Afghanistan, Hollywood, and Memorial Day

Afghanistan, Hollywood, and Memorial Day

By Michael Moffett

Recent media opinion pieces have rightly focused attention on Afghanistan, the site of America’s longest war, and a place where President Trump wants to increase our presence to 12,000 troops. So should we? Force level questions bring us back to 2001 and the 9/11 attacks.

Like millions of fellow citizens, I responded to 9/11 by offering to do what I could for our country. I was soon back in a Marine Corps uniform, working for General Tommy Franks at the ground operations desk in the top-secret War Room at Central Command at MacDill AFB in Tampa, Fla.

We received updates there on the latest Afghanistan developments—where we had ZERO troops. We moved some CIA people and Special Forces to Karshi-Khanabad in Uzbekistan, north of Afghanistan, as the first step in engaging Afghanistan’s Taliban regime, which provided safe haven to Osama Bin Laden and the Al Qaida plotters who masterminded 9/11. All this was then top-secret.

A perilous infiltration brought around a dozen operatives into Afghanistan to connect with anti-Taliban elements. While tracking their progress at CENTCOM, we also noted the defeatist commentary from numerous pundits, claiming that a ground war to dislodge the Taliban could take years, countless troops, and end up like Vietnam. The Soviet Union’s defeat in Afghanistan, after all, had prompted the end of the USSR. But the remarkable events which then took place are no longer top-secret. Our infiltrators linked up with the anti-Taliban Northern Alliance and acquired horses. A dozen or so Americans actually participated in cavalry charges, while calling in air strikes on Taliban positions. We tracked these remarkable exploits on a daily basis at CENTCOM. America’s awesome air power vanquished the Taliban, and in December the Northern Alliance rolled into Kabul. Essentially, a dozen Americans overthrew the Afghan regime.

These astounding developments are chronicled in a book by Doug Stanton titled HORSE SOLDIERS, which inspired an upcoming American war drama film of the same name directed by Nicolai Fuglsig. (The film stars Chris Hemsworth, Michael Shannon, Michael Peña, Austin Stowell, Trevante Rhodes, and Rob Riggle, and will be out by the end of the year.)

This 2001 victory did not end the fighting in Afghanistan—a vast country inhabited by 40 million people of numerous tribes and ideologies. The Taliban didn’t disappear. Still, the leaders at Central Command and the Bush administration sought to keep a minimal US presence there. If a dozen people could overthrow the Taliban regime, then we didn’t need a massive occupation force. Within the top-secret War Room, it was clear that the administration wanted to minimize our “boots of the ground” to 5000 or so.

Inspired by how our Special Forces toppled the Taliban in 2001, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld sought to replicate the feat in Iraq in 2003. We overthrew the Saddam Hussein regime with only around 120,000 troops, even though the generals had requested three times that number to successfully occupy the country. The subsequent shortage of personnel resulted in five years of bloody battle, before a “Sunni Awakening” in Al Anbar Province in 2008 routed Al Qaida in Iraq.

Meanwhile, Afghanistan saw a Taliban resurgence. The Obama administration then deployed almost 120,000 troops there after 2009—while completely pulling out of Iraq.

History will judge as to whether or not the US withdrawal from Iraq led to the establishment of an ISIS state that filled the vacuum left by American forces. But our commitment to Afghanistan clearly turned the tide against the Taliban in 2010-11, when I once again put on my Marine uniform and traveled on special assignment to Afghanistan’s Helmand Province.

The Taliban was no match for the full power of American and NATO forces. The Hamid Karzai regime there was given breathing room to train an army that might secure a non-fanatical future.

While in Afghanistan’s volatile Helmand Province, I met an extraordinary person named Fahim Fazli. A native Afghan who escaped to America as a refugee, Fazli became an American citizen and eventually a movie actor with 50 films on his resume, including IRONMAN, ARGO, AMERICAN SNIPER among many others. He bravely put on a uniform to return to his native country as an interpreter with the Marines, where the charismatic actor was so successful as a translator—bringing together Americans and Afghans—that the Taliban put a price on his head.

