EUROPE
I've never had the slightest desire to visit Europe for either business or pleasure. As I look back on those days I realize that at the time, my feelings were foolish, but they were quite real. You see, I had only the frame of reference of my grandparents to judge Europe by. For years I listened to their stories of persecution in their native Poland so it's no wonder that I inherited their general dislike of anything European. Europe to me was a land of pogroms and anti-Semitism and held no appeal at all.
As much as my grandparents hated Europe, they loved their adopted country even more. They called the United States "ERETZ YISROEL" literally the "Land of Israel" meaning that for the first time in their lives they could be Jews without suffering systemic Anti-Semitism. They left Europe, both in mind and in body, incorporating themselves fully into an American society that allowed them to prosper economically while affording the opportunity to observe the Jewish religion to the fullest. Many members of my family returned to Europe when our country called during the first and second World Wars. Some still bear the scars of wounds suffered there, my cousin, Sidney Heistein, of blessed memory, was killed in action liberating Italy in 1943. Now it was my turn to return to Europe for a military purpose.
My supervisor for many years was a deeply perceptive, intelligent individual who has an uncanny ability to understand people. He understood my feelings about Europe much better than most because he was of African descent and had his own misgivings about the South. More important, he also knew that I was wrong, but I'd have to find that out for myself. We made deal years before the Gulf War that he would take the European business trips and I would do the stateside travel. He always told me that I should go to Europe because I'd grow there and would return a better person - but he told me that he'd never force me. Our deal lasted until the exigency of the Desert Shield made it impossible to avoid European travel any longer - and was he ever right about going there. My European TDY was one of the most positive experiences of my life but in November of 1990, I faced it with apprehension.
I've always been a student of World War II and my only historical interest in Europe was in that context. Thus, when I set out for Rotterdam in November of 1990, I experienced two very powerful feelings - both of which were instilled in me by previous generations. There was a strong sense of nostalgia inherited from my father’s generation, because I would soon watch, as they did, American Military equipment moving through the ports of Europe. But the strongest feeling I harbored was that of fear, and that feeling was instilled by my grandparents’ generation. Here I was, about to set foot on the soil they so despised, wondering would the anti-Semites who were at their heels as they departed be awaiting my return? Neither feeling lasted very long though, because…
There was no time for emotions after we got over the jet lag. Work was twelve hours a day, seven days a week. Then there were the stateside telephone calls all night – MTMC folks back home were working late also, but couldn’t seem to understand that an early evening telephone call for them was one o’clock in the morning for me. What the heck, we'd have plenty of time to relax and sleep when Sadam got his. I pitched in where I could, one day writing a program to provide detailed information on what unit’s gear was on which ship, the next day hauling a repaired barcode printer to the port of Antwerp.
At times, the nostalgia was incredible. It was eerie to be in Antwerp, fifty years after World War II, moving cargo for the United States Army. The nostalgia reached its peak on one of the three days I had off in my six-week TDY in Europe. It was December 7, 1990, and snow was forecast. I was afraid of being caught in a snowstorm, but I knew that I'd probably never get the chance again if I acted cautiously that day, so I set out for Bastogne in nearby Belgium. It was the most fascinating day I spent in Europe. It happened to be Nuts Day when we were there, everyone was out celebrating the liberation of the town. There were many American guests - once again Bastogne was filled with American Armed Forces personnel in uniform. The center of town is called McAuliff square in honor of the 101st Airborne Division commander who answered the surrender ultimatum of the German forces with the classic expression, "Nuts." A Sherman tank, bearing the markings of the 4th Armored Division sits in the square, the barrel of its weapon pointing down the road from which Patton's forces arrived to affect the relief of the beleaguered city. On the outskirts of town is found the Nuts Museum and a memorial to those who perished in the Battle of the Bulge. It was cold and snowing when night fell, much like the conditions during the battle. I parked the car next to a German armored vehicle on display there, looked out over the landscape, which still looks like the photos and films I've seen and was overcome by emotion. After dark we left Bastogne to return to Rotterdam and stopped on the outskirts of town one last time. At that moment, a fireworks display in town started up. There I was, shivering amid pine trees and patches of snow in the Ardennes, hearing explosions in the distance. Again I was overcome by the nostalgia of the experience.
