Jim Spiri in Iraq

02 July 2007 camp Taji, Iraq

It is early July in camp Taji, Iraq. This is the place I see posters of the MIA named Maupin. I remember carrying his comrade, Walsh, who had been shot five times, to the medevac C-141 in Balad enroute to Ramstein, Germany. This is the place that Issais Santos ate his last meal at the chow hall, on 25 December 2005. This is the place Bob Woodruf of ABC news departed from and was blown up, and I was present when he too was carried onto the medevac in Balad.
And there are so many more whose names I do not know, but whose spirit pervade the atmosphere in this place called camp Taji.

I've come here and mingled with more of America's sons and daughters this week. There was one in particular that I been spending much time with.

This soldier took me to his flying machine as he inspected carefully in what is called a "pre-flight"
process. As I watched him climp on this giant hunk of metal, looking intently at every nook and cranny, from all angles both high and low, I wondered, "who taught this soldier to do such a thorough inspection? Look at him as he does every motion with an intensity of professionalism. He's making sure everything is exactly right not just for himself, but for his comrades."

Happy Birthday America, from the streets of Fallujah!

It's July 4. And I am overnighting in Baghdad, Iraq, at a place called CPIC, which stands for Combined Press Information Center. The accomodations are fine, there is plenty of food, and the air conditioning actually works too well.

From the night of June 30, until the moring of July 4, I embarked on a journey to Taji. Somewhere around June 23, my camera broke and I had to come into camp Fallujah to coordinate replacement cameras. That took some doing, but within 24-hrs, I was able to order two new cameras. I've been waiting, improvising and generally overcoming adversity in the interim. I was also able to journy to camp Taji, where a large array of helicopters are stationed, compliments of the 1st Cav out of Ft. Hood, TX. Among them is a CH47 Chinook helicopter unit that happens to be home to my son currently. So, I decided to find some stories in Taji, and visit him. It was well worth the time and effort, on all fronts.

Just getting around Iraq is in itself, an adventure.
Today as I was peering out the open window on the UH60 Blackhawk I was a passenger on, and I realized that since January of 2004, I've seen a few places in this land, and perhaps so many now, that all the times I've travelled here and there and back and forth might becoming a bit of a blur in some respects. That is why I feel it is important to write as often as possible, each day, when the opportunity presents itself, for it is becoming quite clear that time is indeed flying by me at a faster pace than ever before.

The day of July 2, 2007, started off on a sour note, but music by nightfall would be gracing my ears compliments of giant rotor blades beating the night air like a big bass drum in an orchestra. It was a tune I had been preparing to hear for more than the last quarter century.

Early in the morning I had gone to purchase a cup of coffee at the area where the PX is located. It is something I just don't do. It is extremely difficult to bring myself these days to pay over $3 for a yuppie coffee in the war zone. After much hesitation I sprung for it only to find out, what I had ordered was not what I received. I was already tired from the long night before and figured a cup of good coffee would at the least jump start me for what I figured would be a long day. After a little wrangling with the server who, when I mentioned the order was incorrect immediately forgot any English he might have known. This amazed me for just 10-minutes earlier, when I specifically ordered my caffenine rush, his English was perfect especially the part where he asked for the greenbacks and snapped the $5 bill out of my hand like a hungry alligator from the swamp. Once I realized that I was getting nowhere, I took the incorrect cup of coffee I had been so looking forward to and mumbled under my breath, "it must be Monday", which it was.

After consuming my now luke warm, incorrect, too expensive, yuppie coffee, I proceeded to locate the PAO office to arrange some flights for my return to Anbar province in the next couple of days ahead. I had made the mistake of asking directions at and not clarifying exactly where the person was pointing to on the map. The information I interrpreted from these folks led me down a wild goose chase for the next 90-minutes as I walked the streets of camp Taji in the now 110-degree temperatures, only to find that what I was looking for, was within a five minute walk from my initial starting point. So much for asking directions when my wife isn't there to listen for me.