After surviving Helmand we stayed in touch back in American and collaborated on an award-winning book called “FAHIM SPEAKS: A Warrior-Actor’s Odyssey from Afghanistan to Hollywood and Back.”

It happens that Fahim also has a nice role in HORSE SOLDIERS. I can't wait to see it. And interestingly, my co-author and I share the same birthday—May 30—the traditional Memorial Day.

Having been in harm’s way, we make it a point to stay in touch and remember those who died in the line of duty. Such is the purpose of Memorial Day. So should we support President Trump’s plan to increase our presence in Afghanistan?

Maybe. But we must be very careful. Eventually the Afghans themselves need to work out their country's future. And we may need to tolerate war lords in some areas, in lieu of the Taliban. Still a minimal USA/NATO force that prevents the Taliban from re-taking the reins of government makes sense. The Iraq pull-out yielded painful lessons.

So on this Memorial Day, we should think of the all Americans who gave their last full measure of devotion to our national interests—including over 6000 killed in Afghanistan and Iraq. And we should also expect that our national leaders will fully explain and justify any decisions to put any Americans in harm’s way, whether it involves 12,000, 120,000—or only 12.

MARINES, MOFFETTS, AND MARATHONS

Fitness is part of the Marines Corps ethos. If you want to be a Marine, then you need to be able to run. My brother John was a cross-country standout in high school, so when he joined the Marines running was not a problem. Because he could shoot, move, and communicate he was the honor graduate for his Parris Island recruit training platoon. He later became an officer.

I followed John into the Marine Corps and for a while we were both lieutenants stationed in California. It took me longer than it did John to become a shooting expert but I eventually made it. I also recorded some excellent run times but never could quite match those of John.

After finally beating him in a 10K road race on a Marine base, I immediately called our mom with the great news. Always careful not to show favoritism, she congratulated both of us instead of just me!

John eventually ran in the Marine Corps Marathon, the same one that Oprah Winfrey famously completed. John’s time was considerably better than Oprah’s fairly impressive 4:29:15.

Years later, while stationed in Hawaii, John met and married Mette, a beautiful Danish girl. He retired from the Marines and then they moved to Boulder, Colorado, where they had two beautiful children, Kristian and Malia. Then, to honor their Danish heritage, they all moved to Copenhagen in 2007.

Tragedy struck in Copenhagen on Sept. 6, 2007. John was competing in a road race when he suffered a cardiac seizure and died right on the course.

It’s always painful to lose a family member, and it’s especially hard when that member is still relatively young with two small children.

In part to honor John’s memory, Mette literally hit the road and became a regular runner. A year ago she traveled from Denmark to Edinburgh, Scotland, to run in a marathon. She surprised even herself with her fast time and her strong finish actually qualified her for the Boston Marathon.

Last August she and the kids moved back to America—to Concord—and Mette continued to train with a goal of completing the Boston Marathon.

My brother Jim, nephew Caleb, and I drove into Boston on April 17 to see the Marathon and to support Mette. Our mom, Mette’s mom, and Malia traveled down separately.

I was struck by the thousands of female runners, and thought about Kathrine Switzer, who used her initials to register for the 1967 Marathon, for which she received bib number 261. (Mette’s bib number of 20164 would include Switzer’s numbers.)

Midway through that 1967 race, a Marathon official, Jock Semple, realized that a woman was running in what had always been a males-only competition, and he stepped onto the road in front of Switzer to forcibly remove her from the marathon. A Kathrine supporter literally knocked Semple off to the side of the road and the young woman continued running towards Boston, where she became the first female to officially finish the historic race.

Many runners just can’t complete the Boston Marathon, for any of a myriad of reasons. I hoped that Mette would make it, but whatever happened, I’d remain proud that she’d tried.

