by Ken Davis
“I wanna go home.”
“We all do.”
“Yeah, the difference is, I’m going to do it.“
So began the legend of John “Shaker” Wallace.
John Wallace is a tall lean man, blonde from the desert sun, his hair combed back gives him a young Clint Eastwood look. “Just not as good looking,” according to the girls.
Shaker had been in Iraq for 3 years, 3 months and 27 days. Not bad for a man who came for 6 months. In an unusual twist, Shaker was talked into coming to Baghdad by his translator, Avo.
Avo was Lebanese and had made his way to the U.S. the hard way. He and his wife escaped Lebanon dodging rockets fired at their car as they drove 90 miles an hour toward the border. They begged borrowed and prayed their way to America. When they reached the U.S., Avo and his wife stayed with friends for a few weeks. There was little room in the small apartment and Avo slept in the park for a month before finding work.
Despite speaking five languages fluently, Avo could only find work as a laborer. It was on his first job that he met John Wallace, a technical communications specialist supervising the wiring of a new office building. John made Avo his assistant and a life time friendship was born. The two men worked together for years before Avo struck out on his own and started a real estate business. He did well for several years. His language abilities often making the difference, but when the recession hit Avo needed steady money to let his wife finish her musical studies and keep his home. He packed his bags and reluctantly returned to the region from which he had fled years before.
The money in Iraq was good and Avo was a favorite with everyone. His size, intelligence and calm demeanor earned him the nickname “Babar” after the wise elephant in the popular French children’s story. When the coalition needed a technical communications expert Avo called his old friend John Wallace. Looking for some adventure after ending a seven year relationship with his girlfriend, John took the job. His six month tour turned into a year and a year turned into two and two into three. Each contract brought more money, enough to stay, and enough to risk his life a little longer. John earned the nickname “Shaker” after having a rocket hit 50 yards from his chu.
He never got out of bed. His comment later, “Yeah, I heard it. But it was just a shaker. Earthquakes in California are worse.” Three months later John was in an MRAP hit by an IED. The next morning instead of packing his bag and going home, he went to breakfast. When asked about the incident he replied,”It was just a shaker. We didn’t take a direct hit.”
From the day you arrive in Iraq to the day you return home permanently, you think of going home. It’s always on your mind. Maybe not in the forefront but it’s there. You dream of it. You talk about it. You’re both jealous and happy for those taking the ride to the Baghdad International Airport (BIAP). But leaving Baghdad is far more difficult than arriving. To leave Baghdad you have to move on military transport. By ground and or by air, it requires a set of orders signed by the command.
The command doesn’t have to let you leave. Even civilians aren’t free to leave whenever they want. The command can require you stay until a suitable replacement arrives. How do they make you stay?
Well, if you can’t get on the Rhino going to BIAP you can’t catch the military flight to Kuwait where you catch the plane home. Even if you finagle your way to BIAP, you have to leave from the military side of the airport. The civilian side is still considered dangerous and the command will not provide transport there.
The only civilian air flying out of the military side of BIAP requires you check out with the Army before boarding the flight. The Army makes up their passenger list. No orders, …no go.
Shaker didn’t have the longest tenure of any American in Baghdad, but he was clearly in the top ten percent and possibly the top two percent for Americans without Arabic heritage.
He told himself each year would be his last. But each year they found more money for the man who had become an integral part of the telecommunications architecture for the new Iraq. With a big contract comes perks. Shaker made sure Avo served as his interpreter and no one else. Over the years their friendship had grown stronger and the two were inseparable. Then Shaker went home.
There was no farewell party or awards. No cigars with drinks or beer snuck into the chu. The command does not talk about Shaker and will only state that “John Wallace is no longer allowed in theater.”
That’s military terminology for black balled. For when Shaker left town, he left on his own terms.
If Avo hadn’t been there when it happened no one would ever know the true story. After three years Shaker was set to go home. I sat with him at lunch weeks before his extension. He had plans. Four months before he had gone on line and purchased a Corvette.
It sat in storage anxiously awaiting his arrival. He had met a girl from Tampa online and spent weekends Skypeing with her. He had never touched her. He owned a condo in Tampa with a view of the Bay he had never lived in. I enjoyed Shaker, his wit, and his positive confidence. He had good words for everyone and smiled in the most difficult of times. People going through depression would sit with Shaker just to get a lift. He was a great guy.
“What are you going to do first,” I asked at lunch.
“My girlfriend.” he declared with a smile.
“ Not who. What, smartass.”
“Check into a five star hotel on the beach, sleep late, order room service for breakfast, drinks at the pool for lunch, martinis for dinner in the bar, and good wine for dinner at a steak house. Repeat daily until I’ve had my fill. That alone could take weeks.”
