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.
I've come to FOB Marez, in Mosul, Iraq, at the invitation of one Major Eric Carnahan, the XO for the 27th BSB (brigade support battalion) 4th BCT(brigade combat team) 1st Cav, who are stationed at Ft. Bliss, in El Paso, Texas. I had met Major Carnahan in Balad, Iraq, in early 2004. At that time he was the XO(commanding officer) for the 31st CSH(combat support hospital). In those days, I worked night shift on the flight line, and spent many mornings visiting wounded soldiers at the hospital and learning how things worked over many a cup of coffee with Major Carnahan.
We became good friends and it is because of his openness to what I am doing that I am privileged to be among the soldiers of the 1st Cav here in Mosul.
It is another door that has been opened that I feel compelled to walk through. It is exciting being among the "Rough Riders" from El Paso.
I arrived shortly before midnight, on the 20th of July at Mosul. The journey had been long and difficult but the destination was now reached. I would learn deeper now the Army side of the mission, starting now in Mosul, which is in Ninevah province in Northern Iraq.
Walking down the flightline from the C-130 the Air Force provided, for myself and 52-other passengers, I noticed, even in the dark, the presence of "trees".
Mosul would look just a bit different than where I have been in Iraq lately. I was greeted by the Major and the Lt., and after some handshakes, hugs and smiles, I was taken to my quarters and bedded down for the night. I was exhausted, but relieved that I had finally made it here.
The next morning, I was picked up early by the Major and we had breakfast at the chow hall. I remember lots about this chow hall, for in December of 2004, a suicide bomber walked into the chow hall and blew himself up, killing 21 others along with himself. In the hours and days after that incident, I remember in Balad the flight line being extremely busy loading up the wounded from that horrific event. I have it logged in my journal and highlighted as another event I would not forget. As one walks into the chow hall here at FOB Marez, there is a solemn memorial to those that perished that fateful day. I stopped and read it later by myself and spent some time in silence reading all the names of those that were killed. No one eats at this chow hall without seeing this memorial. It is very well done, and it is as moving as any other memorial I've seen in Washington DC.
I would go to the Major's office and learn of his job in support of the mission here in Mosul. I would also learn the history of the Cav, including the date of it's inception, i.e., September 13, 1921, in El Paso, Texas. As we were speaking I had the sense once again, as I have had so many times in this journey, it is bigger than me, again. As I was thinking about the days my grandfather must have ridden on horseback as a cavalryman and more recently riding in a "flying horse" with my son, also a cavalryman, I knew I had been once again brought to another part of the mission that history must be recorded.
Later that day and into the afternoon, I would be taken to many soldiers working in various jobs and duties, all from the southwest. I would record them on audio and speak of familiar things back home like green chili and hot weather. I was at home, far away from home, once again. I am named after my grandfather, and my son has been named after me. One rode horses for the cavalry, the other flies helicopters for the 1st Cav. I am walking now in the footsteps of the "Rough Riders". History is fun.
End Part 1, El Paso del Norte...Mosul.
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