American Patriot
05-04-2004, 12:43 AM
http://www.rockymountainnews.com/drmn/news_columnists/article/0,1299,DRMN_86_2855761,00.html
Dustin Blank joined the Marines on Friday.
Twenty years old, lanky and handsome, he stood on a thick, red carpet in a small, ornate room decorated with flags and military seals. He squared his shoulders and dropped his arms, elbows straight, thumbs along his pant seams, the way the lieutenant instructed.
Before he uttered his oath, the pledge of fidelity to his country, his president, his future commanding officers, his mom straightened the hood of his sweat shirt and tried not to cry.
Terri Blank never saw this coming. Just two weeks ago, she says, "this moment in my life was so far from happening." She couldn't imagine it then, has a hard time accepting it now. Military service will do her son good, she says, but "the timing. It's the timing."
Terri follows the news. Iraq, she says, is a "daily conversation" among her friends in Parker. She looks up at her son's face, her baby, and wonders, "What are you doing?" But she bites her tongue because she already has asked. She has tried to be "a deterrent."
"I'm not above bribery," she says, only half-joking.
"You can't change my mind," he told her.
Just before Dustin entered this room in a grand federal building in downtown Denver, 27-year-old Michael Caselman and 18-year- old Nikki Martinez took their oaths. Down the hall, 20-year-old Jordan Cody, of Pueblo, waited his turn.
In fact, on Friday, the last day of the most deadly month in Iraq, 64 young men and women waited to be sworn into military service. On Thursday, 21 were sworn in. On the day before that, 26, and the day before that, 42. Last Monday, 18 people took their oaths. That's 171 men and women in one week.
Every day, roughly 70 hopeful recruits enter Denver's Military Entrance Processing Station from Colorado and parts of Wyoming, Kansas and Nebraska. Seventy a day. Five days a week.
Low test scores will winnow some. Medical concerns will kick out more. Only about 5 percent will end up not making it.
The numbers astound me. Maybe, because I had no idea how many were joining in the first place, before Iraq. More likely, because I expected, after the images of cheering Iraqis dancing over American corpses, that enlistment would drop. That there were others out there, like me, who cannot turn away from the television news and the pictures of fallen soldiers flashing, one after another, in silent homage.
They are so young, I think every time I watch, knowing that even with all this death, we can't leave Iraq. In any case, what I expected is not what I found.
Military recruiters say they are meeting or surpassing their goals. They say recruits are enlisting for the same reasons they enlisted before the war: the search for discipline and direction, the desire for a good job in a not-so- good economy, a college education with government help. They say that for many young men and women, the war in Iraq might as well be happening on another planet, so little bearing it has on their decision to join.
"I needed to change my life," says Michael Caselman, who lives in Denver. "I'm looking for something where I can put in my time and my hard work and be rewarded for it. I'm tired of being at the bottom of the totem pole."
"And Iraq? Did that influence you?"
"No. I support where we are and what we're doing. But it's not why I signed up."
Besides, he adds, offhand, his only two brothers have already joined. One sometime last year. One last month.
"Wait a minute," I interrupt. "You're telling me that all three of your mother's sons have signed up for military service within the last year?"
"Yeah."
"I need to talk to your mom."
His mom, Vicki Watson, sounds frail and out of breath. She's 47 years old and has been chronically ill. She was in the hospital when her 20-year-old told her he'd signed up.
"I guess he thought I couldn't get up and kill him," she says, then turns serious.
"Having three sons, I've always lived in fear that I would lose one in a war. I don't believe in this war. We have more problems here in America than we can take care of. I don't know if Michael told you, my house burned down last year. Two thoughts were really prominent in my mind during that time. One was an image of a mother, and her son was coming home from the war in a coffin, and I thought, 'Thank God, I only lost my home and my dog.' Now, here I am in a situation where I could be receiving a son coming home in a coffin."
Parents have become a tougher sell, recruiters say, not their kids. It's not hard to imagine what many moms and dads must be feeling. Their conflict between pride and anxiety, between the desire to protect their children and to support them. As I talk to Vicki, my son shouts from the bedroom.
"There's my little guy," I tell her. "He's supposed to be asleep. I can't imagine what I would do if I were in your position."
Her voice becomes fierce.
"Every day, you get up and do the best you can for him," she orders me. "You nurture him. You love him. You don't know what's going to happen."
Marine Staff Sgt. Aric Olson tells me that when he talks to parents he downplays Iraq. The reality, he says, is that it could be a year, two years, before someone who joins now is ready to be deployed.
And, he says, only a fraction of the entire military force will end up in Iraq. Roughly 17,000 of the 179,000 Marines are in Iraq now, Olson says.
The big picture doesn't help much, Terri Blank says. She can't believe how many young men she knows have enlisted. Her friend, Linda Holmes, has a 19-year-old son, Conner, who has just finished Marine boot camp. The two women know about 10 young men - all from Parker, all from affluent families - who have chosen military service.
The women can't explain it. Dustin offers a reason: "When they were hanging our guys off the bridge, a lot of the guys said they wanted to go and fight."
And Dustin? He says his dad, David, was in the Army and thinks enlisting is a good idea. He says he likes the military, that a job here didn't pan out, that he wants to serve the country. Mostly, he says he's been thinking about it for a long time.
In the red room, Dustin raised his right hand and vowed his allegiance. His parents took pictures. His mom hugged him. When they left the room, she took a deep breath.
"Now," she says, "I will be his No. 1 cheerleader."