World War II was on other people's minds also. My father was stationed in the Netherlands East Indies during that war and I wanted to learn more about the history of the campaign from the point of view of the Dutch. My Dutch co-workers told me many stories of the fate of Dutch prisoners taken by the Japanese when they conquered the islands. I remember a conversation we had about the possibility of Germany becoming a part of the Coalition Forces. The usually jovial Dutch suddenly got rather quiet and finally said, "No, we don't want to ever see another German Soldier leave German soil again." In 1990, there wasn't a building older than 50 years in Rotterdam, so complete was the city's destruction by German bombs in 1940. Well, enough history, let's get back to work.
The deployment continued, by barge, by rail and by convoy, equipment was moving all over Europe. In Bremerhaven, Rotterdam, Antwerp and other ports the ships were loaded and sent off to the Persian Gulf. The mighty Seventh Corps, which rolled across Europe to defeat the German invaders in World War II and stood firm against the threat of Soviet expansion during the Cold War, would now leave their European bases to meet the Iraqi invaders of Kuwait. I had the honor of speaking to many soldiers in Rotterdam and was particularly impressed by a group of combat engineers. They would be the first to set foot on Iraqi and Kuwaiti soil. Before the tanks can roll, these engineers must blast a path for them through the static defenses. I could see the fear in their eyes but they were confident that they would get the job done and pave the way for the liberation of Kuwait. The thought of those guys kept me going, I wanted to make sure they had everything they needed and then some, before the ground war started.
More than the nostalgia, more than the cause that brought me there, the thing that impressed me most about Europe was the Europeans, and particularly the Dutch. The Dutch are the warmest, kindest and friendliest people I'd ever met. We worked closely and formed friendships, talked and shared our experiences. They told us how to get around and what to see, they showed us where to eat and how to order Chinese Food in Dutch. We joked and laughed and marveled at the beauty of the women. I never really noticed when it happened, but it did - I changed, just like my boss said I would. After six weeks of working with convivial people, eating the greatest food (oh, can they bake) and drinking the best beer I ever tasted, I completely forgot how much I was supposed to hate Europe. Gone was the prejudice of my grandparent's generation, now only through my own first-hand impressions would I judge Europe in the future. I felt liberated, cleansed - I really loved it there!
I returned home at the end of December for two weeks. I was really proud of myself after returning from Europe, proud that I had the strength to rid myself of an ancient prejudice. I understand what occurred now, the anti-Europe feelings I harbored were a fantasy, a figment of my imagination imprinted upon me by early childhood experiences. Unfortunately, the lesson I learned in Europe was almost lost on me days after my return because I was soon to be embroiled in an entirely new bout with prejudice. This was no fantasy however, and not a product of a previous generation. I was about to embark for a country where restrictions on Jews are real, where the free practice of my religion was prohibited and where I truly was in danger simply by being a Jew.
Even before I got home, we began to realize that the same need that existed in Europe for systems to document exported unit cargo also would exist in Saudi Arabia when the Gulf War ended. Somebody would have to get all that stuff out of there and, like the European deployment, no systems existed to keep track of the vast amount of cargo that had to be returned to the permanent garrisons of the deployed units. I didn't know it at the time, but I was at the center of major war plans that were being formulated in MTMC Headquarters. The Eighteenth Airborne Corps wasn't enough. The Seventh Corps wasn't enough. Neither were the Marines and the Air Force. No, Stormin' Norman needed his secret weapon - Mike Sturm and his VAX 3400 minicomputer. A paper was circulated in Bayonne, asking for volunteers to go to the Persian Gulf. I never signed it and neither did my hapless co-worker and soon to be war-buddy, Steve Stoner. I’ll never make that mistake again, I volunteer for everything now, because who do you think was the first to go? I was "cool" with the idea then, Saudi Arabia was seven thousand miles away and they told me it would be "months before the war would end and months after that before they'd actually need us there." …And I was dumb enough to believe them.
I returned to a vastly changed MTMC European Headquarters in Rotterdam in early January 1991. Just before my arrival, Dutch television presented a special on the Gulf War and to our horror, they showed pictures of our building, gave the address and identified it as "the place where all Gulf War transportation is being planned." It was a clarion call to every European terrorist to "come and get us!" The normally jovial Dutch were a bundle of nerves, everybody was looking over their shoulders, checking for unfamiliar cars in the lot, avoiding windows - basically scared of our own shadows. We Americans remained as anonymous as possible, keeping to ourselves, avoiding speaking English where anybody could hear us and trusting nobody that we didn't know personally.
