Don't ask, don't tell

While in Iraq a young male soldier came to me, pretty shaken up. He had checked his email and found that he had received a homosexual solicitation from a soldier on the FOB. The email praised his attractiveness, offered some explicit sexual acts, and invited his response. The message noted that the sender had seen the recipient around, and wanted to meet him, and wanted to have sex with him. The soldier was shaken because, not being gay, he was wondering if he came off as gay. He was also kind of angry, feeling that such a contact wasn’t right. He didn’t want to be around the sender, and requested a transfer.

Per the Army’s regulations on “Don’t ask, don’t tell”, investigation into alleged homosexuality is pretty tightly controlled. A soldier can’t be investigated upon a mere rumor. It takes an overt statement or act. Only the soldier’s commander can initiate the investigation, and who can be contacted during the investigation is limited. Since we had the explicit statements, we were justified in beginning an investigation.

The sender had used the Army’s email system to track down the email of the recipient, and he set up a bogus name to try to hide his identity. However, the latter effort was not successful, and we found the sender pretty quickly. His commander asked him if he sent the email, he admitted it, and he was discharged and sent home lickety split, within a couple of weeks. Normally a discharge takes a month or more.

The system worked pretty well. The sender’s identity was not revealed, nor was the reason for his discharge. A few people did know, of course, but word didn’t get around like you might expect. If the sender hadn’t sent the email, or if he had sent it to a willing recipient, no one would have known and he would have been left alone. The sender was a filler from a coastal state, not from one of the hometown units, so repercussions are unlikely, other than his military career is over.

I didn’t hear of any other gay soldiers, but lesbian soldiers were pretty visible. There was a general agreement about who was probably a lesbian, and I came to believe that the scuttlebutt was accurate. For one reason, I talked to a female soldier who roomed with an admitted lesbian. (They were both fine with that.) This source confirmed the rumors, and I guess she’d know as well as anyone. They seemed fairly open about it, but made no statement or committed no acts that would trigger an investigation. The command climate was such that it had many more important things to worry about than a person’s sexual orientation. As long as command was not forced to take action, it didn’t.

Thus, some of these gals were pretty casual about it. I ran into one when I was going home on leave and she was returning. She told me that her “partner” (code word for sweetheart) had split with her on leave, and she had to find and buy a new home, move out and then into the new place, all on her two weeks leave.

Interestingly, two of these lesbian soldiers were partners before we got mobilized. They were in the same section, and pretty much roomed together the entire deployment. In Iraq, the two of them shared a CHU, with just the two of them. Don’t you love the irony. A married couple couldn’t live together, and since they couldn’t even enter the other's living space they couldn’t have sexual relations. However the lesbian couple did get to room together, and do whatever they wanted, I guess.

Home Town

I live in a small town south of Boise. The area is growing rapidly, but for now is still pretty rural. Here are some pictures of town.

The top picture is is looking north down on Kuna. In the foreground is, yes, a dairy farm. Downtown is just beyond it, and then fields and farms. In the distance is "Squaw Butte." That's its official name, and it is the subject of some controversy.

The second picture is looking toward Boise, which rests against the snow covered hills.

The bottom picture looks west towards Oregon. On a clearer day you can see mountains across the Oregon-Idaho border, about 60 miles away.

Kirkuk Crud

In mid October, while we were still in Iraq, I began to suffer from what the medics eventually diagnosed as a sinus infection. The colonel from Brooklyn told me that the body is like plumbing. If the drainage gets plugged up, moisture can pool up and mold can grow there. So he prescribed antibiotics and something to dry up my sinuses. I’ve had sinus infections before and as usual I began to feel better quickly.

We left Iraq on November 1, and arrived back in Idaho in mid November. A couple of weeks later, the infection returned, a little stronger. I was on terminal leave, still on active duty, when I went to my local clinic for treatment. The PA there treated the returned infection aggressively, including antibiotics, something to dry me up, steroids (for something, I dunno) and an injection of anti-inflammatories. I thought “Hot Damn!”, this guy’s going for it. And the treatment didn’t cost anything.