04 July 2007
Bagdad, Iraq

Part 2..."Big Birds in the Night Sky over Iraq"

Later that afternoon, when chow was finished, I ended up at the flighline where the chinooks work out of.
This night, I would be embedd on a mission that would take us to Balad and back. It had always been my dream to be in the same locale as my son the warrior, during a deployment in the war zone. This night would be the highlight of a long-standing dream come true. And, at the same time, I would remenice of all the years of preparation that had taken place leading up to this particular night.

Late in the night, I was outfitted with the proper gear and placed in one of the aircraft on a two bird mission. I would be in one aircraft, and my son would pilot the other one. A fine arrangement and it was even better to watch from the sky, my son flying in the night sky in one helicopter, illuminated by a nearly full moon, and on the other helicopter, an excellent view of a trip to a place I had worked in for over two years.

As I heard the voice of radio communications from bird to bird, it became apparent to me I was listening to and watching my son "do his job" while I had a front row seat. All the things I had been planning and working and dreaming about since the day this boy was born, became a reality on this night.

"44, this is 45...we are on the go..." came the voice I knew as I listened and smiled while tears of joy streamed down my face. It had happend, finally. The road to this point had so many bumps and bruises, so many wounds, so many obstacles to overcome. But, on this night, it came to pass. The goal had been reached. It was the Mt. Everest assent for me. From here on out, it would be an easy decent.

We landed in Balad as I viewed all the familiar places I once had walked and worked for endless days, months even years. It all looked so much bigger and more organized. But for me, it was sight that was welcomed. I had come back to a place that I had said I would return to, and in the exact fashion I said it would transpire. Another priceless experience on this journey.

Upon lift off from Balad, we headed back to Taji and in a short 20-minutes, we were back on the ground. It had been determined that I would exit at the end of this leg, and return to my quarters. Upon landing at Taji, the load of passengers were exited and a voice came over the radio that was familiar. "Be sure and get grandpa Spiri off here, there's a gator waiting to pick him up..."

This is a photo of the Macedonian Special Forces soldier I spoke with. The photo is courtesy of Boban Mecka, a good friend of mine, that is a civillian contractor in Taji.
Listen to Jim's interview: http://www.philly.com/philly/multimedia/8354612.html

Photo by Jim Spiri...LCPL Matthew Diloretto, right, receives the Navy Achievement Medal, by Capt. McCormack, left, in a ceremony at FOB Reaper, Fallujah, Iraq on July 7, 2007. Diloretto was awarded the Navy Achievement Medal for his heroic actions taken during an attack on his platoon during combat operations in Anbar province. Diloretto was the first on the scene to provide medical attention to his wounded comrades.

LCPL Jimmy Bernard, is seen guarding a doorway during street patrol in the city of Fallujah, Iraq on July 9, 2007. Bernard is 19-years-old and from Arizona.
Bernard is a US Marine with Golf Company 2/6, 4th Platoon, out of Camp Lejune, NC, and is on his first deployment to Iraq

Photo by Jim Spiri..."Doc White", a US Navy Corpsman attached to Golf Company, 2/6 Marines, 4th Platoon, is seen here treating a resident of Fallujah, in the Jubail district, from wounds that were reported to be inflicted by Iraqi Police. On many occassions, local residents are treated on the spot by units patrolling through the town. 4th Platoon currently resides in the Jubail precinct headquarters in the SW section of
Fallujah.

July 6, 2007

By 0100, in the early hours of July 6, I was landing in camp Fallujah, compliments of a USMC CH46. I've come to the conclusion that in all my hundreds and hundreds of hours in all types of helicopters around the world, ranging from tour helicopters in Hawaii, to Huey's in El Salvador, to a variety of helicopters here in Iraq, the CH46, or "frog" as they call it, is my favorite means of transportation. Of course, I am partial to the CH47 due to the family connection with that aircraft, but when I'm on my own, there is a sense that I always belong on a CH46.

Last night, there were a dozen pax on the bird, as we lifted from green zone, made a stop in another part of Baghdad, and then continued on to camp Fallujah. It was a hot night, the moon was wanning, (half full), the door gunners were eyeing the terrain, and the wind was slapping my face in the night air. Each time I look at the '46, I think of how long it's been in use and what a fine job it's done for many, many folks before me. It's a nice ride, and it's good to be returning with and to the Marines.

