Hello, everyone —
This is my first post after a long absence. I’ve been back in the country for about three weeks after being in the Middle East for almost all of 2003, on a goodwill tour with the U.S. Marine Corps. It’s good to be back to see my wife, children (one more arrived while I was away), home, etc., and it’s good to be able to write things here once again.
I’ve thought of many things to comment upon, but I wanted to begin with one topic that’s been troubling me for some time. A couple of weeks ago, PFC Jessica Lynch went home after months of physical therapy. For those of you who haven’t watched the news this year, PFC Lynch is the U.S. soldier injured in an attack on her convoy in Nasiriyah, Iraq, on March 23. Initially, reports based on intercepted Iraqi radio transmissions said that she fought her attackers, but later evidence revealed that she was almost certainly unable to fight because of the massive injuries she suffered in her vehicle’s collision.
So you probably know who Jessica Lynch is; you probably know that she has received a Bronze Star medal, as well as magazine covers, offers of exclusive, in-depth interviews, and all the attendant glories of saturation-level media coverage. She has a boyfriend who is a sergeant (in violation of Army fraternization rules). Her recovery looks like it will be complete.
I don’t wish PFC Lynch ill — quite the opposite. I was in Nasiriyah when special forces teams stormed the hospital where she was being kept, and as we knew the raid was imminent, I prayed for her safety. Our task force carried out an attack to divert attention away from the Lynch rescue. My civil affairs team, attached to 2nd Battalion, 8th Marine infantry regiment, contributed to the intelligence that identified her location. (Several civilians came forward to tell us where she was being kept, and Marines on my team found evidence of her previous location which indicated that she was still alive. I had nothing to do with these efforts, as I happened to be carrying out other duties when these things happened.)
What bothers me isn’t that she’s famous. What does bother me is that two Marines laid down their lives trying to save her and her comrades, and nobody knows who they are. I don’t even know their names, though I’ve spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure it out. They are two of the nine Marines who died on that sunny, mild day, but none of the news accounts or Pentagon reports that I’ve seen mention how each one died. Perhaps they think it’s not important; I happen to think it is. The only reason I heard about them at all is because of two news stories that mentioned in passing that two Marines died while trying to get to Lynch’s convoy, where several soldiers were dead or seriously wounded.
They were young men racing to the assistance of their countrymen, plunging themselves into imminent danger along with dozens of others. Unfortunately for them and their families, they were unlucky enough to be in the path of a bullet or the blast radius of a mortar shell. “Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends,” Jesus said. These men gave their lives for complete strangers. And nobody knows their names.
It’s possible that those news reports were wrong, though I did talk to Marines with that battalion who confirmed the details. Even if they are wrong, there were nine Marines and several soldiers who perished the same day. They weren’t “news,” though — it’s not counterintuitive for a 19-year-old guy from Brooklyn to die in battle. A pretty, wholesome-looking blond girl from a rural town makes for a much better profile in People magazine, and it has the novelty factor going for it. Also, news editors — almost all of whom are parishioners at the Church of Diversity Uber Alles — adore story lines involving women doing activities that men used to monopolize. From the moment the Iraqis dragged Lynch’s unconscious body away from her wrecked Humvee, she was destined to be a media star.
This speaks volumes about our culture: the mass media not only have a warped sense of proportion and values, so do large numbers of media consumers as well; the media know their market, and they know lots of people are interested in stories like Jessica Lynch.
A part of my motivation is because on a few occasions during the battle for that city, my team could have met the same fate. Mainly, though, I believe at least some of the glory given to Lynch rightfully belongs to others, too. So if you know the names of the two Marines who died while rescuing that convoy, let me know. I’d like to pray for their souls by their names, and for their families.
Author: Eric Johnson
Greetings from sunny Kuwait So
Greetings from sunny Kuwait
So I’m sitting here in a cool, air-conditioned double-wide trailer, using a Dell workstation to type this. Quite a change from being in a combat zone, I can tell you. It’s almost a little too much — I even had pizza for lunch. A few weeks ago, I was happy to get my first shower in 37 days, and now I’m enjoying the higher creature comforts.
As you can probably tell, I am perfectly okay — other than a few bruises and scratches which have healed, I suffered no injuries whatsoever. I appreciate everyone’s prayers on my behalf, more than you can know, and I believe they were answered. When I get more time (probably when I get home), I will write about some of my experiences in Iraq and Kuwait, which hopefully will be of some interest.
My best to all of you, and please pray that I might return soon. We’re in kind of a holding pattern right now, and trying to get a firm date for when we’re going home. Among other things, I’d really like to meet Christopher Stephen Johnson, the son I’ve never met. I hear he’s eager to meet me, too.
Going to be gone for
Going to be gone for a while
The Marine Corps has ordered me to report for active duty on Friday, January 10. That happens to be my fifth wedding anniversary. I imagine I’ll make one more post before I leave, but this is pretty much it for probably six months or so. I wish I knew where I was going or when I was coming back, but I don’t. Please keep my wife Paige in your prayers, as we are expecting our new baby in five weeks. Also, our son and daughter won’t quite understand what’s going on, other than I’m leaving for a long time, so a kid-sized prayer would be great, too.
Universe older than retired Sen.
Universe older than retired Sen. Strom Thurmond (R-Dixie)
Science magazine reports that the universe is between 11.2 and 20 billion years old. My trusty Windows ™ calculator tells me that’s a difference of 78.5714286% between the high and low estimates. I guess like psychology and astrology, physics and astronomy aren’t exact sciences either.
Pamela Anderson teaches Sunday School
Pamela Anderson teaches Sunday School
No, that isn’t a joke. She really is, according to this article. She is now “retired from acting,” though some catty people might suggest that she has never started.
Her next artistic endeavor will be a cartoon called “Striperella,” collaborating with animation legend Stan Lee (“Spider-Man”). I thought maybe the show had something to do with that heavy-metal Christian band from the ’80s, but then I remembered they spelled their name “Stryper,” so I’m thinking this might be Pam’s autobiography.
Anderson will also be testifying before Congress, doubtless at the request of Sen. Edward M. Kennedy (D-Chappaquiddick). She contracted hepatitis C from her former husband, Tommy Lee, a member of the band Motley Crew — excuse me, “Mötley Crüe.” He didn’t tell her about it — if in fact he knew in the first place — and she wants a new law requiring disease revelations before marriage. “I was the wife of someone who was too embarrassed to disclose it,” she explains.
It happens that I have flipped through a book about Mr. Lee’s band while at a local music store, and it’s amazing that he’s reticent to disclose much of anything. “They nailed the hottest chicks, started the bloodiest fights, partied with the biggest drug dealers, and got to know the inside of every jail cell from California to Japan,” it says on the cover of the Crüe’s book, which was inexplicably co-written by a New York Times writer. “Tommy married two international sex symbols; Vince killed a man and lost a daughter to cancer; Nikki overdosed, rose from the dead, and then OD’d again the next day; and Wick shot a woman and tried to hang his own brother. But that’s just the beginning.” Whew. And the guy couldn’t tell his wife about a lousy social disease because he was embarrassed?
I swear I’m not making up any of this. Truly, America has the best and the worst of everything. None of this could ever happen in Finland.