I felt better pretty quickly. However, about a month later the infection returned, even stronger. I returned to the PA and he pretty much gave me the same treatment, except with out the injection. He also sent me for a CT scan to look for something that might harbor the offending infection. That came back essentially negative, but I was feeling better so I didn’t much care. I got a bill this time, though.

About three weeks later, the infection returned, but this time it was pissed off. So, back to the doc. I saw a different PA, and got a different prescription. This guy consulted the CDC and concluded that I had received the incorrect antibiotic for an “international traveler.” So now I am on the strongest antibiotic, for twice the length of time. The first few days I was pretty worthless, but I’m beginning to think that I might be human again one day.

Interestingly, while I was on active duty the docs and prescriptions were at no cost to me. Although I get 6 months of Tri-Care health insurance, after I ended leave the treatment began to cost me. Doesn’t matter that it’s clearly related to active duty, I still have to pay. (Not a lot, but still a payment). An active duty guy my shoes wouldn’t pay anything. One on hand I’m glad to have the insurance, but on the other it just doesn’t seem equitable. And I wonder about this crud I brought back from Iraq. Is it really just a sinus infection, or did all the toxins I was exposed to make me the lucky recipient of some type of Gulf War Syndrome? Doubtful, but it makes a guy wonder.

Easing back in

The reintegration is proceeding, encountering the various glitches that you can’t anticipate specifically, but of the type you know you’ll encounter. Murphy’s law, and all. Our state headquarters moved into a new armory while we were gone, resulting in new phone numbers and new locations. Our guys now don’t know where to go to get an ID card, or get a computer fixed, or whatever.

While we were gone the brigade armory was used by various vagabond units, and kind of trashed. Right before we returned the armory was stripped of contents and new carpet was laid. That’s nice, but when we returned all our stuff was in boxes packed by the carpet contractors, so it required unpacking. For some reason, phone lines were disconnected. The computer network was completely reconfigured, so all our computers no longer work. The fax machines disappeared. We took the printers with us, and either they died or we left them in Iraq. I went by my office and found that it was occupied by somebody else. I’m officially homeless.

We have no equipment, and no operations to plan for. Our motor pool is completely vacant; not a single vehicle darkens the pavement. Normally our staff is busy planning and making arrangements, but we have no exercises on the horizon. Therefore, nothing to plan for. The only activity is with the guys planning for the return of our equipment.

Divorces

During the weekend I heard of four more post-deployment divorces. Once female soldier went home and told her husband “I’ve found someone else.” Apparently she hooked up with somebody in Iraq. I had noticed that she lost quite a bit of weight, which is usually a bad sign for the spouse. Another female soldier came home to find unpaid bills and unknown debt. She had been very happy believing that she had paid off her credit cards and having managed to build a savings account for the first time in her marriage. Her soon-to-be-used-to-be had apparently been spending away, and she had a gut full of it. Not much info available on the other two. Still, 4 more marriages toasted by the deployment. Maybe, maybe not, but the post hoc ergo propter hoc timing makes you wonder.

Reassembling

I went to drill last weekend, which was the first time I had been back in a military situation since REFRADing (REFRAD=Return From Active Duty). We are allowed 60 days before we have to drill (February), but many of us decided to go in early.

I saw soldiers in the green Battle Dress Uniform, wearing black or brown boots. Both are now authorized. Some soldiers were wearing the Desert Camo Uniforms, which aren’t authorized but are probably all they have to wear. Funny; when we were all in the DCUs, the BDUs looked funny. Now, the DCUs look out of place.

My first sergeant told me that formation was 8-ish. When I got there, he told me I probably didn’t have to actually stand formation. Things were a bit relaxed. I entered the armory and saw Sergeant Major A, and he said “Congratulations.” “Thanks”, I said, “for what?” “Your new job.” “What new job,” I asked.

Our armor brigade is reorganizing into a Unit of Action, Rumsfeld’s new basic building block unit. As part of this, my slot, the Inspector General, has gone away, so I am without a home. In the Guard, each soldier has to have a slot, and mine just vanished. So, the powers that be, taking care of me, moved me to another LTC slot. I am now the Comptroller in the USPFO (United Stated Property and Fiscal Office).