In this buffett of experiences I've been allotted most recently, I realize that each time I come and enter the particular world of our marines and soldiers one on one, I find myself gravitating towards whatever it is they are doing for their function. What I mean by this is each one describes and displays for me, exactly what it is they do, and in that, I become one with them in their experience for the time I am with them. It is a unique sense and one that I never seem to tire of.

July 8-9, 2007

The first night I stayed at Jubail, I spoke at length with many of the marines in 4th platoon. We each caught up on one another's events in the past 10-days and it was good to be among them in their new home, now in it's first full month of operation. There had been a few minor events that kept everyone on their toes, but for the most part, it had been quiet. Then I arrived.

Around 2200 hrs or thereabouts, while talking with LCPL Jimmy Bernard, who was on guard post duty on the side of the building directly across from the IP's dwelling, a few bursts of automatic weapons fire erupted. In a split second, the call came from Sgt.
Evias, "gear up, get on stations". Immediately everyone donned their gear and positions were taken up. I had my gear on promptly, had camera in two as well as voice recorder ready, and I was to hang close to LCPL Bernard who was locked and loaded and ready.
I was with him behind the protection of a stack of sandbags, and I figured "good as place as any" and once again my life was in the hands of a young marine who was scanning the situation around him and monitoring all necessary comms to keep abreast of what may or may not occur.

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Photo taken July 11, 2007 by Jim Spiri...In this photo, LCPL Gartner, of Golf Company, 2/6, 3rd Platoon, 2nd Squad, takes a moment during operations in the Industrial area of the city of Fallujah. This area is considered the most dangerous in Fallujah. On this day, temperatures were well above 120-degrees. The patrol lasted approximately six hours.

July 14, 2007 camp Fallujah, Iraq

It's come to a point in this jouney that I've felt compelled to go out on a limb. Thinking about that phrase I often wonder who exactly it was that coined it and how did he/she actually end up after the excursion to the far reaching ends of what must have been a very big tree. Oh well, going out there anyway is half the fun.

Being in this place called Iraq during war, and quite aware that stateside all kinds of discussions are going on daily regarding how, what, when and where to do this or that, and why, I felt it time to speak up. It's pointless for me to attempt to answer any or all of those questions, however, I will address the "who" in such a way that will surely gain the attention of all the readers of this blog, and hopefully even some of the "whos" that might stumble upon it. Here goes.

I

This is 2nd Squad, of 3rd Platoon, Golf Company, 2/6.
I've come to know them well. They have taken me throughout the city of Fallujah on different occasions and have always taken exceptional care of me.

Sgt. Keller, 2nd Squad leader, 3rd Platoon, Golf Company 2/6, is seen doing radio coms while maintaining an overwatch position. This is the industrial area of Fallujah.
It is considered to be one of the most dangerous areas in Fallujah. Three months back, 2nd Squad suffered two casualties in this exact location.

LCPL Ray Giselle of Golf Company 2/6, 3rd Platoon, 2nd Squad, is seen greeting a young Iraqi while on patrol in the streets of Fallujah heading towards the industrial area. Temperatures were above the 120-degree mark at the time of this photo.

Two young Iraqi girls are "wide-eyed" as a patrol of Marines from 4th Platoon, Golf Company 2/6 pass by.

July 11, 2007

In every journey there are participants that just cannot be forgotten. On this journey, everyone will be remembered. Yet, as I age, I have realized that it nearly impossible to recall everything and everyone at every juncture. For this one reason alone, I try to write as often as possible, record an audio when the situation presents itself and take photographs of things and people that are impressing me as each moment passes me by. When I look back on it, even one day later, I know some of it just flashes by at warp speed, too quick to recall and then convey to the audience. Everyone I've met, and every place I've been, is in the memory banks somewhere. They all have the same priority in my enjoyment. But some I travelled with more than others, simply by the way the cards were dealt.

Many people have asked me via email how does one become an embed? While awaiting another logistical snafu, I decided to fill the day with answering this question for the audience. Here goes.

Firstly, the word PATIENCE comes to mind.

