By Laughing Wolf

Yesterday, Doc Bailey and I talked about military suicides and his frustrations with trying to talk to/work with various congresscritters. Sadly, I wasn’t surprised at the lack-of-responses and other blow-offs he was getting, as I have yet to meet any politician who I think is stand-up and has their head screwed on straight on this issue. Not. A. One. I’m not terribly impressed with leadership right now either. From caring for the wounded to suicides, I am starting to ask what happened to “Leave No One Behind?”

A few years ago, when Uncle Jimbo and I did the journalism fellowships at the Knight Center, one of the people who came to talk with us was a retired general who had lost a family member to suicide. There was some semi-frank talk about that and about how the military was, and wasn’t moving to handle things. While the general recognized a fundamental problem with that response, he also said it wouldn’t change.

Before I get into the fundamental problem, I want to detour to a solution, and a plea.

First, the solution will have to come from within the ranks, most likely the NCOs of those in combat arms be they active or retired. It will have to come from those that were there.

Second, if things are rough, please reach out. Talk to someone else who has been there, whether it’s your unit or not. We have lost enough people to the enemy without, we do not need to lose yet more to the enemy within.

Now, to the heart of the problem: The troops trust DoD and the Army. They trust them to be PC and to put them dead last.

When the general talked with us, part of that discussion revolved around the fact that whether it was PTS or suicide, that the Army response was to isolate and identify. Anyone coming forward at that time for either could count on the following things happening:

1. They would be relieved of all combat and most general duties and training. They could count on being transferred to non-combat duties and units. For troops with hearts and souls of warriors, there is no worse fate. Further, it means that they were leaving their buddies behind and in the lurch.

2. They could count on steps being taken to keep them away from weapons on and off duty, to be put under watch and otherwise wrapped up so that they could do nothing. Nothing bad, nothing good, and frankly nothing to help themselves.

3. Because they were under watch, what should be a private medical condition was public knowledge for all. The shame and humiliation that comes with being labelled far and wide as “the nut” is huge, particularly for someone who is simply trying to deal with things (particularly constructively).

4. They could count on finding their career pretty well ended. At least that was the perception, but as one looks at the number of public suicides by our veterans, and the sad tales of units where leadership turned their backs and left them behind, I can’t say it’s a false perception.

5. They can also count on this following them into the civilian world, not only in terms of finding a job, but in legal entanglements ranging from not being able to get a carry permit to potential loss of visitation/custody in divorce settlements.

The general admitted that such was not likely to change, because the Army is PC. He pointed out that if they didn’t do these things, and someone did kill themselves, it would be a PR nightmare for the Army. He brought up media coverage, congressional investigations, and other delights.

Tied to, but somewhat separate from this fundamental problem, is that many of the troops consider the counseling and related services a joke. First, they know it is PC, and PC rules over FM, as in Fix Me/Help Me Help Myself. If you want to know why they feel that way, you can not only look at reports on the subject, but look at what came out about the terrorist in their ranks, a man ignored and allowed to do great damage because no one had the courage or moral integrity to do anything about Hassan. If they can’t and won’t police their own, and put duty before correctness, the troops have zero reason to believe anything different will happen with their treatment.

Second to that is a huge issue for anyone who has been there: the vast majority of those doing the counseling have zero, zip, nada experience at the front. They have not been there, seen this, or done that. As I remarked to Doc Bailey, I suspect that the closest many of them have been to combat is going to the mall for the day after Thanksgiving sale. There have been a few I know who have been there, and we sadly lost one of them to suicide.

So, combat veterans are expected to go get help from someone who has not the first freaking clue about what the patient has experienced and/or might be feeling, who the troops suspect is not only PC but of a strain of PC that is of a “progressive” bent, and who they know will put political correctness first given past events.

Add to that a staggering layer of bureaucracy, particularly in the VA system, where files seem to routinely be lost, ignored, and paperwork is placed well ahead of care. Again, it’s a perception, but I can’t say it is a false one.

There is more over at Blackfive, check it out.

By RU Rob

While Memorial Day in the United States often induces thoughts of the beginning of summer, BBQ’s and a long holiday weekend, it is not celebrated as intended. Memorial Day, originally called Decoration Day, is a day of remembrance for those who have died in our nation’s service. There are many stories as to its actual beginnings, with over two dozen cities and towns laying claim to being its birthplace but was officially proclaimed on 5 May 1868 by General John Logan, national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, in his General Order No. 11, and was first observed on 30 May 1868, when flowers were placed on the graves of Union and Confederate soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery.

