He looked at me dead in the eyes and asked, “Do you want to hear a dog story”?  The table became quiet.  By this time there were few customers in the restaurant. Terry spoke with a Texan accent.   Although soft, his voice had a commanding presence.

“For what it is worth, I shouldn’t be here.  I have never spoke about this before, but see I’m gonna tell you a story about Tarzan.  It was 1964 or 65. I worked as kennel help at Lackland AFB.  Tarzan, a huge bear of a dog, German Shepard, was kenneled in the section I was assigned.  He went every bit of 100 pounds.  Biggest dog I ever saw.  I am six one and when he stood on his hind legs his head was as tall as mine.  He was the meanest of the bunch.  Every handler that tried got bit.  I don’t know why, but he and I became the best of friends.  I never trained him, but that dog would do anything I said.

It was 1971.  I’m on my second tour, Army, Sergeant in charge of a five-man Combat Tracker Dog Team.  I was 30 years old, a bit older than most at that time.  Our five-man team and two dogs were patrolling early one morning, ahead of our unit about 100 yards to our rear.  We were forty-two clicks southwest of Plieku.  It was one of the hottest days of the year.  We were in full gear, flak jackets and all, carrying M-16s. Felt like walking in a sweatbox.  The jungle was thick with humidity.  Sweats pouring off us like a faucet.  G_d it was awful.  Then, hell broke loose.  You see, we were up wind and walked right into a well-organized VC ambush.  Shocked and surprised we ran for the brush.  I got separated from my team.  Even with our unit in the rear, we must have been outnumbered three to one.  Gunfire
coming at us from what seemed, all directions.

What seemed like hours, was only a few minutes. Time, itself hung in the air.  There was finally a lull in the gunfire.  Cautiously, I slowly crept out of hiding, intending to re-group with my team.  There was heavy foliage everywhere.  Mist rising from the ground offered some cover.  The smell of spent gunpowder hung in the air.  I came upon a path.  Everything was quiet. Not even the birds were singing.  After being still for what seemed an eternity I began moving eastward to where I last saw my team.  I could hear voices in the distance, but too far away to know if it was the unit or my team.

I’ll be damned if I wasn’t about to walk into another ambush!  Walking out of the mist, twenty yards ahead was a VC, his AK-47 pointing directly at me. I mean he had me sighted!  Dead to right!  Then another VC, from out of the bush appears off to my right raising his rifle toward me.”

Terry paused at this point.  Although his eyes locked on mine, it was not my eyes he saw.  He was looking at something else.  He was back in the jungle of Vietnam.  He blinked, looked down at the table and swallowed.  He reached for his cup and took a sip of what must have now been cold coffee. Hesitating before speaking again, he covered his mouth and pretended too cough.  I noticed his eyes moistened.   He finally continued, stumbling over the first word or two.

“I hear this huge ferocious growl over to my left and out of nowhere.” He hesitated again as though something stuck in his throat and resumed.  Both eyes were now tearing.

“A huge dog appears to my left, near the VC that has me sighted dead to right.”  Barely audible, he continued, “Jumps across the path, this dark beast of a dog, growling, and I mean loud.”  He became more audible now and spoke loud enough that the waitress, standing a few tables away, turned in our direction.

” He knocks the VC down.  The second one gets distracted and looks to his right at his fallen comrade, and at that moment I raise my gun and went berserk.  Swiss cheese.”

“They were Swiss cheese.”  His voice quieted.  “I went to the first VC that had me dead to right.”

He hesitated again and slightly tilted his head with a look in his eyes as though he was pondering something he himself could just not quite absorb. “There was no sign of that dog.  No puncture wounds, like you would expect from a dog.  No tearing of clothes.  No tracks.  Not a sign of that dog! Nothing ‘cept swiss cheese where I shot ‘em to pieces.  That guy never got up again after that damn dog knocked ‘em down.”

“Tarzan?”  I boldly asked.  Terry choked again, and dabbed at his eyes with a napkin.  He couldn’t seem to mouth the words so he just nodded his head in acknowledgment.

After a minute or two he explained.  “I know what you must think.  Combat plays funny tricks on your mind.  Sometimes it makes us see and do things we wouldn’t normally do.  Maybe it was a ghost.  But, I know what I saw.”

Sitting to my left, Bob, commented, “You must have really loved that dog.”

Not long after that story we parted company.  We walked outside and said our goodbyes.  After several handshakes, I got into the pick up and watched. Bob and Terry spoke for a few more minutes, and I saw Bob place his hand on Terry’s shoulder and turn away.  We didn’t speak for several minutes, on the drive home.