More than 20-years-ago, I saw a movie about combat photographers in Central America. I decided at that moment that I wanted to experience that exact thing.
I bought a couple of cameras, lots of film, and a small backpack, went to Juarez, Mexico, and got on a plane to San Salvador, El Salvador. I had less than $100 in my pocket when I arrived at the airport in San Salvador. The moment I walked outside the terminal, I realized I was in a war zone in a third world country.
That was December 1987. That is how I did it the first time.

July 21, 2007 FOB Marez, Mosul, Iraq

continuation...Embed Process part 2

Eventually, all things work out for those that trust the Lord. This has been my experience. It is an exercise in patience, that is for sure, yet in the end it is always worth the wait. But it is trying at times.

In one section of my orders that I have had to present on several occasions in the last few days, there is a sentence that has stuck out to me profoundly. I have had lots of time to read all kinds of things and I decided to read all the "fine print" at one point, being that I had read everything available to me while waiting for flights. It says..

"The Department of......has determined that the above named, (me) is providing a service that has been deemed in the public interest...."

July 23, 2007 FOB Marez, Mosul-Iraq

It means, "pass of the north". These were the first words I learned in Spanish. In July of 1965, I came with my mother, step-father, two brothers and one sister, to settle just north of El Paso, Texas, in a place called New Mexico. I would come to learn the rich history of the southwest and it's military significance throughout the last century. On this leg of the journey, I have come in contact with many "amigos" from Ft. Bliss, Texas, home to the 4th Brigade Combat Team, and the 2/7 folks of the 1st Cav.

In 1915, my grandfather, James Hurley, from County Cork, Ireland, got off the boat in New York and headed to El Paso, Texas. There he signed up with the cavalry under Black Jack Pershing and chased a man named Pancho Villa, during the Mexican-American War.
This is how my grandfather obtained his US citizenship. I ended up in the same area by the time I was nine-years-old, compliments of the space program of the 1960's. The southwest part of the United States, New Mexico in particular, is where I call home.

July 23, 2007

His name was PFC Bartlet. He was born August 10, 1981. He was from Georgia. He had no family stateside, they had all passed on. His family was Commanche Company 2/7, US Army, Ft. Bliss, TX. He was killed July 15, 2007, in Mosul, in combat. That was eight days ago. Today was his memorial at the MWR facility here at FOB Marez. More than 700-people attended this memorial. I was one of them. I did not know this soldier, but I learned about him on this day. He was a warrior. The chaplain reminded us from the Word, "there is a time for all things." It was Bartlet's time.

I spent a great deal of time the past couple days interviewing soldiers, making contacts and arranging for outside the wire patrols. During all these times I came upon the memorial and was invited to attend. I have been to more than 1000 honor guard ceremonies and many memorials as well. Today's memorial for a PFC from Georgia, will be remembered forever. It is part of the journey, and it is my beginning point in depth for what ever lay ahead with the soldiers from El Paso for me.

Sgt. Moreno, from Deming, NM, on hood of a Humvee he works on.

24 July 2007

The Humvee had Deleon driving, Rutowski the medic on the back right, myself on the back left, Valdez the gunner up top, and Sgt. Thomas DeCarlo front right.
They are all members of "Ghost Battallion", 2/7, 1st Cav, from Ft. Bliss, in El Paso, TX. We were going to the west side of Mosul today, where two familiar roads intersect.

It's another bad area.

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Mosul, Iraq..In this photo, Major Reeves, (center) is seen with Sgt. Major Curry (right) and the Iraqi cmdr in charge of this operation (left) conferring about the days work. Major Reeves and Sgt. Major Curry are both with the Ghost Battallion, 2/7, 1st Cav, out of Ft. Bliss, in El Paso, Texas.