And finish she did, with a very credible time of 3:44. Through the magic of cell phones, Mette’s fans all linked up with the triumphant runner on the Boston Common afterwards to celebrate. Mette had accomplished her goal of honoring John’s memory with a completed marathon ten years after his death.

And on the subject on anniversaries, we later learned that Kathrine Switzer celebrated the 50^th anniversary of her historic 1967 marathon run by also completing the 2017 race. The 70-year-old icon, wearing bib number 261, finished with a time of 4:44—exactly an hour behind Mette.

A marathon is the most difficult of sporting events to watch. It’s not like a basketball game in a gym. It’s a 26.2 mile course. Spectators have to pick their spots to get glimpses of their favorites. I found a perch by the Buckminster Hotel—near Fenway Park—to watch the field and try to get a photo of Mette. It was a joy to see just a tiny part of this Hallmark sports event, with its diverse thousands of runners drawing inspiration from the continuous cheering from hundreds of thousands of spectators.

It then occurred to me that maybe John was somehow in a position to see the whole race, not just a piece of it.

I'm sure he was very proud.

Lithuania and Life!

LITHUANIA AND LIFE

Following a recent speech to a Marco Island (Florida) veterans group, I mingled with attendees—using sports to find common ground.

“You’re from Dallas? So what’s going to happen to Tony Romo?”

I was introduced to a couple people who came from even further away than Texas. Rimas Ragalevicius and his daughter Lina hailed from Vilnius, Lithuania.

“You're from Lithuania? A great basketball country, yes?”

Lina nodded in agreement.

“We won an Olympic Bronze Medal in 1992, right after we became independent from Soviet Union.”

That was the year of the first USA Dream Team. Michael Jordan and Company beat Lithuania by over 50 points in the semifinal.

Having just read “Lenin’s Tomb,” David Remnick’s Pulitzer Prize-winning account of the fall of the Soviet empire, I was not only intrigued by Rimas’ and Lina’s accents, but by their life journeys. While they’d come to hear me speak, I ended up asking THEM question after question.

They recalled being in Lithuania’s Baltic capital of Vilnius in January of 1991 when the Soviets tried to impose a bloody crackdown on the burgeoning Lithuanian independence movement. But before the year ended it was the Soviet Union that disintegrated. 

Remnick’s narrative reinforced my sense of the abject horror that marked what Ronald Reagan referred to as the Evil Empire. That Josef Stalin was personally responsible for the deaths of over 40 million people was mind-boggling enough. That so many millions more spent countless years in Gulags—Soviet Concentration Camps—seemed beyond comprehension. And those who were not killed or incarcerated remained prisoners of a totalitarian police state where no one could be trusted.

The Soviets had occupied Lithuania following a dastardly 1939 deal with the German Nazis, who in turn took over the country in 1941. But by 1945 the Soviets were back.

Lina’s English was a bit better than her dad’s and she shared that life was hellish for Lithuanians in those days. Her grandparents met as 17-year-olds during a month-long journey in a railroad boxcar to a prison camp near Irkuts in Siberia. While many did not survive the trip, her grandfather Jonas kept spirits up by playing an accordion every day. That he made music during those dreadful times made Brone fall in love with him. In subsequent years, Jonas survived as a slave laborer in a gold mine while Brone became a camp midwife.

They’d have likely perished in the Gulag but for the fortuitous death of Stalin in March of 1953. Soviet policies softened somewhat and Jonas and Brone were allowed to return to Lithuania. They married and Lina’s mother Vida was born in 1954. Vida eventually studied chemical engineering at a college where she met and married Rimas. Lina was born in 1982 and enjoyed a relatively happy childhood. Rimas parlayed his education into entrepreneurism, making jewelry out of aluminum—eventually saving enough money to send Lina to law school.

