Coonridge Digest: A touch of greatness

Greetin’s from the Ridge.

Mike Neeley was a rascal. His school record was one long litany of detentions, letters to Mom and Dad from the principal, and long hours spent in the hallway. Once he got his license to drive a car, his taste for the wild life got a little more dangerous and although he never got in any really big trouble, those of us who loved him lost some sleep watching the boy grow up.

Mike was a cute kid. Whenever he’d get caught in one of his increasingly irritating tricks, he’d smile at you with a grin that covered the entire lower hemisphere of his face and say something like, “Hey..I’m really sorry.” And he would be. Of course he’d turn around tomorrow and pull an even bigger shenanigan but he’d truly be sorry that he did it.

Mike was a smart, capable young man who just went off in all directions at once. He tried college but the temptations of independence were too much for him and he wasted a year’s tuition on staying out late and sleeping in early. I seriously doubt that at age 18 you can have anything resembling a last resort, but that’s what Mike called it as he signed up for the military.

Mike’s in Iraq this morning. His parents cling to every short phone conversation, word from friends, and news bulletin, but all we really know…he’s in Iraq this morning.

I only know a handful of kids who are out in that hot desert but I imagine there are a good many Mike’s sweating through their camouflage uniforms this morning, and at least in Coonridge, the real story of the War in Iraq is the performance and behavior of our fighting men and women.

Last night on NPR I heard a chilling story of an American Army patrol in a standoff with civilians who’d been stirred up by a group of local rabble-rousers. The two sides stood only yards apart and this little part of the war was about to turn into the ugly thing we’ve all feared. A quick-thinking commander grabbed a bullhorn and ordered the first line of troops to drop to one knee. They did. Then he ordered all the soldiers to slowly point their guns to the ground. They did. Then he said, “We will now begin smiling.” They did. And the trouble-makers in the Iraqi crowd had to slink away in defeat as the villagers slowly came forward to shake hands with their new friends.

Call me a fool but I think that Mike was in that crowd somewhere and that something very good was happening.

One late night live report showed an embedded CNN reporter interviewing a young Marine. The boy had spent the last two days and nights marching toward Baghdad with very little sleep, no shower in a week, and a uniform that was beginning to stick to him. The newsman stuck a microphone in the boy’s face and said, “How long is it going to take to win this war?”

Although I’m a diehard fan of free and unfettered media, this was just too much. What could the kid possibly know and if he did, what idiot would ever think he would answer that question? The young soldier smiled and said, “We’re here to get the job done. I guess that means as long as it takes.” Lousy news, good answer. I saw Mike’s grin on that soldier’s face.

You can wrap everything I know about military tactics and put it in a gnat’s eye, but from my uninformed viewing roost, I stand impressed. I’ve never heard of a war fought with such precision and care for humanity. Say what you will about why we’re there, you’ve got to admire the way we’re doing it. And somewhere imbedded in the smoke of that battlefield is Mike and thousands others like him. This care for compassion, even in the midst of war, must surely be affecting them in a permanent way.

Tom Brokaw wrote a wonderful book about those who lived through World War II. He called them “The Greatest Generation.” I’d agree. And now, like their grandfathers, they’ve been drawn into a war by forces beyond their control, and they are faced with this same opportunity for greatness. Brokaw concluded that what the greatness of the WWII vets did was topped by what these same men and women became. I have a feeling that when Mike returns to Coonridge, we’ll see a different sort of lad….maybe a touch of greatness.

Whenever I’d be saddled with the measles or mumps or chicken pox, they’d ship me out to my grandma’s house for a dose of rest, cocoa, and banana pie. (Grandma’s banana pies were the forerunners of today’s holistic medicine.) When my sickly whinin’ got to be more than she could take, she’d put me on her lap and say, “Everything works for good for those who love the Lord.”

For the thousands of Mike’s who are being taught this miraculous lesson in humanity even in the midst of horror, I pray that’s true.

You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.