Taken July 24, 2007, Mosul, Iraq by Jim Spiri

http://media.philly.com/audio/anthony_palmer_audio.MP3

http://media.philly.com/audio/LCPL_Andrew_Seitz_GolfCo_3rdPlatoon.MP3

July 26, 2007 FOB Marez, Mosul-Iraq

The cavalry mounted up today, again. I remember as a young kid growing up on an arroyo in southern New Mexico, I would come home after sports practice and ride my horse. Just like sports practice to stay in shape, so it is with riding a horse. I had a good quarter horse, named "Jigger". I rode him almost everyday to keep not only him in shape, but to keep my riding skills fine tuned. Such is the case here in Mosul, in a way. Everyday, the Cav rides into town keeping a strong presence while at the same time handing over more and more responsibility to the Iraqi Army as the transition moves along.

We headed out in force early in the morning to the north side of Mosul today. We passed through some crowded business areas where people like ants were going about their daily lives. When the "herd" of Humvees comes through, all eyes are watching and no vechiles dare impede the way. We're not galoping at high speed through the streets of Mosul, rather more like a steady "lope" as we would call it for those that ride horses.

In Mosul, from top left: An Iraqi man is seen on crutches passing US soldiers during street patrols; Major Sabul, of the Iraqi Army is seen here as directs soldiers under his command during patrols on the streets; Maj. Reeves; Spc. Stevens,(in background in US Army uniform) is seen during patrol as members of the 2nd Battallion, 2nd Brigade, 2nd Iraqi Army Division pass by.

July 28, 2007 FOB Marez, Mosul-Iraq

There are nice places in Iraq. It would seem that they are few and far between, however, I found one yesterday. It was like a dream that had been realized.

I was thinking about April of 1968 when Martin Luther King gave a wonderful speech that I watched on black and white television when I was 12-years-old. "I have a dream..." he would say. It stuck with me forever.
He had been to the mountain top, where I always seek to go. Later this afternoon, while riding on a bus to the px to get some batteries, I heard Bob Dylan singing, "...how does it feel, to be on your own...like a rolling stone...?" Needless to say I drifted into a mind set that kept me wondering how would I convey the experience of yesterday's travels?

There is a church song in our hymnal at home that has the line, "We were like them that dream". I can hear it now playing in my head with all the congregation in harmony.

July 28, 2007, Al Qosh, Iraq, by Jim Spiri...In this photo, Major Eric Carnahan, (2nd from Right) is seen walking the streets of AlQosh with the mayor, (rt) and other city officials. Maj. Carnahan, is with the 27th BSB from Ft. Bliss, TX, in El Paso.

top left: Major Eric Carnahan, rt, and Lt. Kendra Evers, second from Rt, discuss reconstruction plans projects with local officials in Al Qosh.

top right: Major Eric Carnahan, third from left, and Lt. Kendra Evers, meet with city officials in Tallisguf, Iraq about construction projects and plans for upgrades.

lower left:local children in the area of Al Qosh stand by while being photographed by Jim Spiri.

lower right: local children receiving candy from soldiers of the 27th BSB in the Al Qosh district of Ninevah province

July 30, 2007

The past two days have been another exercise in patience. More character building. It's good for me.

After the trip to Al Qosh, a night mission was planned. It brought together Iraqi police, Iraqi Army and US Army in an attempt to follow up on some information concerning some caches in the city. It was a full moon, clear sky, and lots of people all prepared to squash the enemy's plans to disrupt celebrations should the Iraqi soccer team win. The team won the Asia cup and the mission did not turn up anything that was searched for. It was a nice night however, it was good to see coordination among all the forces and different cultures and in the end, as is most often the case these days, no one was hurt.
That is a good thing.

On the evening of the 29th, I found myself at the MWR (morale, welfare and recreation) center trying to use the computers there. In the midst of it all, there was a large celebration going on with many local Iraqi's from all ethnicities and religions, all dancing to loud music in celebration of the Iraqi soccer victory over Saudi Arabia, (1-0), giving Iraq the Asia Cup title. I found myself watching the crowd in total jubilence over this victory. It can truly be said that this one event has in fact brought together all Iraqis into one accord. If only for a little while, then so be it. But, what I saw, in my little corner of the war at this point, gave me an insight into just how profound the transformation of Iraq can be. For hours, the celebration went on and everybody watched.

Iraqi Army and Iraqi police commanders discuss plans prior to searching suspected insurgent hideouts in the city of Mosul during night operations.

http://media.philly.com/audio/gartner.MP3