I was still trying to take it all in.  I broke the silence, “You two have
known each other a long time.”
“Correct”, he said, “and I have never known that man to lie, about
anything.”
I asked, “Have you ever heard that story before?”
Without taking his eyes off the road, “No”.
I just had to point out, “That was some story.  By the way, he never said
when Tarzan got to Vietnam”.
Bob replied, “He didn’t”.
“I know that”, I said, and repeated, “He never told us”.
“No, you don’t understand, that’s why I hung around a minute, before we
left.  Tarzan never was sent to Vietnam.  He was destroyed in 1965.  He was
just too damn mean.”

We drove home in silence.

When we awoke this morning, how many of us knew about the significance of this day? Pearl Harbor Day?
When we awoke on September 11, how many of us knew the significance of that day? In twenty years from now, when our children awake on September 11, will they know the significance of either day?

This morning, I was invited to join some friends. The three of us veterans, two from the Air Force, one Marine met for coffee and a bagel. All three of us served in Vietnam. As I looked around the table, I noticed we were the oldest in the restaurant, all three of us in our 60’s.

Jacques, seated to my right, asked the other, about his grandson serving in Afghanistan. “Grandpa” replied with a summation. I do not think I will ever forget it. He removed his glasses and placed his callused hand over his face as though to wipe away the invisible wear and tear of years gone by. He deliberately took his time before answering.

Then quietly, he asked, “How do I explain to my grandson about collateral damage?” Jacques, being still, I replied, “pardon me”?
“My grandson was home recently on leave.” He said, “Grandpa, I need to talk to you.”
He explained that they went outside where they could be alone and sat under an old oak tree while family and friends gathered inside for a Thanksgiving feast

The young soldier, no more than 19 years old was part of a mechanized ranger battalion. He was assigned the task of manning a 50-caliber machine gun on top of a heavily armored Hummer type of vehicle. He was on his second tour of duty. Needless to say he got plenty of experience with “his 50”. His grandfather described how they slept in hard foxholes most of the time; sometimes on paved roadways covering themselves with whatever they could find to keep warm at night. Sometimes they traveled at night and slept during the day under the hot burning sun. “Tanning lotion was a commodity”, he explained.

He said, “My grandson told me I would not be able to comprehend what he and his fellow soldiers are going through. I did not want to remind my grandson that I spent 12 months in a jungle”.

As grandpa spoke, he began to choke up, “He told me about an experience he had and says he can’t talk to anyone except me about it. He told me that one afternoon they were moving through a town and there were many onlookers mulling around watching them drive through town. Suddenly there was an explosion up ahead. One of the troop vehicles ran over an IED. Chaos broke out. The towns people who were first standing around and leisurely walking about on both sides began running for cover.”

“The impact of the explosion could be felt for hundreds of yard in all directions. My grandson began looking closely at the crowd for signs of danger. Everyone was running away except a man dressed in the usual Afghan garments, standing about 25 yards to my grandson’s right. There was a little boy standing next to him who suspiciously moved behind the man after handing him something my grandson could not quite make out. Then he saw it. The man raised an RPG launcher and was about to take aim at the vehicle in front of my grandson. There was no time to warn the soldiers up ahead and their attention was focused on the vehicle in front that ran over the IED. Everything happened in seconds, yet it seemed time slowed to a slow walking speed.”

“My grandson explained that he had no choice but to turn his 50 caliber on to the man, and opened it up tearing him to shreds before he could launch the RPG. In the process, his 50 caliber hit the child killing him instantly.”

Jacques and I were speechless.

A this point grandpa had tears in his eyes and tried to ask the question, “How do I explain to my grandson (pause) that in war (pause), sometimes there is collateral damage (pause) and it is not your fault?” “How do I ease his pain”?

Then I discovered the truth. Pain. It is all about pain. Not the physical, but a pain that few of us can describe, yet many of us that are older, can feel and or relate to. It was then that I realized the difference between what I feel today, for our soldiers at war, as compared to what I felt when I was 19 years old, in Vietnam, or even older at the age of 30 or 40. I was still too young, too inexperienced.

At that moment in time, the three of us, felt the pain of one soldier, and both Jacques and I felt the pain of one grandfather struggling with trying to ease the pain of his grandson.

Last week a decision was made to send 30,000 more soldiers to Afghanistan. I think it is incomprehensible to consider how much the pain is about to be multiplied for those experiencing it first hand, and for those of us parents, grand parents, wives, children, sisters, brothers, etc., second hand. There were over 50,000 killed in Vietnam. Korean War, World War II, World War I, the dead was in the millions, including civilians and soldiers on both sides. “Incomprehensible” does not describe it.