Then the Air War started and our attention turned to the Persian Gulf. The cafeteria had CNN on constantly and several times each day, we watched the news. The "folks back home" saw the scud attacks during the dinner hour, for us it was in the middle of the night. I found a new person to despise then - Peter Arnett of CNN. In my father's day it wasTokyo Rose. Dad told me that nobody much minded her because she always played the best music. Well I minded Peter Arnett plenty. Pete didn't play any music entertain us, he just sang all sorts of propaganda songs for Sadam. How 'bout it Pete - how much were the Iraqi's paying you to broadcast crap like the phony report of the "Baby Milk Factory" being bombed. Yeah right, all those guys wearing crisp new coveralls with "Baby Milk Factory" in English couldn't possibly have been a plant - nice research Pete, even the Inquirer would have laughed at that story. I didn't know who I wanted to see get hit in the head with a cruise missile first - you or Sadam.
My second European TDY was completed at the end of January. I flew home in a nearly empty flight - nobody was flying during the Gulf War, terrorism was on everybody's mind. Me, I wasn't concerned with terrorism on that flight, it was second nature by now and I was tired of being away from home. Unfortunately I only was home long enough to collect my next set of orders and plane tickets - I would spend the month of February in Falls Church Virginia at MTMC Headquarters.
By the end of my second European trip, we were committed to developing a redeployment documentation system to be installed at the headquarters of the soon to be formed MTMC detachment in Ad Dammam, Saudi Arabia. The 7th Transportation Brigade, our brothers in the Transportation Corps, ran the port of Ad Dammam for the last year. MTMC would relieve them, allowing them to return to their homes in Fort Eustis, Virginia. They deserved the rest, the 7th Group unloaded the ships and literally put the weapons in the hands of the war-fighters. They played a major role in insuring the Gulf War victory and deserve great credit.
Then they made it official, "Mike, have we got a job for you." I was too busy with acquiring, setting up and testing the new hardware to understand the ramifications of where I was about to go until they sent me over to the Pentagon to get a Red Passport and a Saudi Arabian visa. I was advised to leave the place where you have to declare your religion on the visa application blank. You see, Saudi Arabia is officially closed to Jews. I saw red, after all it was the Saudi butts that we were saving, "we" included maybe five thousand soldiers on duty in the Persian Gulf that were identifiable as Jewish. Just who the hell did they think they were? How could we justify shedding one drop of American blood to protect this putrid country, so opposed to the fundamental freedoms we stand for?
My co-workers sensed my anger and calmed me down with a whole lot of bad jokes. I boarded the bus to the Pentagon and within minutes faced another crisis - finding the passport office amid the incredible maze of corridors that comprise this enormous building. The Pentagon is about as complicated to traverse as the military beaurocracy itself - if a soldier can find his way through that building, he'll never get lost on a battlefield. And just try to ask for directions, everybody is lost in that building! Perhaps more fascinating was the almost total lack of security there. The MTMC Headquarters building was at heightened security and I needed all sorts of identification to get in to work. The Pentagon was unguarded, except for a metal detector. I just walked in and started wandering around the hub of the Defense Department. There is a little gazebo in the center courtyard of the Pentagon, at the time, I wondered how many Soviet ICBM's were aimed at that spot.
We finished up our testing, disassembled the equipment and packed it for shipping. "Don't worry, Mike, it'll be weeks before you'll have to go." I started to relax, it was the end of February, the ground war hadn't started yet and things were cool - for about a day.
The tanks, bearing barcode labels from which shipping information was scanned directly into my documentation systems, rolled into Kuwait and Iraq. One hundred hours after the Ground War began Kuwait was liberated - mission accomplished. The word came down through channels rapidly - the Saudis wanted their infidel guest workers the hell out of their country - NOW!
My home phone rang at 2130 Hours (9:30PM), Friday, 1 Mar 1991. "Get a hold of Steve, you're leaving Sunday." SAY WHAT? I hadn't been back from Virginia two days and had a thousand things to do. "Hey, what about all that talk about having months to set up the system?" "Well, you know Mike, we really thought… but you're the best man for the job… we really need you..." …And I was dumb enough to believe them - again.
Saudi Arabia. Oil Sheiks. Camels. Petro-dollars. Sand. No Jews or Pork Products allowed. Unlike Europe I wasn’t the slightest bit afraid of going to Saudi. I was by that time mentally prepared for the challenge, but in the worst possible way - burning with hatred. All I wanted to do was get there and piss on the place.
I called Steve and told him to start packing, I'd pick him up Sunday. SAY WHAT? Then I fed him the same line of bull they gave me. Steve is anything but dumb and didn't believe a word I said. I think he started planning his revenge on me that evening - you'll read about it in the next chapter.
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