with him. We eventually convinced the supervisor to call his office, so they could call our POC's office and tell him to come get us. When the supervisor hung up his cell phone he pointed a beefy finger at the sidewalk across the street and said, "Wait over there."

So there we sat, three exhausted white guys in body armor with a small mountain of luggage. It must have seemed quite humorous to all the people walking in and out of the Embassy compound. They didn't hesitate to stare and smirk at the fresh fish who couldn't quite seem to make it into the pond.

An HOUR of humiliation later our POC shows up. He was a short, round and balding Pakistani. His thin moustache accentuated his rough sense of the English language. "You're here early," he said with a smile and handshake. I just bit my lip because I would probably have regretted what I wanted to say. One of my co-workers said flatly, "Umm, no not really." Our POC ignored the reply, kept smiling and said, "OK, let's get you inside." That was about as warm a welcome as we'd get.

His plan was to put all our luggage inside his van and drive us into the Embassy compound. That's a multi-step process involving badge checks, bomb sniffing dogs and massive metal barriers. It's VERY important to follow the procedures and obey the signs, particularly the one that says STOP at the first checkpoint where you have to wait your turn. Our POC was too busy nattering away to my coworker next to him in the front seat and rolled right through the stop sign. Even a newbie like me knew this was a bad thing. So I said bluntly, "Hey, stop." He didn't hear me. He continued chatting, not paying attention and moving forward. By that time the guards were moving toward us with their hands raised. I said louder, "Hey STOP!" It still didn't sink in. As we continued slowly rolling forward the guards ahead raised their guns at us and snapped into firing position. I finally grabbed the guy's arm and yelled "STOP!" Knowing how this kind of situation progresses, my next move was to hit the floor. Reality finally hit this guy upside the head and he slammed on the brakes. With their guns still raised one of the guards yelled in a deep hoarse voice, "Back up! Back up the vehicle!" Our driver became suddenly flustered, apologized profusely and slowly reversed his van back to the stop sign.

So, in Baghdad less than 2 hours and we were almost shot by our own troops because of some other guys lack of "situational awareness" as we were trained to call it. When I retold this story to some new friends later, I was told to consider myself lucky. At least the American guards fire warning shots first. The guards at other embassies shoot to kill with no questions asked. An American contractor was shot to death by Australian guards just a few weeks earlier in a very similar situation.

You learn quickly here in the IZ, it's the little things you need to be thankful for.

Please be sure to add my blog to your favorites and check back often for updates. Feel free to post comments. You can click on the photos for larger versions of my pictures.

Next up...A sign from above and sleeping with body armor.

Tinman
All Material Copyright 2007(c)

"Lions and tigers and bears..."

2007-04-04T03:15:00.001-07:00

Hello! Thank you for visiting my blog. To those of you I haven't kept in touch with since leaving the states, please forgive me. It's been a crazy several weeks. I'd planned to do this from the beginning, but have been delayed by the hectic pace of training, traveling and getting settled in Baghdad.

So I will bring the whole wild ride up to date and then begin regular updates on my experiences in the International Zone (the I-Z). There's just one rule and you must agree to follow it. For those of you that may have contact with my wife, you cannot discuss with her this blog or the things you read here. I have nothing to hide, but there have been many events that I don't want her to know about until after this is over. She is already worried enough. There's no reason to emotionally exhaust her with the details.

I am still a newbie in a dangerous place where many people have spent years learning to live, while serving in the fight for safety and democracy for the Iraqi people. But I am looking for The Wizard. I'll let you know if I find him.

