Jim Spiri in Iraq

After my Nikon digital camera decided to shut itself
down two days ago, (right when I was getting in the
flow of things), I put into motion getting back to
camp Fallujah to sort out how to get a new one here as
soon as possible. In years past, I always had at a
minimum, two cameras slung around my neck, and most
times three, but in those days, cameras were $150
each, sometimes got them for $75. These days, it's
not the case. Digital cameras, being the nice new
high tech item that spoils all of us, there is however
a high price to pay if, and when they breakdown. In
hindsight, I would have purchased two of them at the
beginning, but, I decided that going cheap route would
be best, and thought they wouldn't break. WRONG.

In any event, the experience of moving in and around
Iraq when something like this happens, is, in itself,
a story that should be remembered. Golf Company had
arranged to add me to their list of pax going to camp
Baharia the day after my camera broke, so, I was able
to hitch a ride with a 6-vehicle convoy for the short
journey to Baharia. From there, I was picked up by
the public affairs office from camp Fallujah, and they
took me back to the media trailer where my familiar
room was awaiting me.

Each step of the way leaving FOB Reaper, I was
suddenly realizing how many convoys I've been on
lately and how used to the routine of it all I'm
becomming. The next thing that struck me was that I
was going from remote FOB, to semi remote camp, to big
camp Fallujah. And in the scope of it all, camp
Fallujah is not really that big compared to many
other camps I've been to in my years of moving around
Iraq. But on this day, it seemed like coming out of
the woods into society, and it was only a jounrney of
about 7-miles or so.

I had been a grunt for the past month, and I was
suddenly realizing it. The night before I left, I was
up late, as everyone is, and ended up talking at
length with Lance Cpl, Jimmy Bernard, 19-years-old.

He had come in from the Jubail precinct, which is not
too far from FOB Reaper. Bernard is in 4th platoon,
which is headed up by Lt. Kessling. It is the second
of the precincts to be established in the city of
Fallujah. There will be about a dozen by the time
it's completed. To go on patrol from the FOB Reaper,
to the Jubail precinct headquarters, is about a
40-minute patrol, on guard the whole time through
suspect territory. I had done it on several
occassions before the house was actually selected to
be turned into a precinct headquarters. We scouted it
and others out earlier in the month, before finally
selecting that one. Once that was selected, in very
short order, the occupants were relocated and in
nearly an overnight operation, lots of Marines moved
into it, established a command center, and the Iraqi
Army as well as the Iraqi police took the house over
across the street. Now, it's a precinct headquarters
in the SW section of Fallujah, in the middle of the
places we patrol.

Anyway, 4th platoon now lives there permanently,
40-marines, on the second floor, in what looks like a
overgrown youth hostel on some strange camping
journey. On this day, LCPL Bernard and a few others
of his squad, were allowed to patrol back to Reaper
and remain overnight. That is the night, I spent a
couple hours talking to Jimmy Bernard.

He's very savy young man for 19. He looks much older,
and one can see a hard life behind his eyes. He's
about 5'7, 140-lbs at the most, touch, slow speaking,
but firm in what he has seen and learned about life.
He joined at age 17, from Arizona, and has been in the
corps now two years. He is on his first deployment.
He has seen several things already, and he knows it is
changing him forever. He will make it, but he will be
one of America's changed youth, coming back from Iraq
that very few will ever get to know.

When I had talked to him earlier in my time at Reaper,
he always looked as if he had more to say. And, for
sure, that is what I found out. Jimmy Bernard at 19,
knows the political games of the system, on a larger
scale than most any politician I havae ever met. And
one would not realize it, until they talk at length to
him. He told me about how prior to coming to Iraq,
shortly before his deployment, he was standing in line
at a Macdonald's resturaunt when an old man cut in
line in front of him. He held his breath, but under
his breath he mumbled "go ahead, I can wait". The old
man had no idea that 19-year old Lance Cpl. Jimmy
Bernard was going off to Iraq so the old man could
stand in line cutting in front of people while Bernard
and others secure freedom for all of us.

Bernard told me that he wanted to tell the man, not to
worry, "he's got it". What Jimmy Bernard was seeing,
was the precursor to what he will experience in full
upon his return for months and years to come. An old
mans preconceived opinion about a young person these
days, sticks with a marine walking the streets of
Fallujah, back to a place where he use a porta john
toilet, instead of a thing called a "wag bag", which
is basically a paper bag used by marines for
deficating. You see, there is no real minimal
amenities for a platoon of marines living in what once
was an Iraq home, and is now a police station of
sorts. And this police station of sorts, is the crux
of the new security plan or strategy for Anbar
province and it's cities.

Jimmy Bernard tells me that the reality of it all is
in the short term, we can kill some bad guys, and have
a police station of sorts, no matter that many of the
IP's are probably insurgents, and IP's are just mostly
Shiite militia turncoats, but the reality of it all is
what happens when the Marines leave, and they will
leave at some point in time. That's what the polls
and the politicians keep telling us the American
people want. Jimmy Bernard, at 19 tells me that it
will take years and years to change a culture that has
been doing what it's doing now for hundreds, even
thousands of years. But, we, the John Q. Publics of
America, want instant results. Just not gonna happen,
says Jimmy Bernard.

As he offered me another dip of Coppenhagen chew, he
opened up more and more, without me asking any
questions. At one point he told me he just wanted to
talk and had not had the chance to chill out and talk
about life. So, no matter how tired I was, with
another dip of chew, in a make shift chow hall type
room at FOB Reaper, I found myself again, doing what I
was doing years before Lance CPL Jimmy Bernard was
born...; and that is, talking to combat veterans who
grew up too quick, while the rest of us at home, went
to ball games, parties, dances, the mall, and all the
other things kids do that think life is tough.

In years past, I remember all night talks, with
cigaretts and beer listening to Viet Nam vets that had
similar experiences, and no audience to listen to
them. I was always drawn to that sort of thing, for I
found a kind of intrigue listening to people that no
one else wanted to hear. Now, a generation later, I
am listening once again to the same stories of how
misunderstood everything is, while the Jimmy Bernards
and the rest of America's finest, watch all of our
"6's", no matter how rude those that won't listen are
to them. I like listening to Jimmy Bernard, a face
and a name I shall not forget. For he is a member of
a long list of names and faces I've never forgotten
from the past, but have built upon for this time.

Finally, I left the room and told Jimmy Bernard I had
to go to sleep, for I had another long day ahead,
figuring out, how to get my camera fixed or replaced.
I really wasn't worried about it. I knew that even if
I did not have a camera, or a digital voice recorder,
or any type of high tech gear, I would still be at FOB
Reaper, and if only to listen, to those who have no
listeners to speak to, then so be it, I would be that
listener.

I can hear Lance Cpl. Jimmy Bernard. There is a faith
that is imparted in the depths of my being when I hear
such a one. Now, I must impart to him.

Jim Spiri