Lina qualified for a travel visa to the USA in 2003. While visiting Maine she met Chad Upham, whom she eventually married. They ended up moving to Marco Island in late 2004 and have happily lived there since, along with daughter Karla, whom Lina described as a proud American redneck who loves reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.

Lina delighted in showing her parents around south Florida, a local tour that included taking in my speech—which they hopefully enjoyed. But I thought THEIR life stories were much more compelling. I wished that more Americans appreciated the USA as much as did Lina, Rimas and Vida.

Getting back to sports, Lina pointed out that at the 2004 Athens Olympics the Lithuanian basketballers were the first-ever to defeat an American Dream Team—which then included LeBron James, Dwayne Wade, Tim Duncan, and nine other superstars.

To which I replied, “I guess after you’ve overcome an Evil Empire, a Dream Team isn’t that intimidating.”

Long live Lithuania!

MIM and Lina Upham

Lina's grandfather Jonas with accordion

Marco Island, Florida

FLORIDA SPORTS ADVENTURES

A fellow Plymouth State alumnus named Steve recently invited me to fly to Florida to meet and speak to veterans on beautiful Marco Island. Not wanting to “look a gift horse in the mouth,” I happily accepted, exchanging snow and sleet for sun and sand.

The Florida people were wonderful, although a transplanted New Yorker—an Air Force vet—sized me up with a critical eye at a social event.

“So you’re a Marine and a Red Sox fan? What a bad combination!”

I gave him a Clint Eastwood squint.

“It’s better than being an Air Force guy and a Yankee fan. That’s the worst of all worlds.”

My antagonist stared at me for a moment.

“No, the worst of all worlds would be a Navy guy who likes the Mets.”

We both laughed and did a fist bump and then the Yankee fan bought me a drink.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

My Sunshine State sojourn was a wonderful opportunity to speak, swim, and socialize. During a boat trip around the island, my host cautioned me about getting too much sun.

“Bring it on,” I exclaimed, as I removed my shirt. “It was ten below zero back home.”

I ended up with a sunburn, but that was OK.

Sports are ubiquitous in my world, of course, and circumstances required that we find an appropriate venue to watch the Patriots/Broncos showdown. That venue turned out to be the Foxboro Sports Tavern near Naples, where the walls were covered with Boston sports memorabilia and the seats were filled with New England expatriates. The lone Denver fan there had about as much chance as did the Broncos, as the Pats romped.

Golf was a must and Steve put the top down on his sporty red convertible and drove me to meet a couple friends at the Arrowhead Golf Club. I borrowed some clubs from Roger The Marco Island City Manager, but I was out of synch and didn’t play well and unfortunately lost most of my benefactor’s golf balls. It WAS cool to play on a flat course, although there were plenty of giant sand traps and water hazards.

On the back nine Steve sliced a shot toward a pond but I kept my eye on it as it rolled over a bank.

“I think I can find it,” I said and I headed towards the water, actually hoping to find some balls for Roger The City Manager to replace the ones I’d lost. I did locate Steve’s orange ball next to an old tire at the water’s edge and I saw another ball in the water which I sought to claim by scooping it up with an eight iron.

But then the “tire” straightened out and I realized it was a big old alligator. Now I’ve dealt with geese, wild turkeys, squirrels, ground hogs, and even a moose at Loudon Country Club, but never an alligator.

I stood near the gator and had an idea. I’d ask Steve to let me play his ball with my eight iron. And I’d ask him to get a phone video of me making the shot just inches from the alligator. Surely the video would go viral. I could see it making the Golf Channel! If the gator attacked, well, I’d wield my deadly eight iron.

But then Wendy The Ranger/Beer Girl, drove by in the Refreshment Cart and yelled at me.

“Hey! Get away from that alligator! What are you, some kind of nut?”

I retreated, more afraid of Wendy than the gator.

Steve got a free drop.