Traditional observance of Memorial Day has sadly diminished over the years. Many Americans nowadays have forgotten the meaning and traditions of Memorial Day as well as its importance to many who have lost someone in the service to the country. At many cemeteries, the graves of the fallen are increasingly ignored, neglected and have fallen into a state of disrepair. Most people no longer remember the proper flag etiquette for the day. While there are towns and cities that still hold Memorial Day parades, many have not held a parade in decades. Some people think the day is for honoring any and all dead, and not just those fallen in service to our country.

There are a few notable exceptions. Since the late 50′s on the Thursday before Memorial Day, the 1,200 soldiers of the 3d U.S. Infantry place small American flags at each of the more than 260,000 gravestones at Arlington National Cemetery. They then patrol 24 hours a day during the weekend to ensure that each flag remains standing. In 1951, the Boy Scouts and Cub Scouts of St. Louis began placing flags on the 150,000 graves at Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery as an annual Good Turn, a practice that continues to this day. More recently, beginning in 1998, on the Saturday before the observed day for Memorial Day, the Boys Scouts and Girl Scouts place a candle at each of approximately 15,300 grave sites of soldiers buried at Fredericksburg and Spotsylvania National Military Park on Marye’s Heights.

But what may be needed to return the solemn, and even sacred, spirit back to Memorial Day is for a return to its traditional day of observance. Many feel that when Congress made the day into a three-day weekend in with the National Holiday Act of 1971, it made it all the easier for people to be distracted from the spirit and meaning of the day. As the VFW stated in its 2002 Memorial Day address: “Changing the date merely to create three-day weekends has undermined the very meaning of the day. No doubt, this has contributed greatly to the general public’s nonchalant observance of Memorial Day.”

As we look back on 10 continuous years of war, the loss of our friends and loved ones, it is important that we now, more than ever, return to the roots of this most sacred celebration. We at The Rhino Den and Ranger Up wish to remember them as well. If you have lost a brother or sister, family member or friend, please leave their name below as a tribute to them and a reminder to all of us that “Freedom isn’t Free.”

Here’s to those that have gone before us and made the ultimate sacrifice. May we never, ever forget.

Have a great weekend folks, be safe and please take a moment to remember those who have fallen.   Please take a moment to remember the folks in OK this weekend and also the brave members of Team Rubicon who are continuing their service to this great country.  If you would like to donate to Team Rubicon and the mission in Moore, Oklahoma you can click here.

-RU Rob

We need to step up.

All of us.

The Department of Defense is now estimating that anywhere from 20-25% of all women who have served in the military are raped, and up to 30% have been sexually assaulted in some manner.  One in four of the women we served with has been raped?

Is that really acceptable to any of us?

Is that what we’re about?

Let me be clear: I know with 100% certainty that most members of the military are not rapists.  I also know that combat does not turn a man into a rapist.  Rapists, either through nature or nurture are created.  Once they are created, they never cease raping.  Even men who have been chemically castrated will continue to rape using objects.  That’s how deep the psychosis goes and these acts showcase more than anything that rape is not about sex, but rather about power.

Rapists have a similar pathology to serial killers.   They like to stalk and hunt their victims.  They enjoy the terror they bring to their victims during the act.  Most of all, though, the rapist enjoys replaying the act in his head after the fact.  He is sexually aroused by remembering the terror of his victims.  Where a serial killer lives for the terror leading up to the kill, a rapist revels in the fact that once a woman or man is raped, that terror remains with them all the days of their lives.

I also realize rape is prevalent in our society.  While the media points out there is 2-3 times more rape in the military than in the general population, when you look at similar age groups it is comparable or even better.  The military rape rate, for example, actually falls short of college campuses, where 25-30% of women admit to being raped at some point in four years.

Well since we’re the same as college, it’s not that big of a deal, right?  Rape is just something that happens, right?

Wrong.

We’re supposed to be better than that.  We represent the best the nation has to offer.  Our country places within us a significant trust – that we will represent the nation with character and win its wars.  More importantly, our sisters-in-arms trust us.

Unfortunately, in my life, I have encountered many women dear to me who have been raped.  For one reason or another, I am the person they turned to with their horror.  I cannot put into words the humiliation, guilt, and abject fear these women felt.  Candidly, despite hearing their stories and listening with tear-filled eyes, having never been raped myself, I cannot truly imagine what they survived.

I can say this, though: the foundation of our armed forces is that we can trust each other with our lives.  Hell, even when we don’t like each other, we trust that each of us can do the job.  We trust that we have each other’s backs.  That is why when a male troop commits these acts to a female troop, the crime is worse than a traditional rape.  It isn’t a college friend raping her.  It is her goddam brother.

Our sisters-in-arms trust us with their lives.  They are soldiers for Christ’s sake!  We owe it to them to look out for them.  We owe it to them to ensure we are people worthy of the uniform we put on.

