For most of my life I have harbored an ambivalent view of the military, glad that we had one but also glad that serving is voluntary. My initial perceptions were formed by listening to stories told to me by my relatives and friends, by lessons learned in school, by watching the tube, and by going to movies, mostly at the Calvin Theater and occasionally at the Academy of Music. I had the requisite G.I. Joe man-doll as a kid, and little plastic soldier figurines that I blew up with dirt bombs and sabotaged on Lincoln Log bridges with a garden hose.

I have fuzzy recollections of life as a boy planting myself in front of the TV to watch afternoon shows like, “Gilligan’s Island,” “The Electric Company,” “Hogan’s Heroes,” “Dark Shadows,” and a few others. Those programs lead into the evening news broadcasts and I remember Walter Cronkite, Harry Reasoner and Howard K. Smith reporting on the details and images of the Vietnam War, coffins of soldiers, and Nixon’s failed presidency. I remember Wide World of Sports anchor Jim McKay reporting on the hostage tragedy that shook the Munich Olympics in 1972. I was riveted to the TV and learned at an early age that our decision makers, those who craft our public polices, are not infallible and that they should be questioned, vehemently at times, because they make mistakes like anyone else.

Vividly I recollect my late father telling me how he was drafted and was, “in” when President Kennedy froze the Army during the Berlin Wall crisis in the early 1960s. That was when the words “iron curtain” became synonymous with the Cold War and was a few years before I was around. Though Cpl. LaFleur never saw action, to his dismay he said for six months he didn’t know whether he would be shipped overseas to the front, as he described it. I discounted his words and service as a youth, something I learned over time was naive on my part. Moreover, he didn’t have much positive to relate about his military service, so when I became of age and registered for selective service at the age of eighteen, I did not rush out to enlist. Over the years I’ve questioned myself from time to time as to whether or not that was the right decision, but it was one that I was able to make so I did, for better or worse.

As time went by I listened to my great-uncles as they described their service during World War II. Two had survived the Pearl Harbor attack on December 7, 1941, and another saw action in the Battle of the Bulge in Europe. The latter described to me repeatedly and emotionally how he saw his best friend blown to bits as they crouched together in a round hole they had dug in the ground. He said his buddy’s brains were splattered everywhere. According to Uncle Eddie, most of his unit was wiped out while he was in a hospital bed because he had sprained his ankle in a pick-up baseball game. He lived out his years with an ample amount of guilt for having survived the conflict while others did not. As he lost his memory in his old age, he never seemed to forget images of that war, images that he carried with him until he died. He never stopped proclaiming in reference to government officials of all sorts that, “They’ve gone too far, and they won’t stop.” In the end he was proud of the small role that he had played in defeating the axis forces; he had helped to build pontoon bridges as a combat engineer. He had enlisted in the Army at the age of thirty-five and attained the rank of corporal.

My late father-in-law was also a military man, a master gunnery sergeant in the Marines, a recipient of the Silver Star and Purple Heart among other honors. The left breast of his uniformed was loaded with, “fruit salad,” a term he said military personnel used in reference to the military medals and ribbons they might display when donning formal attire. He served for over thirty years; including two tours of Vietnam in the 1960s where I understand he took the lives of others and witnessed things that he did not speak of, except to say that, “war is Hell.” “Top” was a serious dude indeed and he decried, “chest thumpers,” those he described as overzealous in their pursuit of achieving military goals to the detriment of others, including their own compatriots, and those who boasted about it afterward. He said that not everyone he served with was honorable, and I often wondered what he had been subjected to and what he subjected others to during the Vietnam War. But I knew not to ask, he did not want us to know.

So like most if not all of us, I have known or met many people who have served in the military, some who saw action and many who did not; some who love the lifestyle and others that feel differently. I’ve learned not to judge these folks on first meet, to not judge a person by the uniform he or she might wear, because that uniform does not signify what is in a person’s head or heart, but rather to me it signifies their life’s circumstance. Just because someone enlists in the military does not mean that they enjoy killing others or destroying civilization; it may mean that they wish to perform work that preserves freedom and promotes democracy. Conversely, I hope that this reservation in judgment is reciprocal as well; just because someone is opposed to war does not mean that they oppose the people who serve as soldiers.

As of today I have met several persons that have served in the Iraq War effort. One is Florence resident Tim Tompkins, who served out of Kuwait test-flying helicopters for the Army National Guard and briefing daily the top brass on logistics and readiness. I first met Tim at a youth soccer tournament in Agawam. Arriving mid-way through the day wearing his fatigues, boots and a beret, Tim is tall and trim with thinning silver hair. I knew that he was no military newbie, and I was curious to learn his story as it were. Tim is a family man, married and a father of four children. He owns a home and works out of Barnes Municipal Airport in Westfield. From what I can tell, Tim is always on the move, doing something for someone, or going somewhere to do something for someone.

Not long after we met Tim learned that he was being sent to Kuwait for a year to support the Iraq War effort. As he prepared to leave there was much anxiety surrounding his family and friends for obvious reasons. In his twenty-seven years of service to that point it was the first instance where Tim had been thrust into this type of role for any length of time. He had joined the Army National Guard during peace time in the early 1980s, with a primary focus on readiness, preparing for natural disasters, and training for search and rescue missions. Going to war was a whole new experience for him to consider, but something that he always knew was a possibility. Today if one enlists in the service, one can be fairly certain of going overseas to serve in a war theater.

As I expressed to Tim my appreciation that he was serving and also my view that it didn’t seem fair that he was to leave his family behind while I was to stay and stand by the sidelines during soccer games, he downplayed his service and instead spoke of how he looked at it as a team effort. He said that he was glad that there were people like me and others at home to help look after and support his family, to keep things moving along. He was counting on us to carry on life as normal in his absence. Tim stoically told me that we all serve our country in different ways, and that this was what he was equipped to do, that he was prepared to do it, and so he did.

Tim Tompkins

When he came home on leave for two weeks during that year, while our daughters ran up and down a soccer field chasing a ball, I and others picked his brain about what was going on over there and what it was like. I was apprehensive and couldn’t tell initially if he liked the inquisition, but he always answered respectfully, honestly and frankly. Eventually Tim learned that I kept a web log for the Valley Advocate and that in my spare time I attempted to cover issues related to the city of Northampton, and its residents. Not long after that, he asked if I’d be interested in learning more about his service and of course being a bit of a busybody, I took him up on it. It took the better part of a year for Tim to go through channels once he had returned home, but eventually he was granted permission by personnel at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. to bring me up in a Black Hawk helicopter as a member of the media, to show me what the Army National Guard is ready to do. Earlier this year I tagged along with Tim and a Civil Air Patrol unit during a day of training exercises, and later I visited Tim again at work to learn more about what he does and how he views things.

In the coming months I hope to revisit what I learned and to provide the crux of it here. It might take me awhile to sift through the pictures and to edit the information that I collected, so your patience is greatly appreciated.