How do we ease the pain? First, by acknowledging that it exists; second, by giving whatever help, aide, assistance, support we can for the soldiers, their families and those soldiers returning home, both wounded and not wounded. But, when it is all said and done, I sense that ALL soldiers returning home from war are wounded.

“December 7, 1941, a day that will live in “Infamy”. Who said that?

The subject of desserts came up and it gave me pause to reflect back to 1967 when I was in the USAF helping to guard an off site crash of an F 1-11.

The question was put to me as to what is my favorite dessert. I stated, enthusiastically, “Why, German Chocolate Cake, of course!” My wife, quickly replied, “But Larry, you hate coconuts!” True, I do not care for coconuts unless of course served on top of The German Chocolate Cake!

Allow me to explain:

Many of you recall that I spent my time in the USAF as a Sentry Dog Handler, part of their Security Police. Prior to going to Vietnam, I volunteered to help guard an off base crash site where an F 1-11 went down in a farm field somewhere out in the country near Carswell AFB. Fortunately the pilot bailed out and was rescued, but his aircraft made a huge crater in a farm field in the middle of no-where in Texas. It was Thanksgiving and the Air Force asked the Security Police for volunteers to help guard the site through Thanksgiving until they could get the necessary inspectors/officials on site to investigate the cause of the crash and remove the debris.

My dog and I, along with several other members of our squad were transported, what felt like, in the middle of Texas, off the road in some farmer’s cornfield that seemed to go on forever and ever. There were only farmhouses in the area and they were far and few in between. There was a trailer on site that the government put in place to use as a headquarters for the inspectors. We had access to it, but there were no cooking or bathroom facilities. This was truly my first “real” camping experience and I learned from my four-legged companion how to use the outdoors for the “necessary”!

We arrived on Wednesday evening as the sun was setting. No one in sight, except us security people. We worked the next day, through Thanksgiving, wondering about our family and friends back home. Our grunts consisted of whatever mysterious food came from a can. Our canteens were full as there was no running water.

It was a mild day for Thanksgiving. A few clouds overhead. No rain in site. As the sun was nearing to set we observed a crowd of people from the distance walking down the gravel road. At first we thought they were farmers, their wives and a few children just coming over for a quick and curious look. Several of us, my dog, Siam, included, ventured over to act like tuff soldiers and tell them to stay the heck away from the crash site. But as we approached the old wood fence that followed the gravel road, we observed that the farmers dressed in their coveralls and the ladies in their long colorful skirts were approaching us with a different purpose. They were carrying pots of food, still steaming, plastic containers and bags!

They were treating us to a Thanksgiving feast! From over the fence they handed us our surprising meals! Several of my team mates came over from the crash site to help carry the warm food back to camp. We shook their hands and graciously thanked them. Siam didn’t seem to be the least concerned or threatened by their presence. Although trained to attack on command and be suspicious of strangers, he wagged his tail and instantly new they were no threat. As we thanked them and began to walk back to the crash site, a farmer yelled over to me, and his wife handed me, a container with a home made cake, still warm. To my astonishment, it was a German Chocolate Cake! My first one!

Yes, I hate coconuts! But, not on German Chocolate cake! The memories of those kind people feeding us on Thanksgiving Day, for out weighs what my taste buds have to say.

After I told the story, there was a quite hush amongst my family and friends. I knew at that instant what they were thinking. “Wouldn’t it be great to give every soldier in Iraq and Afghanistan a German Chocolate Cake!?”

This coming week, December 5, 2010, the ProNet International Gifts & Scholarships Board of Directors will meet for their annual dinner. We will announce several scholarship awards for several veterans. You can help, by making a small donation to ProNet International Gifts & Scholarships, so we can continue making these worthwhile Gifts and Scholarships to those veterans that truly deserve a German Chocolate Cake and more! Will you help?

Donations can be made on line: www.pronetscholarships.org or by mailing your check to the address below.

Checks should be made out to ProNet International Gifts & Scholarships. Your donation is tax deductible as PNIG&S is a 501 (c) (3).

Thanks and good health and peace to all this holiday season!

A rocket, traveling at the speed of 900 feet per second fell in to a US Military base in the Al Anbar province of Iraq critically wounding Marine Corporal Dustin Jerome Lee along with his K 9 partner, Lex, a German Shepard trained to sniff out hidden explosions. With his fur burned and shrapnel lodged into his back and spine Lex climbed on top of his fallen master to protect him from further harm. Lex frantically tried to revive Corporal Lee by licking him.