Men: We need to look out for our sisters.  If you have a bad feeling about someone, look into it.  Don’t turn the other cheek.  If you think something has happened, explore it.  If you know something has happened, report it.  I realize the bonds of brotherhood, especially among combat veterans, is virtually unbreakable, but you cannot let these guys go unpunished.  This guy, who fought with you, and may be a great soldier in every other capacity, still raped your sister.  He raped your sister.  And he will rape again.  Over and over and over again.  He will never stop.  It is the defining characteristic of his life.  You cannot look at yourself in the mirror every morning knowing this is happening.  You have to do what’s right or you are not a man at all.  You have to protect our sisters-in-arms.

Women: Look out for your sisters.  Look for signs of abuse.  If you know something went down, report to every man, woman and child you can until something is done.  If someone has assaulted you, please report it.  It is not your fault.  It is the evil son-of-a-bitch that did it to you, and you should carry no guilt associated with the act.  The guilt is all his.  The evil is all his.

Please, also, police your own.  Look out for the liars.  While reports of rape have risen 4% in the last 3 years, false reports have risen 35%.  First, if you’re falsely reporting a rape, you’re a worthless human being who is accusing a man of possibly the worst act a man can commit for your own personal gain.  Second, you are doing a grave injustice to the real victims.  Every time there is a false allegation identified, you give investigators more reason to doubt victims, and make their plight even more horrific.  Shame on you.

Finally, Commanders: I don’t care if he is your best soldier who ups your company’s rating on X, Y, and Z and has 34 medals and she is the most out-of-shape worthless soldier you have ever seen, he still may have raped her.  You owe it to every soldier who has ever donned the uniform and especially to your soldier to do a complete and impartial investigation.  If you can’t, then you need to admit that and push it to a higher level.  It is your job to take care of your soldiers – all of your soldiers – not just the ones you happen to like the most.

I know most of you feel as I do.  I know that.  I know most of you find rape appalling and disgusting.  The thing is, it isn’t going away.  It only seems to be getting worse.  It is easier to say, “I’d never rape and my unit is all a bunch of good guys who would never rape anyone,” then it is to admit the truth: 1 out of 4 of the women you know in the military have been raped.  Odds are you know at least one of the rapists.

Protecting the nation has to begin with protecting the men and women to our left and right.

It just has to.

We need to do more.  We need to look out for each other.

Our sisters-in-arms deserve better.

As does our nation.

And as always, the solution lies on our shoulders.

By Ghengis Ron

“I laid awake at night trying to figure out what in the world I could have done to these people to make them so angry at me.”

– John “Jack” Potter

 

If you owned a house that was occupied by a 91-year-old man trying to live out his last years in peace, would you evict him?

What if the man had built the house himself 56 years ago and had raised his family in it?

What if the man was a veteran who had served his country proudly in World War II and who had seen combat in the Aleutian Islands?

What if the man had worked hard his whole life, having retired from the B&O railroad as a chief train dispatcher and having once served as a sheriff and as a mayor of Zaleski, Ohio?

What if you had taken the house from the man unethically, but were allowed to keep it on a judicial technicality?

What if the man was your own father?

If you answered yes to even one of those questions, you’re what scientists refer to as a “dirtbag.” But as unbelievable as it sounds, an Ohio woman answered yes to every single one.

In February, Janice Cottrill served her father, John “Jack” Potter, an eviction notice stating that she was terminating his “existing lease.” I like to imagine that she did so immediately after kicking a puppy dog and immediately before slapping a kid’s ice cream cone out of his hand, because you have to have a black heart to pull some shit like that.

Cottrill’s attorney told AOL News that this was “a simple eviction process for someone who doesn’t own the home and doesn’t pay any rent,” which in my lawyer-to-human dictionary translates to “fuck you.”

Potter has been ordered to attend an eviction hearing on June 12, at which time he is expected to be evicted.

The situation began in 2004, when Potter and his wife (who has since passed away) became ill. They gave Cottrill, their only daughter, general power of attorney to take care of their affairs in the event that they declined in health. One of their concerns was that they wanted Cottrill to take care of their son (now 64 years old) who is autistic and severely disabled.

Cottrill used this power of attorney for good.

Just kidding. She used it to sign the house over to herself. In 2010, when Potter discovered what his daughter had done—you’re not allowed to do that, since you can’t gift yourself property over which you have power of attorney— he took her to court and won. The decision was overturned in appellate court, however, because the statute of limitations of four years had expired. Cottrill was able to keep the house, thereby shattering any of our remaining faith in the justice system, common sense, or basic human decency.

But before you go losing hope in people altogether, let me introduce another character: Jaclyn Fraley. Fraley is Potter’s 35-year-old granddaughter and Cottrill’s daughter. She moved to Columbus, Ohio from San Diego to be closer to her aging grandfather, and if you know anything at all about Columbus and San Diego, then you already know this woman is a saint.

