Parrothead Ramblings

The Crime Dog: December 25, 1976. Hey, don't make fun of my specs. They were regulation for guys working on energized equipment 24/7. Behind me are some of the photos used to watch my little girl grow for a full year.

Having been roundly defeated in the Third World Olympics, my fellow GIs and I settled back in to normal life: work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep......

We had a pretty decent recreation room up there, and got in movies from time to time. This kept our minds occupied and off the prospect of hopping the fence and walking home. The rec room was also equipped with ping pong, a couple of pool tables, a dart board, a paperback library, and the nerve center of American military operations in that remote corner of the world: a small bar. (Its walls were papered with pretty much every nude female magazine photo available over the past few years.)Next door to the rec room was a small mess facility, where I must admit I had the best chow of my Air Force career.

This area was tied to the barracks by a long hallway, so unless we were headed out on a shift, we never had to leave the building in the excessively foul weather up there. It was basically our world for one year. Add to that the fact that the Turkish government, in a dispute with our own, had placed an embargo on goods shipped in and out of the country by Americans, and it led to a pretty bleak existence. All we were allowed was letter mail. No cookies from home for our crew. TFMCD could enclose the occasional photo of herself and Bo, who was a toddler at that time, so I could kind of keep track of her progress. She was 6 months old, just a babe in arms, when I left, and 1 1/2 when I got home. That's a pretty astounding difference, I can tell you.

So along comes Christmas 1976, and a regular holiday miracle occurred: The Turks lifted the embargo for a couple of weeks so we could send and receive gifts! Just one each, mind you, but that was something. The Fetching Mrs. Crime Dog was all over it, and the C-130 Freedom Bird dropped off my little package just before the big day. My best friend at the time was a guy from upstate New York, named Jerry. He had a wife and a couple of kids at home, and together we sat down to share our near-fatal homesickness and see what we got. My package was filled with cookies and other goodies that I could eat fearlessly back in those halcyon days of irrepressible thinness. Pictures galore, and even a teddy bear that my girls had slept with and sent to me to share.

It was great for a few choice moments, but then it was back to routine. Thank God we had a moments like that, and the occasional static-filled, hit and miss satellite phone calls we could try to make. Satellite communication was in its infancy in those days, and pretty much anything - including cold, icy weather - would disrupt it. If I understand correctly, the guys serving over there these days have better, more frequent communication, and even email. I don't think that word had been invented in 1976.

So, a special Merry Christmas to all the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines serving not just in Iraq, but wherever you happen to be that isn't home. I've been in your boots. My heart is with you, and Godspeed!
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