After being rescued by his fellow Marines, Corporal Lee later died at a nearby military hospital. He was 20 years old. Two days later Dustin Lee’s mother, Rachel Lee was informed of her son’s death. After having some time to take in the terrible news and deal with the shock of losing her son, with a trembling voice, barely audible, Rachel Lee inquired about Lex. Realizing that both dog and son bleed together while Lex attempted to shield Corporal Lee from further harm, Ms. Lee felt there was a bond that the two shared in the moment before her son’s death. Thus Ms. Lee knew at that moment that she wanted Lex to attend her son’s funeral.

Despite his wounds, Lex was able to attend Corporal Lee’s funeral, along with the Corporal’s family, friends, relatives and several top Marine Corps officers, March 2007 in Quitman Mississippi. After the funeral Ms. Lee inquired about adopting Lex and with the persistent aide of her brothers, father and husband, months later they drove to the Marine Corp Base in Albany, GA for a ceremony held on December 21, 2007 at which time Lex was discharged from duty and presented to Rachel and her father, Jerome. State police from GA, MS and AL provided them with a rotating escort all the way home. They were further escorted by two motorcycle groups, Patriot Guard Riders and Christian Motorcyclists Association.

“It was amazing how Lex became part of our family on day one. Lex had that special bond with Dusty, and part of Dustin is in Lex. It’s like he knows where he is and who we are. He wants to help us cope with our grief.”

In January 1966, Nemo, and his first handler, Airman Leonard Bryant Jr., were transferred to the Republic of South Vietnam and was assigned to the 377th Security Police Squadron, stationed at Tan Son Nhut Air Base. Six months later, Airman Leonard Bryant Jr. was rotated back to the United States. Nemo was then teamed up with 22 year old Airman 2nd Class Robert Thorneburg.

Just before total darkness on December 4th, 1966 after Sentry Dog Nemo and his handler Thorneburg were posted, Nemo alerted and was released to attack the VC who had evaded earlier detection. Nemo and his handler were both wounded, but not before killing two VC.

Nemo’s injuries included the loss of one eye and a gunshot wound that ripped into his nose and had exited his mouth. Nemo, an 85 pound German shepherd, although severely wounded, protected his handler who had been shot in the shoulder by crawling across his body and guarding him against anyone who dared to come near.

When help arrived, they were able to convince Nemo to leave his handler, who was then given first aid. Nemo, suffering from a gunshot wound to his face and the lost of his right eye, was relieved of Sentry Dog duties.

The base veterinarian performed skin grafts on Nemo’s torn up face. He did a tracheotomy to help the dog breathe. He had to remove the dog’s right eye, which was hanging uselessly out of its socket. Nemo has been credited with saving his handler’s life and preventing further destruction of life and property at Tan Son Nhut Air Base.

On 23 June 1967, Headquarters, USAF, directed that Nemo be returned to the United States as the first Sentry Dog officially retired from active service. The C-124 Globemaster carrying TSN Hero Nemo, touched down at Kelly Air Force Base, Texas on July 22, 1967. Nemo was now home!

His permanent retirement kennel was located at the Department of Defense Dog Center, Lackland AFB, Texas. Sentry Dog Nemo was one of the few Military Working Dogs that returned home. Nemo spent his retirement years at the Department of Defense Dog Center, Lackland AFB, Texas.

He was assigned a permanent kennel near the veterinary facility. A sign with his name, serial number, and details of his heroic exploits designated his freshly painted home. Nemo was frequently taken on tours throughout the United States to assist in the procurement of Military Working Dogs. The military used Nemo as a Department of Defense canine recruiter. He made several television appearances and helped maintain an adequate supply of working dogs for all the armed services.

Sentry Dog Nemo died in December of 1972 at Lackland AFB shortly before the Christmas holiday. The Vietnam War Hero was laid to rest on March 15, 1973 at the DoD Dog Center at the age of 10. The government recruited over 4,000 dogs and we believe that less that 200 made it home. It was estimated that these dogs saved the lives of over 10,000 American soldiers. On November 15, 2005 a dedication was made to honor Nemo at Lackland, AFB named “Nemo’s War Dog Heroes” Memorial. The legacy will continue to honor all of canine heroes past, present and future. Till this day, Nemo, is the most famous canine to serve in the military.

Carol continued, “James was killed, along with several others, while trying to save another Navy Seal. We are preparing for a conference, and we will be honoring Mr. Suh along with several other Fallen Soldiers. That’s why I am mounting his photo.”

“Sorry ma’am, I didn’t know.” Jack’s eyes went from Carol to the photo of James. Staring at the photo he said, “I leave for Afghanistan in January, ma’am. Marines.”