And Fraley has also been her grandfather’s biggest ally throughout this whole ordeal. She started a campaign on gofundme.com  to save her grandfather’s house. As of Thursday morning, she has raised her goal amount of $125,000, which will be used to purchase the house. If all goes according to script, Potter will be able to stay in his home for the rest of his life.

I recognize that there are two sides to every story, and Cottrill’s husband hinted that this whole feud has been fueled by something to do with Potter wanting to stay in contact with his autistic son, who is being cared for by Cottrill and her husband. (Don’t ask me why that’s a bad thing. I’ve never heard anyone convincingly argue, “Yeah, I know it looks bad, but you don’t understand—he wants to see his son.”)

But it’s hard to find any defense at all for a woman who would take a home from her father, get away with it on a technicality, and then evict him.

A big part of me doesn’t want Cottrill to get a single cent of the money Fraley raised, because it feels like she’s being rewarded for being awful. But maybe it’s better to take Fraley’s attitude with this whole thing, as reflected by her comments to ABC News:

“Do I think she deserves the money? No, but my grandfather deserves to stay in his home as long as he possibly can. If he wants to leave, it should be his decision.”

So let’s celebrate this as a story with a happy ending (if Potter is indeed allowed to purchase his own home back).

Because once again good people—Fraley and the over 4,000 people who donated to Potter’s cause—have proven that they outnumber the bad.

By Mad Medic

Almost every enlisted Joe can’t wait to get out and go to that magical land called “college” where they can get a degree and make the big bucks. It’s the American dream, and the GI Bill is one of the few entitlements you can honestly say is earned. The fact that all the girls walk around in yoga pants doesn’t hurt. It’s like a Mecca of the young and restless, where you can sort of fuck off, have a good time, and get career training for the future, right? Well. . . no, not really. College is almost exactly not at all what you were expecting. There are some things I wish I had known before I started college that I now know a bit too late to help me. Rather than sit there and bitch and moan about my lot in life, I’d rather pass on the things I’ve learned so you don’t end up making the same mistakes I did.

Know what you want to do: this may sound simplistic and even stupid, but coming to college with no idea what’s involved in your degree path, or even what the hell you want to get a degree in is not a good idea. In my case, I thought a BS in Biology was “pre-med.” By the time I realized this it was a *bit* late to switch my majors. My current degree path started off as a minor, and I spent three semesters trying to get a BS, not the BA I’m trying to get now.

My advice is to pick out a job that is somewhat similar to your interests. Keep in mind your limitations. If you suck at math, getting an engineering degree is probably not a good idea. Even if you pick the “wrong” degree, don’t worry; as long as it’s not something really stupid like Fashion Marketing, you’ll probably be able to pull down a decent job even if that career field isn’t in your degree path. Switching majors often is not a good idea.

Have your finances in order before you show up: I love that the Post 9/11 GI bill came with a living stipend. That really saved my ass. There’s just one teeny tiny problem with the Post 9/11 GI Bill; you have to go through the VA. If you don’t have your ducks in a row before the first day of school, then you’re going to be in a world of hurt. Expect delays. Look for a part time or full time job before you start college. Trust me when I say that it’s far preferable to be a part time student than to be broke, starving, and having creditors calling you every day with an overdrawn bank account. This has happened to me.

You may not like it, but seriously considering taking out a student loan for your first semester. If you don’t need it no harm done, but it’s better to have and not need than to need and not have. Dipping into the credit cards is a big no-no, especially if you’re a college student.

Find a social outlet ASAP: You’re probably not going to fit in with your typical student, that’s just a fact. Most of the graduates are 23, and if you’re getting out after a 4 year enlistment, you’ll be starting at 23. Your maturity level will be way different, especially if you’ve been to combat. You’ll have a different way of talking and acting, the things you value are different. You’re going to be an oddity for most of your classmates. You’ll need a place to vent and keep you from becoming isolated. I’m not going to recommend Fraternities (though if you do join one, Kappa Alpha is always good!) or that you join/start a Vet Club. I’m going to tell you find a club, a sport, something you can do that will get you with likeminded people that you can vent with. This can be a great support system if you’re having issues, and often times if you’re having trouble navigating the bureaucracy, having someone else that’s been in a similar situation helps.

No one cares: This is one of the hardest things to square up about the college environment. They go on and on about how inclusive, caring, and insightful they are but at the end of the day unless you’re a very specific type of person, no one gives a flying fuck about you. “Oh you served in the Army? That’s cool, I was thinking about joining then I got into college. . .” Yeah, I shit you not people have said those exact words to me. People will ask you about your service out of curiosity, but they don’t actually want to know. As far as they’re concerned, you’re ripped right from Full Metal Jacket, the Deer Hunter, and Apocalypse Now. If Iraq of Afghanistan ever do come up, that Abortion that Lived (ATL) “Hurt Locker” will be taken at face value for how it really is.