“And then? “
“Sooner or later I’ll start a consulting business using my connections here in Iraq to assist companies who want to extend their business into an emerging market.”
“What about the project here,” I asked between sips of my protein shake. “You’re in the middle of it.”
“They can find someone else. Poor planning on their part does not necessitate a delay of my turning into a short term alcoholic and towel boy and tanning lotion applicator for the Hawaiian Tropic bikini team.”
I laughed. “Did you apply for that job online, or buy the company?”
“I paid off the competition; it was cheaper than buying the company.”
I knew Shaker fairly well. We had roomed together for a few weeks. His desire to go home was stronger than ever.
Every year before that, the Coalition had found Shaker’s weak spot…money. Every year they came at him with a contract hard to refuse, but the new command was hot on eliminating big money contractors. Shaker was going to go home this time.
The Coalition wouldn’t throw enough money at him to make him stay and I wasn’t sure they could if they tried. Three years is a long time. But like any contract, there’s fine print and the suitable replacement clause was the Coalition’s wild card.
The insult was that no one warned Shaker. No one approached him about staying with a rah-rah speech or a bonus. When Shaker went to get his orders home, he was denied.
The news was given to him by a Sgt First Class who had little knowledge of Shaker and appeared as if he didn’t care.
“Orders to depart theater are denied” he had said flatly. “According to the comments on the file you cannot depart theater until a replacement is on the ground or the current project on which you are working comes to fruition. Decision to release will be made at the Command level.”
Shaker didn’t take it well. He yelled at the company who recruited him, he screamed at the commander he reported to and eventually sat and had a tearful cup of coffee with Avo. His dream of going home was dashed by a General who cared less about people and more about demonstrating his control over anyone and everyone. It was the Commander who spurred him back to work.
“Get the project on its way Shaker. When it can coast I can talk the command into releasing you. But if you sit around and sulk and whine, it will take another year. If you work hard on it you can be out of here in 5-6 months,” the Commander stated frankly. “It’s up to you.”
“I took his gun from him for two weeks” Avo relayed to me later. “I was afraid he would kill someone.”
For another three months Shaker worked 14 hours a day. He and Avo traveled throughout Iraq making the meetings, inspecting work, and putting the plans together. But the smile was gone from Shaker’s face and the warm greetings and wit made rare appearances.
“He’s broken,” said Avo one night. “They did it. When you take away a man’s dreams, you take the light from his eyes and heart.”
I sipped my coffee. “How much longer can he go, Babar?” I asked.
“I’m not sure, Ken. He’s about to snap.”
Three days later Shaker went home.
No one knew for sure what happened. All anyone knew for sure was the convoy went out with him, and came back without him. There was no fanfare. No drama at the base.
No confrontation. Avo left in the morning with Shaker and came back without him. His head down, hands in his pockets as he walked away from the convoy as soon as it came to a halt. He said nothing to anyone. The members of the convoy team were unusually silent. A car from the command met them at the gate. Quick words and directions were exchanged.
There was some frustration displayed by the command officer, some smiles and quiet laughter from members of the convoy team.
It was three days later that I cornered Avo. He sat on the steps of the chu he had shared with Shaker, smoking a long fat Cuban cigar. He didn’t even wait for me to speak before giving his answer.
“I’ve been ordered not to talk about it,” he said as watched a smoke ring he had just blown dissipate into the night air.
“Come on Babar. What can they do to you? Send you home?”
He took a deep breath, flicked the ash onto the step below him and turned to look at me. His eyes glistened and his smile grew bigger than ever. “It was freaking unbelievable.”
That was the first time I had ever heard Avo come close to swearing. “What? What happened? I mean, Babar, why the big cone of silence?”
“He escaped Ken. He escaped and there was nothing anyone could do about it. And when someone escapes from prison you don’t tell the prisoners how they did it until you find a way to make sure it doesn’t happen again…and they can’t do that.”
“So, is this a state secret or are you going to share?”
The smile on his face told me he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I’ll share. But you can’t tell the story until I leave.”
“Another year?”
Maybe—maybe not. ”
He smiled at me in his peaceful Babar manner, puffed on his cigar and started.
“We were on the second stop of the day for the convoy. Shaker and I were sitting alone in the armored car talking. We were at the Ministry of Finance and we had no engagements there. Shaker didn’t feel like going in,” he continued. “We had gotten our fill of chai tea when we visited the communications office at the first engagement and the next stop was two hours away. I wanted to sleep and Shaker sat staring at the sky. That’s when it happened.”
“What’s it? What happened?”
“He saw the planes. He saw jets coming and going. He asked me where they were going to and from. I told him BIAP, the civilian side. Then he asked where they flew to and who was flying in there. I named some places and some airlines. I thought he was just curious.”