First, a brief history on how I got here. I've been a News Producer since graduating college. After 15+ years following my career path in TV across country and back, I'd become fully disenchanted with what I feel is the rudderless ship of journalism. Do not get me wrong, this is not a single station or management issue. It's an industry-wide epidemic. I do not take my time or success in TV News for granted. I was very fortunate. But it's pretty simple really. A shrinking body of viewers are forcing media outlets to reach to the lowest depths of content to keep people watching. The viewers that understand what news is and why we're there are turning us off because we are catering to the growing majority who are more interested in Anna's Baby's Daddy and Britney's Breakdown. There is more to it for me personally, but I'll leave it at that basic description. The way I explain it to people who aren't familiar with the TV industry....15-20 years ago you had shows such as Current Affair and Inside Edition trying to model themselves as "newscasts." Now you have newscasts trying to model themselves as Inside Edition and Current Affair. After a few years in the biz, I began to often feel pressured to toss aside my pride and journalistic integrity that I'd worked so hard to grow and maintain. With that said, I have been able to work in TV News with some of the greatest people in the biz. Good hearts, great minds, a HELL of a lot of fun and a true sense of what Journalism really should be. I thank you all for the experience.

One day not so long ago I was sitting at my desk in a busy, noisy newsroom getting ready for another morning meeting where we spend an hour or more making news coverage decisions that will be second-guessed for the rest of the day or simply tossed aside at the last possible moment. In an instant my life changed. A lightning strike of fate. An email hit my inbox from someone who'd become a trusted friend in the past year. His message was characteristically short. I've rarely gotten an email from him that was more than a few sentences, but they always have a wise and direct clarity.

This one said simply "Up for an adventure?"

It was a surreal moment, like when Neo is told "follow the white rabbit."

Attached to the email was a job listing for a position at the US Embassy Baghdad. A job I was perfect for. At first, I made jokes. It seemed almost insane to think about. Leave my cushy life in sunny Florida, my beautiful wife and daughter, my big house, my Jag and come to a war zone. A war zone which is not exactly working in our favor and where every American, military or not, is a potential target.

Then I took some time to think about it...really think about it. A wild fantasy of giving up the industry I'd come to loathe and leaving it all to go and witness history. I realized if I didn't at least try to get the job I'd always regret not having made the effort. The odds of another opportunity like this coming up for me were pretty much zero. Of course I never actually thought I'd get the job. I figured hell it's the government...surely they already have someone in place to fill this slot and the job posting was just a courtesy. I was wrong. After 2 weeks and 3 phone interviews, they wanted me.

So my choices were to stay knee deep in the nonsense or give it all up. After 2 months here on the ground, I know I made the right choice.

It all happened very fast. I got the thumbs up mid-December and by mid-January I'd put my life in the real world on hold and I was in Washington for the training you have to take before you come over. It's called DSAC ('d-sack' - Diplomatic Security Antiterrorism Course). A lot of it was boring crap, but we also got to shoot guns, blow s#!t up and learn surveillance and attack tactics. Then it was off from DC on a 13-hour flight to Kuwait. I was traveling with two other guys that work for the same company.

We spent 3 days at Ali Al Salem Air Base just outside Kuwait city. We had a tent with bunks and the food was good, but there was not much to do here. You can only play so much pool and ping pong. Had a big scare in the chow hall (DFAC 'd-fak' - for Dining Facility) one night. CNN was on the large LCD TV's on the wall and they suddenly cut to Breaking News.

"Tornadoes Hit Central Florida"

Here I am sitting halfway around the world watching one of the bureau chiefs from my old station reporting from the middle of a disaster scene. My first thought was "Holy S#!T Claire frikkin Metz!" Then I realized the area they were showing on the map was where our house is... where my wife and daughter are. The lump in my throat felt like I'd swallowed a golf ball. I ran to the phone. Thankfully they were fine, the tornadoes had past just north and just south of our house. Hundreds of other people were not so lucky.

After our stay in Kuwait we had a very uncomfortable flight into
Baghdad on a C-130 cargo plane. It was just like you see in the movies, a big metal shell with canvas net seats. No drinks, no food service and no sleep.

From Baghdad International Airport (BIAP 'by-op' - EVERYTHING has a damn acronym in government work) into the IZ it was a roller coaster like helicopter ride on a crowded Blackhawk. They fly fast, low and with the big guns locked and loaded.

Please be sure to add my blog to your favorites and check back often for updates. Feel free to post comments. You can click on the photos for larger versions of my pictures.

Next up...We jump off the chopper and my first step into the IZ reveals my biggest fear.

Tinman