The truth is, you could have been anything from a shit-shoveler to Sal Giunta, and most of them wouldn’t have a clue or care. The only people that do will be people with a veteran advocacy background or fellow veterans. You’re not alone, but don’t expect anyone to know or care what your badges mean or what your MOS was. You need to understand that from the outset. You have to understand, you’re coming to them—not the other way around. The military is a pretty exclusive club; there’s only .45% of the US population under arms. You’ll have to find your own path, but for four years (at least) you’d better know how to differentiate your military world from your civilian world.

Know which habits to keep (and which to get rid of): There are some things that you learned in the military that are actually a good thing. Being on time (see: early) is a very good habit. Knife-hands…less so. You’ll also have to come to grips with the fact that the very blunt way you address people—especially when addressing their failures—won’t work. The civilian world actually does have Hurt Feelings reports (they’re called law suits), and you can pay dearly for suggesting someone needs to remove their cranium from their rectum ricky-tick before you rip off their skull and defecate down their throats. In some states, “verbal assault” (what you might call getting chewed out) is actually a crime, and you will actually go to jail. Until you get the lay of the land it would behoove you to shut your mouth and keep you head on a swivel.

Another habit you may find doesn’t translate well is your work ethic. In the military you stay until the job’s done. In some civilian jobs not only is that a bad thing but you could potentially get fired for it. College too has similar problems. Perfectionism, which is absolutely essential, may actually get you into trouble. You’ll need to learn when to go all out, and when the teacher just wants something in their hands. Knowing which assignments require attention to detail and which are filler will help you budget your time.

It’s ok to have fun, but it’s easy to have too much: There are no formations. There’s no hit times. No NCOs that will shit bricks if you miss movement. In fact if you do a shitty job, no one will really care. The best/worst part is that there is always a party going on. You can find a house party, a frat party, or hell “it’s Wednesday” party. There are drugs, loose women (and men), and more alcohol than you can drink in fifty lifetimes, and that’s just at one party. You can have so much fun, or get into so much trouble, it’s not even really funny. Be careful. Chasing tail and drinking till you were blacking out was fine when you were in the barracks, but this is nowhere near that. You have no chain of command to call. Strange as it may sound actually having a repetitive safety brief is a good thing. Being in college and being a know-it-all smart ass veteran you might think “I’m still good to drive” and get a DUI. Forgetting to wrap it up is also a very bad idea.

The GI Bill is there for you. You earned it. Use it. I want you to succeed. I want to see you get elected, run your own company, be a millionaire. If you’ve gone downrange, if you’ve had your ass nearly shot off or survived some harrowing tale of incoming, you deserve to have a shot at success. I can’t guarantee that this will work out for you, nor even that you’ll enjoy your time at college, but I can guarantee that you above all your peers at college have earned a little Life Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. Go forth and kick ass.

While serving as a river boat gunner in Vietnam, Dave Roever was severely burned by a phosphorus grenade. Numerous surgeries, 14 months in a hospital, and many years of mental anguish later, Dave Roever became known worldwide for his motivational speaking at schools, on television shows, and more specifically, on military installations and in combat zones. His passion for helping active duty military and Veterans is undeniable to any and all who have even heard his name—for those who have heard him speak, the word “inspiring” just doesn’t quite cut it.

A few years ago, Dave was in the mountains near Westcliffe, Colorado and had a vision. That vision was of building a beautiful resort lodge that would act as a place where Veterans could come and heal—a place where those who had been to war and had struggles reintegrating could feel at home and learn how to use the skills they had acquired in the military for the rest of their lives. Painfully aware of the staggering number of suicides and unemployment in the Veteran community, Dave went to work at fulfilling that vision.

The dream has been realized now at a place called Eagle Summit Ranch. Located near the breathtaking Sangre de Cristo Mountains, ESR is home to the Mighty Oaks Foundation’s “Fight Club,” which I had the privilege of attending last week. Run by Ranger Up MMA fighter and former USMC Force Recon member Chad Robichaux, Fight Club is designed as a way to help Veterans use what they already know to deal with what they don’t, while addressing the demons brought back from their sacrifices.

Regular readers of the Rhino Den will remember that Chad co-authored a book with Brian Flemming entitled Redeployed: How Combat Veterans Can Fight the Battle Within and Win the War at Home. The book was written based on their personal experiences dealing with the physical and mental trauma they incurred from combat deployments. It was also written based on what they have learned at Eagle Summit Ranch and their experience teaching for the Mighty Oaks Foundation. Along with fellow instructors Toby Nunn and former Marine Corps platoon commander Jeremy Stalnecker, the classes are designed around the experiences of combat veterans with the intent of asking—and answering—some of the toughest questions Veterans face upon returning to the civilized world.