For a brief moment, Jack’s and James eyes seem to lock, as though something was being communicated between the two soldiers.

Brave young men and women like Jack are the reason why it is my mission to raise money to support veterans returning home from Iraq and Afghanistan. As I said before, I will stop asking for donations when the last soldier returns home from Iraq and Afghanistan.

So, once again I am asking. Please give. These heroes need our help.

Please read more about James Suh and the Mission Continues James E. Suh Memorial Fellowship.

We have all heard how overwhelming and depressing it can be for a soldier to return home to civilian life. Imagine coming home from war, and all of the challenges of reintegrating into the civilian world. Now imagine what it is like with the added weight of physical therapy and the struggles of a brain injury. Phil was paralyzed with grief; unable to even manage the daily work of physical therapy until the day he found a purpose, a puppy named Lt (pronounced L-T)

Lt and Phil were introduced when the dog, a chocolate Labrador retriever, was only eight weeks old. With the support of a fellowship from The Mission Continues, Phil made a twelve-month commitment to train Lt to become a support Dog for the handicapped for The Support Dogs, Inc. Today Phil is not only adapting to his own physical challenges, he is thriving once again as a dog trainer. Watching Phil and Lt go through their training paces, together, filled me with pride.

Meeting Phil made a personal connection for me. He graduated from the same dog handler school I graduated from, Lackland AFB. Seeing him beat adversity and to find his purpose is heartwarming. It strengthens the desire for me to do anything and everything I can to make sure that we assist our veterans when they come home from war.

August 28, 2009, Friday’s Wall Street Journal, front page, shows a soldier kneeling over a small make shift memorial somewhere in Afghanistan paying tribute to a Fallen comrade.

We are reminded of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan every day. Another Fallen Soldier! Another wounded soldier! Twenty years ago I would have never read this e-mail. Twenty years ago I would have read past the front page of The Wall Street Journal, not wanting to be reminded. Twenty years ago, I would have pretended it was not happening. Twenty years ago I would have become quite tired of Mr. Abrams’ continuous plea asking for more and more. Enough is enough, I would have said!

But, this year I turned 62. I am a veteran and, frankly, no one gave a damn when my peers and I returned home from Vietnam in 1968. I do not want to see that happen again to today’s soldiers.

“As I grow older, I grow more urgently interested in what deed I might do today, in case I don’t have tomorrow.” Said by President William Jefferson Clinton to Nelson Mandela on his 91st birthday. My wife Carol thought this quote is quite appropriate.

Unfortunately, the wars continue. The death toll continues. The wounded continue to return home. The soldiers, not wounded continue to return home. Their needs and those of their families continue. What better way to say thank you then to provide them funds for academic and vocational scholarships?

Carol and I wish to thank those of you that have given, and especially those that continue to give.

Those that have not yet given, please consider one dollar; just one dollar at a time.

A former veteran of the USAF Air Police and former police detective in St. Louis County municipalities, Mr. Schlatman owns and operates Fire Consulting & Case Review International, Inc. Just a few of his many accomplishments include being a former member of MO/KS Anti-Vehicle Crime Association and Past President of the International Association of Arson Investigators.

Mr. Schlatman was a delegation member and teaching delegate for the IAAI in the People’s Republic of China and host to the Chinese Fire Delegation of the four-city tour in the USA. Additionally, he was on the Executive Committee for the Eastern Kansas Multi-County Task Force, was the first Private Industry Chairman for the Kansas City Arson Task Force, Director of the Kansas City Metro Insurance Fraud task Force, and former Director of the Missouri Chapter of the International Association of Arson Investigators. More recently, Mr. Schlatman was the co-editor of Fire and Arson Investigator, the official publication of the IAAI and is also the past President and Director of the Kansas Chapter of the IAAI.

In 2002, Mr. Schlatman was elected to the Second VP position of the IAAI, became First VP in 2003, and became President of the IAAI in 2005. He is the Past Chairman of the IAAI Ethical Practices and Grievances Committee, responsible for the completion of training entitled Ethics for Fire Investigators Course. In 2006, Mr. Schlatman was appointed to chair the IAAI Expert Witness Testimony Revision Committee.

In 2008, Mr. Schlatman was elected to become the first VP of ProNet International Gifts & Scholarships and has been instrumental, supportive, and very active in helping to build a charitable organization whose noble cause is to assist US Military Veterans and their families accomplish their academic and professional goals.

Mr. Schlatman continues to serve his profession, his community, and his country with pride, dignity, compassion and a true sense loyalty.