Georgia on her Mind (Women in the Military Series) (November Edition)

            I once heard that soccer is a gentlemen’s game played by ruffians and that Rugby is a ruffian’s game played by gentlemen.  Whoever came up with this had not met Hannah Liesau, 2^ND Lieutenant, United States Army, Army Nurse Corps, who can be found playing Rugby for The Furious Furies, on any given late winter or early spring day, on her off time this past year.

            As the weather warmed into the steaminess of Georgia hot summers, she moved from the Rugby fields to the gentle meandering of the Savannah River.  There, she would be found kayaking with her friends.  On a blue kayak, she would stop and say hello to donkeys as they stood near the river.  Other times, they would stop for breaks near the dam and picnic.  Sometimes they would just put their feet up.  Always, she would be smiling and laughing as the river took them past green, dense, wooded areas.

            Hannah is not from Georgia though.  A graduate of Boyertown High School, Class of 2008, she played trumpet under the now retired and well known & admired Mr. Glen A. Brumbach.  Upon graduating, she was accepted to and attended Widener University on a United States Army ROTC scholarship, where she studied Nursing.

            At the end of her sophomore year of 2010, Hannah attended LDAC (Leadership Development and Assessment Course), at Fort Lewis Washington.  LDAC is a program where all Army cadets, from ROTC to West Point, go for evaluation and placement.  In 2011, she went to work for the Army for 1 month in Hawaii during her junior year at Widener.

            Two weeks after graduating from Widener in 2012, Hannah took and passed her nursing state boards.  While waiting to go to Fort Sam Houston, Texas, she did hometown recruiting in the summer of 2012.  She arrived at Fort Sam Houston, that July, for BOLC (Basic Officer Leader Course).  BOLC training at Fort Sam prepares an officer to function within their capacity as a nurse, doctor, medical service corps officer, etcetera.  She again excelled, explaining that her time in ROTC and attending LDAC better prepared her as a soldier.

            On a more personal level, Hannah sites her mother, an RN, as her motivation to become a nurse.  Hannah is from Pine Forge, and has an older sister & a twin sister.  She stressed the importance of family to her and misses them.  Hannah calls her Grandmom every Friday.  She is considering returning here to Boyertown for Thanksgiving and her five year class reunion.

            Presently, she lives off post with a roommate who is also an Army Nurse.  She has been working telemetry at Dwight D. Eisenhower Army Medical Center, Fort Gordon, Georgia, since September of 2012.  She loves the hospital she works at and her job.  Many of her patients are veterans, the oldest being 98 years old.

            Before we depart, Hannah would like to say hello to Shannon, her family and to her Grandmom.

            As we leave here, we leave the warm fall and the calmness of the meandering Savannah River and we leave Hannah with Georgia on her mind.

Soldiers Cry (October Edition)

          You would think that writing about soldiers would be easy but trying to find a soldier to write about isn’t. Soldiers typically ‘lay low’. They stay out of the lime light so to speak.

          As they grow older as I, you may find them wearing baseball caps with unit designations on them. I know I do but only when I’m at my restaurant and only because I have to while doing food prep. Otherwise the hat sits hanging at work.

          The soldiers who I write about this evening are just these kinds of people. They are the ones who understandably just sigh when asked for an interview.

          They are real, the ones who live day by day with memories they would rather not have or who today continue to pull themselves out of bed at 3 am. They will shower, throw food quickly down and run out with coffee in hand.

          With Veterans Day coming upon us I am reminded of a time when the summer winds greeted us, Memorial Day.

          I had been invited to church for Memorial Day and was asked to wear my blues. I was ok with this even though I didn’t know what to expect. Upon arriving there were others like me who served during a time gone by.

          A gentleman with cammy pants and a fatigue shirt with colored patches, completely out of uniform except for the patch on the right sleeve...his unit in combat...Vietnam? I had suspected because he appeared a little older than I.

          A young marine; he was younger than our own children, pastor’s son perhaps? I began to feel uncomfortable. Why were we there? We sometimes mistake Memorial Day for Veterans Day. I had not felt as though any honor should be brought to me for any reason, no not then and even not now.

          I found our young friend, his blue uniform was a little disheveled and I looked for a room and a time to adjust his unit crests. As I adjusted his crests I felt like a father to this brother in arms.

          I was honored as I looked down at the 5 rows of ribbons earned only by suffering the trials of abuse of body, mind and spirit in what we know as combat.

          Our two families sat together and his poem was read, Soldiers Cry. I remember hearing that he would cry during the loneliness of night, prior to falling asleep in Afghanistan. 

          He had left a wife at home, pregnant. Being in combat thousands of miles away in sand and stone will do that to you.

          I remember a time not too long ago, another young soldier crying. Pressure of everyday military life, of being away from his own family, his girlfriend, the loneliness.

          As I listened to the poem I reflected on our common unit the 1st of the 111th Infantry.

          I remembered the men and women who I served with as the pastor continued to read his poem regarding two of his buddies he witnessed blown up by an IED worn by a local. He got it...we were here for those men and other men and women like them. 

          As I continued to reflect on why we were there, I understood the one thing we all had in common as I wiped away my own tears. Soldiers cry.

Six Degrees of Separation from Harry (September Edition)

          The plan was for me to interview and write about Lance Corporal Mark Fidler. My initial contact with Mark brought me to the conclusion that this young hero doesn’t see himself that way, a hero, and didn’t want to be interviewed. He was a man as any number of men and woman in the military or even in civilian life someone who wakes up, throws water on their face, dress, eat and go out and work. Sometimes... yes sometimes something incredibly bad happens. They don’t  look in the mirror and say “Good morning hero”! They do however get up every day and do the same thing over and over again, or are left dealing with the aftermath as in the case of Lance Corporal Mark Fidler.

          Hero is a word which got me thinking; about people who make up these men and woman; who don’t see themselves that way. It also made me ask, how many do we know who are heroes and how close might we be to them.

          There is a theory that we are six degrees of separation from anyone in the world. Some may be famous others not so famous and others...unknown. Those six degrees can best be described in the following examples. First:  I know someone who knows someone who knows a Governor, which equals 3 degrees. Second: I personally worked with Tom Cruise, Sean Penn, Timothy Hutton, Wayne Tippet and Ronny Cox. This equals one degree. Do you know me? That equals 2 degrees.

          In the late 1990’s and going into the new century, my brother had a friend, Harry, who would visit while he was working at his own business  building race cars. Harry would chat and had many stories to tell, of the places he visited, people he knew and his business trips to former communist nations. The visits with my brother occurred many times over many years while he built those drag racing machines.

          Wednesday, 12 September 2001. The country is in shock and reeling from the day before which actually continued right into that day, Wednesday.  It was a day which though a day later really remained 11 September, the longest day. Life, though coming to a stop in much of the nation continued and my brother had a living to make. He was in his shop welding, measuring, fitting etc. Enter the man, wearing Battle Dress Uniform of the U.S. Army. His rank: full Colonel. His job: U.S. Army intelligence. His name: Harry.

          He never let on to anyone what he did. He showed up at his home telling his family what he told my brother. Hi, I have something to tell you. No, not even his family knew.

          Now...look up...at the person nearest you...furthest from you. How well do you know people? Have you ever met a hero? What do they look like? Now look up again. Look at those same people and remember you are only six degrees of separation from Harry.