What do I do now?

Why can I not relate to my family?

Why did that happen to my friends and not me?

Through a balance of outdoor activities like white water rafting, shooting, four-wheeling, and numerous blocks of classroom instruction, these questions are addressed by warriors and for warriors. Topics like brotherhood, marriage, discipline, and faith are the core of everything that goes on at Fight Club—all of which develops camaraderie between the students and teachers that is sorely missing in most “reintegration” programs.

Though there is a lot of fun to be had, Fight Club is different because of the challenges presented. It is made challenging not by men being forced to do certain activities, but rather because of the questions asked—they are not questions that can be ignored and, as a result, everyone who attends must confront them at the most personal level.

This is the real deal. This is not laying-on-the-couch, spilling-your-feelings therapy. Fight Club is about approaching life like a warrior and taking charge of the struggles that are faced on a day to day basis, whether they be emotional or physical or both. Fight Club is about realizing what is worth fighting for in life and applying the warrior mindset to that fight. 

And it works. The stories coming out of this program are nothing short of phenomenal. Guys who are about a day away from taking their own lives are walking away from 6 days of Fight Club with a renewed purpose and brighter outlook on life. Men who were ready to give up on their marriages are accepting the challenge to do what they can to make it work. Even the deepest scars are understood to have purpose.

Interestingly, the program is not just limited to OEF/OIF Veterans. One of the men in the class was a tunnel rat in Vietnam. He came back from Southeast Asia almost 40 years ago, but for three of those decades he was unable to cope with society and did all he could to seclude himself from it. To watch a man like that come out of his shell and begin asking questions of how to be a better man is tremendously inspiring and of monumental importance—programs like this didn’t exist when he got out, and he knows it. That’s why he will be taking what he learned at Fight Club to the streets of Philadelphia where he helps homeless Vets on a daily basis.

On the last morning I was there, while eating breakfast and enjoying the incredible view, the Vietnam Vet turned to me and Toby and said “I feel guilty about all of this.” When asked why, he responded that he felt like he had been given too much that he didn’t pay for. Toby then put his fork down, looked into the man’s eyes and said “Man, you were crawling through shit and slime on your belly that I can’t even imagine before I was ever even born. So you enjoy Every. Last. Morsel. You earned it.”

That is the philosophy of Dave Roever and what he wants Veterans to understand when they come to the Eagle Summit Ranch (as well as other locations around the country that will soon be opening). Dave worked his ass off to secure funding for this project—even having a heart attack in the process—because he believes that his ROI (Return On Investment) is “worth every penny and more.” After telling us that, he paused momentarily, then looked at us and said “my return on investment is sitting right here in this room, and I would do it all for just one of you.”

Dave Roever and Chad Robichaux feel called by God to do anything and everything they can to help the Veteran community. Fight Club is the answer to that calling and goes far beyond anything I have ever seen in so many ways. It can’t be stressed enough—this is not a psycho-therapy session run by VA shrinks who throw pills at Vets. Fight Club is actionable and working to bring Warriors back to being Warriors for what matters most. I am honored to have been part of their efforts and will do all I can in the future to help their cause.

Click here for more information on the Mighty Oaks Warrior Training Division, and click here for information on supporting the Roever Foundation.

By Kelly Crigger

“Know why I’m wearing these duds?”

I didn’t look at him hoping he’d go away. No such luck.

“It’s Disco Night at that bar in Westport. Come on.”

Resistance was futile. Roach was, and still is, an irresistible force when his phasers were locked on target. And the target this evening was a disco night in Kansas City. In less than an hour we were in a thrift store followed by a wig shop and 15 more Captains from our CAS3 class at Fort Leavenworth were confirmed to be doing the same.

Before my mirror mirror on the wall could say “who’s the mack daddiest dude of all?” I was in a lime green suit with a patent leather white belt, white shoes, and a white headband over my giant afro. My shirt was wide open and a gold medallion the size of Tom Jones’ scrotum dangled freely. It was as pimp as pimp gets and I even memorized the lines to Fly Guy’s infamous poem, “My bitch betta have my money” for the occasion.

There was only one problem. It wasn’t disco night. It was Ladies Eighties Night, a thinly veiled attempt to water down the ratio of swinging dicks to swinging tits, which didn’t work. It was a Kansas City sausage fest and Boogie Nights just walked in. It took a private conversation from Benjamin Franklin to convince the DJ that it really was Disco Night after all. He’s so persuasive.

It must be a supernatural phenomenon that girls can sense when men are harmless because somehow I turned around and two of the only girls in the place were talking up my friend Chuck. Chuck was a devoted husband with kids and had no game whatsoever so they flocked to him like sheep looking for the protection of a sheepdog.