“That’s when he said “I wanna go home.”
“We all do. I told him”
“Then he said, “Yeah, the difference is, I’m going to do it. “
Babar laughed and shook his head. “I’ve known John for years and no one knows him better than me. I should have expected it. Anyway, he got out of the car and pulled out his cell phone. He was outside of the car for about twenty minutes talking on his cell phone and then talking to the U.S. Army soldiers guarding our vehicles.
All of a sudden he opened the door to the car, took off his ballistic vest and his gun, grabbed his back pack, found his passport and said good bye.
He slammed the door shut and started walking. “
“He didn’t walk home and he’s not in Baghdad.” I said
“No, he’s in Tampa.”
“How?” I asked incredulously.“
He started walking… real fast. The Army guys shouted at him and I jumped out and started chasing him. I caught up with him, Ken, and he had tears running down his face.”
“What did you do?”
“I asked him what he was doing. He said he was going to catch a cab, go to the airport and fly home. When I saw the tears I realized he was at the end of his rope. He’s my brother. I wasn’t going to stop him so I decided to help him. We started walking.”
I started laughing. You had to have brass ones to do what Babar was describing. You had to have a death wish or worse, you had to have a terminal case of home sickness. I had always liked Shaker, now I admired him.
Babar continued. “We were getting stared at as we walked through Baghdad. People realized he was American and couldn’t believe their eyes. Ken, they see Americans all the time, but in armored cars in convoys or on television.
You don’t see them by themselves in downtown Baghdad that’s crazy. So we just kept walking and people started following us, more out of curiosity than anything else. Next thing I know I look behind us and there are like a hundred people following us. Women in black burqas, men in robes and they’re just watching us like we’re going to do something.
One of them asked me what’s happening and I explained to him my friend wanted to go home to America. The story spread throughout the crowd very quickly. Then all of a sudden the Iraqi Army shows up in a several trucks to see what’s going on. They stop us and I have to explain to them what’s happening while John just keeps walking.”
“What about the American convoy? Where were they?”
The convoy couldn’t get through the crowd. When the Iraqi Army showed up, the crowd grew even larger. It was blocking traffic and they couldn’t push through. When I explained to the Iraqi Army Capitan what John was trying to do he understood and started driving along with us as we walked. ”
“So how did he get to the airpaort?”
“Taxi.”
“Taxi?”
“Taxi. The Iraqi Army Captain stopped traffic, had a taxi come up and he put John into the cab. I stood there while the Major threatened the driver if he didn’t take John straight to the airport.”
“And that was it.”
“Yeah. I hugged him good bye and watched them drive away. When he left the crowd dispersed and the convoy picked me up. The next day I got an email from him. When he got to the airport the Iraqis escorted him through the airport.
He caught the plane to London, then to Miami. He flew first class all the way home.”
“What now, Babar? What about you?”
“The Command is conducting an investigation. They want me to give a sworn statement day after tomorrow.
They’re going to try and pull John’s security clearance. That way he can never work with the government again. It’ll destroy his planned consulting business.”
“Why, because he exercised his right to freedom in a country where we’re trying to bring democracy?”
“I think it’s because they can’t stop anyone from copying his escape. They want people to know they will pay a price. They need my statement to do it. “
Babar was caught between Iraq and a hard place.
I didn’t envy his position. “So what are you going to do?” I asked solemnly.
He puffed on his cigar, turned at me and smiled with that quiet Babar wisdom. Well Ken, tomorrow morning I’m going to catch a cab.”
I don’t regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old.
I said these places and these faces are getting old, So I’m going home.
I’m going home.
Written and performed by Chris Daughtry 2007.
They are not forced to be there.They sign a one year contract for major money thats how he flew first class all the way home and is going to stay in a 5 star hotel in the States thats why Ken Davis it there for the money and resume no more no less.....Ken Davis will come back and run for sheriff with his new collected war chest that the tax payers supplied for him wow Ken Davis what a big heart u have....
Posted by: g | 07 November 2009 at 03:09 AM
G...you sound jealous. It takes a big set of stones to give up "civilized life" to go work in a war zone.
In the current U.S. economy, a gig with L3, Triple Canopy or Freedom International Airways is great gig...although your life is at risk 24/7.
If in fact Ken Davis returns and runs again for Sheriff, he'll have experiences that most contenders will find hard to match.
The entire U.S. military is "all volunteer" which is why you can sit in your single wide Park model on Stock Island with the windows open and type your jealous rant...
Thank God we have volunteers who will go do the work you're to afraid to go do.
Posted by: ML | 07 November 2009 at 09:05 AM