I have no qualifications for this job, as I understand it, but that doesn’t matter. I only warm the chair on drill weekends. It is a full time job occupied by another soldier M-F. Essentially, I am being parked somewhere. Which is okay with me. My leaders are taking care of me, and found a place for me to exist until something else comes open, if it does. That’s just the way of the Guard.

Close Encounters of the Mormon Kind

A friend I’ve known for 45 years invited me to attend his daughter’s recent wedding reception. I was in Iraq when the announcements went out, so I missed the mailing, but he told me about the wedding when I returned to Idaho. He said he’d send me an invitation, which was kind of funny and important because he had related a long story about how painful it was to get the invitations out.

The invitations were hand made, hand cut, hand folded, as were the envelopes, and very labor intensive. Of course, all that hand work tended to be imprecise, so the invitations sometimes wouldn’t fit into the envelopes, which delayed the process and threatened the wedding timeline. I was looking forward to getting such an invitation.

But it didn’t come. One day I talked to my daughter about holiday plans. Her mom had received an invitation, and as I talked to my daughter I found that the wedding was the next day. I called my friend and his wife and asked about it, accusing them of trying to sneak the wedding past me. They assured me they’d sent an invitation, told me when and where the reception would be, and said they’d hand me an invitation at the reception.

Good Mormons like to get married in an LDS Temple because they can get sealed to their spouse “for all time and eternity”, i.e., they will be together after death. They believe that if they do things right here on Earth they will receive certain rewards after death. It’s not 72 virgins like a Muslim martyr, but it is meaningful to a Mormon believer. To get into an LDS Temple, you have to have a “Temple Recommend.” Your Bishop – a lay person appointed into a leadership position for a while, perhaps a few years – will give you a Recommend if you live the appropriate life.

Well, non-Mormons don’t get Temple Recommends, so aren’t allowed in the temple. My friend’s daughter wanted a temple wedding, and she got one, but my friend isn’t Mormon (his wife is), so he couldn’t go. He had to cool his heels in a waiting room just inside the temple door while his daughter got married. In order to give dad a chance to walk his daughter down the aisle, they held a ring ceremony and a normal LDS church.

As I talked to my friend’s wife, I asked her if the reception would be in the LDS church next to the Boise Temple, and she said yes. She also said that I could come a half hour early and attend the ring ceremony. I live a ways away, so I left early enough to ensure I got to the ceremony on time. Traffic was unexpectedly light, so I ended up getting there almost a half hour early. After rattling the doors on the LDS church and finding them all locked, I sat in the parking lot and waited, figuring I was just early. As I sat there, I watched car after car enter the temple parking lot, but none came into the church parking lot.

I thought that perhaps the temple has some room set aside for non-Mormons and that the ceremony might be held there, so I kind of barged into the temple. Inside the door I saw the waiting room on the left, and a few stairs ahead. At the top of the stairs, behind a podium, two elderly men were checking ID’s, looking for Temple Recommends. These men were dressed entirely in white; shoes, socks, pants, belt, shirt, tie, and jacket. They both had white hair and had white name tags (with black letters). I asked them about the ring ceremony, and drew blank looks. I mentioned the name of my friend’s daughter. They consulted a list and then informed me that she had been married about eight hours earlier. Meanwhile, people were streaming past me into the temple.

I left and called my daughter to ask for the address of the church. It was a few blocks up the road; there are lots of Mormon churches out here. I took off and got to the church on time, as they say. My friend was impressed by my sticktoitiveness; despite the efforts to misdirect me, I found the reception.

Dad walked his beautiful daughter down the aisle, the bishop read a few phrases, and the kids recited a nice statement to each other and they exchanged rings. They did not exchange vows. The bishop did not say “I pronounce you husband and wife” or “You may kiss the bride.” That was all done earlier, I guess.

The venue in the church was not the chapel; it was the gymnasium. Most such receptions are held in the gym, on a hardwood floor, and literally below a basketball hoop, as was this one. And that’s how Mormons get married in Boise.