If I sucked at picking out hippie attire then Chuck was horrible at it (and really…who isn’t? The whole decade sucked). He’d chosen a wig that barely covered up his high and tight and looked like a ridiculous hairpiece. He looked like a bald man trying to cover up…

DING.

A dim light went off in my head. Looking back on it, I’m glad I didn’t turn it off. Chuck left the table to hit the pisser and I leaned in.

“You know why we’re all dressed up like this?” I said to the girls.

“We were going to ask.”

“Well, Chuck there is a survivor. See how he’s got no hair under his wig?” They whip around to look at his head as he walked away. Their jaws dropped and I knew they were hooked. In my defense I never uttered the words cancer or chemotherapy though I will admit to being the seeing eye dog that lead them to that conclusion.

“He’s real self-conscious about it so we told him if he put on a wig and some disco clothes we would all do the same and he could finally go out and have some fun without having to…you know…feel like people were looking at him.”

“You guys are so cool!” They exclaimed. “It’s so touching that you would do that for your friend.”

“Well, that’s what brothers do for each other.”

Somewhere in hell Hitler patted a seat, inviting me to join him. If they could have threesomed him on that table I swear they would have tried. For the next few hours they were Oreo cookies on his cream filling and he had no idea why.

But there was a problem. As I watched Chuck getting Lambada’d on the dance floor (with the stupidest grin ever) I caught sight of a redneck just behind him wind up and throw a huge haymaker at someone in a corduroy suit. This guy had bad intentions for a friend in my group so I sprinted across the floor as 14 other disco dudes swarmed him from every corner of the bar at the same time. You’ve never seen a man so utterly befuckled as a redneck being held down by 14 guys in leisure suits while one (me) yells “everyone stop Kung Fu fighting!” Absolutely priceless.

The fracas cleared and a familiar face entered the bar. And by familiar I don’t mean an old friend I hadn’t seen since we were CIA agents dancing “The Forbidden Dance of the Seven Veils” in Pyongtaek for the Dear Leader, but Kansas City Chiefs running back Marcus Allen! Dude is a legend and I’m star struck by the Heisman Trophy winner, but before I could shake his hand I had to piss. Bad. On my way out of the latrine I heard his silky smooth voice.

“Nice wig.”

I turn and it’s Allen. No shit. Marcus Allen was commenting on my afro. Somewhere a black hole tore inside a black hole and then I said something I didn’t even know was in me.

“Know why we’re dressed up like this?”

“No.”

“See that guy on the dance floor?”

I tell Chuck’s sad story.

“You guys are so cool.”

“Thanks bro.”

I literally had no idea such nefarious tendencies lived inside me until that moment. As I walked away I heard Marcus tell one of his entourage to send Chuck a beer. My seat in hell was getting warmer and I only hoped I wouldn’t be filling it anytime soon.

“You mother fucker!”

Maybe not. The girls were pissed. “I can’t believe we blah blah blah.” It’s callous to say I tuned her out but I knew exactly what she was saying without hearing it. I apologized with a grin and they stormed off leaving me to think maybe my spot in hell wasn’t going to be mine after all.

“So I have cancer, you dick?”

Again…maybe not.

“Dude…you gotta admit that was funny,” I plead guilty and tried to get him to laugh it off. Chuck was never in danger. He was an eternal family man, so the intense female attention, albeit under false pretenses, was welcome admiration that he hadn’t known in eons. He loved it whether he admitted it or not. Chuck eventually smiled and all was good with the world though my penance was to buy him several beers. Small price to pay for the story of a lifetime. The beers Marcus bought us only added to the glory.

But it didn’t end there. During the evening a number of Marines in dress blues had been wandering the bar fresh from a Toys for Tots drive. One unruly patron decided he wanted to grab a ribbon off a Marine’s dress blues to show his Brokeback Mountain buddies. Bad idea. You think Army guys dressed up in leisure suits can swarm an intrusive cancer? We got nothing compared to those Devil Dogs. Even the bouncers were like, “Um…is he alive?” when they finally arrived on the scene. I was in awe and felt the veteran pride swelling up inside me.

“We got your back if something like that happens again,” I tell one of them as I buy Chuck yet another beer.

“Who are you?” a Gunny asked me. I explained.

“You’re…Army Captains?” Shit. I knew right away that I had just fueled an ‘Officers and Army guys are walrus shit’ attitude. Luckily every Marine I’ve ever known is a softie for a hard luck story, so I played the only card I had left.

“Know why we’re dressed up like this?”