Dustin leaves for boot camp in September. He asked for and was given a job in the infantry.
Dustin Blank joined the Marines on Friday.
Twenty years old, lanky and handsome, he stood on a thick, red carpet in a small, ornate room decorated with flags and military seals. He squared his shoulders and dropped his arms, elbows straight, thumbs along his pant seams, the way the lieutenant instructed.
Before he uttered his oath, the pledge of fidelity to his country, his president, his future commanding officers, his mom straightened the hood of his sweat shirt and tried not to cry.
Terri Blank never saw this coming. Just two weeks ago, she says, "this moment in my life was so far from happening." She couldn't imagine it then, has a hard time accepting it now. Military service will do her son good, she says, but "the timing. It's the timing."
Terri follows the news. Iraq, she says, is a "daily conversation" among her friends in Parker. She looks up at her son's face, her baby, and wonders, "What are you doing?" But she bites her tongue because she already has asked. She has tried to be "a deterrent."
"I'm not above bribery," she says, only half-joking.
"You can't change my mind," he told her.
Just before Dustin entered this room in a grand federal building in downtown Denver, 27-year-old Michael Caselman and 18-year- old Nikki Martinez took their oaths. Down the hall, 20-year-old Jordan Cody, of Pueblo, waited his turn.
In fact, on Friday, the last day of the most deadly month in Iraq, 64 young men and women waited to be sworn into military service. On Thursday, 21 were sworn in. On the day before that, 26, and the day before that, 42. Last Monday, 18 people took their oaths. That's 171 men and women in one week.
Every day, roughly 70 hopeful recruits enter Denver's Military Entrance Processing Station from Colorado and parts of Wyoming, Kansas and Nebraska. Seventy a day. Five days a week.
Low test scores will winnow some. Medical concerns will kick out more. Only about 5 percent will end up not making it.
The numbers astound me. Maybe, because I had no idea how many were joining in the first place, before Iraq. More likely, because I expected, after the images of cheering Iraqis dancing over American corpses, that enlistment would drop. That there were others out there, like me, who cannot turn away from the television news and the pictures of fallen soldiers flashing, one after another, in silent homage.
They are so young, I think every time I watch, knowing that even with all this death, we can't leave Iraq. In any case, what I expected is not what I found.
Military recruiters say they are meeting or surpassing their goals. They say recruits are enlisting for the same reasons they enlisted before the war: the search for discipline and direction, the desire for a good job in a not-so- good economy, a college education with government help. They say that for many young men and women, the war in Iraq might as well be happening on another planet, so little bearing it has on their decision to join.
"I needed to change my life," says Michael Caselman, who lives in Denver. "I'm looking for something where I can put in my time and my hard work and be rewarded for it. I'm tired of being at the bottom of the totem pole."
"And Iraq? Did that influence you?"
"No. I support where we are and what we're doing. But it's not why I signed up."
Besides, he adds, offhand, his only two brothers have already joined. One sometime last year. One last month.
"Wait a minute," I interrupt. "You're telling me that all three of your mother's sons have signed up for military service within the last year?"
"Yeah."
"I need to talk to your mom."
His mom, Vicki Watson, sounds frail and out of breath. She's 47 years old and has been chronically ill. She was in the hospital when her 20-year-old told her he'd signed up.
"I guess he thought I couldn't get up and kill him," she says, then turns serious.
"Having three sons, I've always lived in fear that I would lose one in a war. I don't believe in this war. We have more problems here in America than we can take care of. I don't know if Michael told you, my house burned down last year. Two thoughts were really prominent in my mind during that time. One was an image of a mother, and her son was coming home from the war in a coffin, and I thought, 'Thank God, I only lost my home and my dog.' Now, here I am in a situation where I could be receiving a son coming home in a coffin."
Parents have become a tougher sell, recruiters say, not their kids. It's not hard to imagine what many moms and dads must be feeling. Their conflict between pride and anxiety, between the desire to protect their children and to support them. As I talk to Vicki, my son shouts from the bedroom.
"There's my little guy," I tell her. "He's supposed to be asleep. I can't imagine what I would do if I were in your position."
Her voice becomes fierce.
"Every day, you get up and do the best you can for him," she orders me. "You nurture him. You love him. You don't know what's going to happen."
Marine Staff Sgt. Aric Olson tells me that when he talks to parents he downplays Iraq. The reality, he says, is that it could be a year, two years, before someone who joins now is ready to be deployed.
And, he says, only a fraction of the entire military force will end up in Iraq. Roughly 17,000 of the 179,000 Marines are in Iraq now, Olson says.
The big picture doesn't help much, Terri Blank says. She can't believe how many young men she knows have enlisted. Her friend, Linda Holmes, has a 19-year-old son, Conner, who has just finished Marine boot camp. The two women know about 10 young men - all from Parker, all from affluent families - who have chosen military service.
The women can't explain it. Dustin offers a reason: "When they were hanging our guys off the bridge, a lot of the guys said they wanted to go and fight."
And Dustin? He says his dad, David, was in the Army and thinks enlisting is a good idea. He says he likes the military, that a job here didn't pan out, that he wants to serve the country. Mostly, he says he's been thinking about it for a long time.
In the red room, Dustin raised his right hand and vowed his allegiance. His parents took pictures. His mom hugged him. When they left the room, she took a deep breath.
"Now," she says, "I will be his No. 1 cheerleader."
Dustin leaves for boot camp in September. He asked for and was given a job in the infantry.