By Mad Medic

It seems almost comical. Perhaps there were a bunch of generals sitting around trying to fluff their OER so they could get another star, maybe it was a PAO prank run amok, or maybe a Duffel Blog writer slipped a note to the Sergeant Major of the Army. Whatever the root cause may be, next year’s Soldier of the Year will be: Everyone. Every single soldier in the United States Army will be Soldier of the Year. The details haven’t been worked out yet how every soldier, to include officers will receive the trophy and commendations that usually go with winning Soldier of the Year, but the basic plan is that everybody’s been doing such a good job, that they want to reward, well pretty much everyone.

This move is not without precedent, during the Korean War countless Colonels that stayed in rear areas bitched endlessly that their contemporaries that had actually gone to war had more medals than they did. It was seen as unfair that they did really important work in places like Fort Dix New Jersey to support the war in Korea. The fact that Korea is on the other side of the globe from New Jersey was not nearly as important as their “war time” service. President Eisenhower, in a move to head off the endless bitching created the National Defense Medal in 1953. The NDM is a blanket medal awarded to any member of the armed services that is active during a time of war. Any service member regardless of MOS, or duty station would now get recognition for their “War Time” service.

But the good idea fairy wasn’t done yet, in 1981, the Army leadership, after dealing with scathing complaints that they were harassing the Gay community got together and worked out how they could make it up to the gays. The “No homo” policy was still in effect, so they had to do something. Just like that they had a flash of inspiration that would do the Good Idea Fairy proud. They would create a Gay Pride ribbon and give it to everybody that served in the Army. Although the Army Service Ribbon was technically to recognize anyone that had made it through all 9 grueling weeks of Basic, it was widely recognized as a way to say “hey no butt hurt” to the Gay community. Troops that have occasion to walk around San Francisco in their uniforms are easily recognized, and welcomed by the Gay community, who all agree the ASR makes them look fabulous.

One might’ve thought that Big Army might’ve pushed away from the table and called it a day, but then the Global War on Terror began. It was the first war since the last one, and some of the poor generals that didn’t get the Southwest Asia Service Medal, the Saudi or Kuwaiti versions of the Kuwait Liberation Medal were determined not to be out done. They created the Global War on Terror Service Medal, and the Global War on Terror Expeditionary medal. At first the GWOT-SM was only awarded to people that were in direct support of the war effort, but POGs will be POGs, and the endless bitching loosened the awarding standards so that now everybody got the GWOT-SM regardless of if they actually supported the war effort or not.

As if that weren’t enough, after Operation Iraqi Freedom started, trash talking at the Pentagon reached a fevered pitch. In an effort to show who had more brass the muckity mucks that had supported Operation Enduring Freedom in Afghanistan were saying they get their shit first and the OIF guys could suck it. Others who had been to both OIF and OEF were saying it was bullshit that they had one award for two wars, while the guys that had only been to OIF felt they had a “real” war and weren’t going to take some gay little medal that they had to share with the guys that went to Douchebagistan. Finally the Sec Def at the time, Donald Rumsfeld said “fuck this shit you each get a medal, now someone bring me some ranger candy my head is fucking killing me.” Thus the ACM and ICM were borne.

But the latest move by the Army Department seems to make no sense. How can every soldier be Soldier of the Year? Technically, Major Nidal Hassan, PFC Bradley Manning, and SSG Robert Bales are still soldiers. Does that mean that we will award Soldier of the Year to a terrorist, a traitor, or a massive dickhead? Well, it looks like we will. It seems that this is just the latest in a series of moves in the army to please a public that is increasingly valuing the participation trophy, and perhaps an attempt to remind the news media that we’re still the good guys.

The reaction seems to be immediate and chaotic. It is suggested that at least fifteen NCOs committed suicide by repeatedly ramming their head into a wall, although it is not entirely clear if this is because of Big Army’s decision, or because their Privates maxed out their STAR card buying gifts for a stripper “that really loves them.” At Fort Sill, two artillery officers who weren’t doing anything anyway demanded that their rater put “soldier of the year” on their OER, threatening to call IG if it was not immediately taken care of. On almost every post that has a Cav unit, there have been a surge in “fuck this shit I’m wearing my Stetson,” which may explain the sudden rise in heart attacks Infantry Brigade Sergeant Majors seem to be suffering. DUIs also seem to be on the rise because “what the fuck can you do to me? I’m Soldier of the Year bitch!” MPs were reportedly not amused.

It’s clear that the “everybody’s a winner” crowd is to blame here. Despite the fact that the real Army knows everything in life has to be earned,the yahoos at the puzzle palace have figured that giving every a shiny trophy is the best way to recruit and keep people in a society that increasingly doesn’t know the value of an honest day’s labor. We must all hope that Big Army stops appeasing the congress critters soon before they legalize pot and let any old crack-head in. Whatever the reasoning for this decision, there is little doubt that this will cause chaos in the coming weeks and months.

An Army of ONE!