Marine Corps Birthday Speech 11/10/2016

You-Tube of Nov. 10, 2016,  Marine Corps Birthday speech in Manchester, N.H.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pplwwv-ajaQ&feature=em-share_video_user

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pplwwv-ajaQ

BILL BELICHICK—KINGMAKER?

BILL BELICHICK—KINGMAKER?

A friend from California came visiting the first weekend in November and was struck by New Hampshire’s political energy.

“Signs everywhere,” he remarked. “We don’t see anything like this in California. And the big-time candidates never visit us.”

I explained that unlike California, New Hampshire was a battleground state, and that politics are our state sport. That’s why Hillary Clinton, Donald Trump, and Barack Obama were making election eve visits to the Granite State.

“Can we go see them?” asked my friend. “Would it cost much?”

I replied that we could see them for free, if he didn’t mind waiting in line.

So at 5:30 p.m. on Sunday night we stood with at least a couple thousand people outside the Center of New Hampshire in Manchester to get into a Hillary Clinton rally. It was cold but we eventually snaked our way inside and into the main event room, where the candidate would appear after 8:30 p.m.

Right after we finally went through the metal detectors organizers began redirecting those behind us to alternate areas, where they’d have to watch on big screen TVs. I was sad for them, as they’d been waiting for hours in the cold and then didn’t get to see the candidate.

Local Democrat candidates gave warm-up speeches, James Taylor sang songs and eventually Mrs. Clinton appeared to give her speech. My friend excitedly got lots of photos and video of the person most pundits predicted would be our next president.

The next night we returned to Manchester and again stood in line for a couple hours to get into the SNHU Arena to see Donald Trump. The larger venue eventually filled with around 10,000 fired-up spectators. After some warm-up speeches the candidate appeared and the crowd exploded. 

Trump clearly reveled in the bedlam and he quickly shared a bombshell announcement. He claimed to have the endorsements of two New England Patriot icons, quarterback Tom Brady and head coach Bill Belichick. Trump then read a letter from Belichick, which stated “Congratulations on a tremendous campaign. You have dealt with an unbelievable slanted and negative media, and have come out beautifully – beautifully. You’ve proved to be the ultimate competitor and fighter. Your leadership is amazing. I have always had tremendous respect for you, but the toughness and perseverance you have displayed over the past year is remarkable.”

The crowd roared and my friend asked me if I thought the endorsements from the football folks were significant.

“Yes,” I replied. And I pointed out that Trump would soon be leaving for a final post-midnight rally in Michigan, where Brady played college football, and where Trump would surely mention the quarterback’s endorsement.

Michigan would eventually go to Trump by the narrowest of margins, less than .3%. The midnight flight with the Patriot endorsements arguably won the state—and the election—for Trump.

So Trump now owes Belichick and Brady—bigly! As both are likely to retire during a Trump presidency, I can see ambassadorships on the horizon. Brady would be a perfect ambassador to Brazil, the native land of his wife Gisele.

As for Belichick, Trump should make him ambassador to California. His mission? Make the Golden State a battleground state once again so people like my friend don’t have to travel 3000 miles to see a presidential candidate!

San Francisco Sports

SAN FRANCISCO SPORTS

“We saw stretched out ahead of us the fabulous white city of San Francisco on her eleven mystic hills with the blue Pacific and its advancing wall of potato-patch fog beyond, and smoke and goldenness in the late afternoon of time.” 
― Jack Kerouac, “On the Road”

Unlike Kerouac—a fellow New Englander who first saw the Golden Gate from his car—my first look at San Francisco was from the air, a view I reprised last week when I again flew into this unique American metropolis.

On our glide path into San Francisco a passenger pointed out Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara, the new home of the 49ers and the site of Super Bowl L this past February. I looked to the horizon, past Santa Clara, towards San Jose, and thought of the Earthquakes—perhaps the most storied American professional soccer team. And then it occurred to me that, incongruously, the NHL’s San Jose Sharks were recent Stanley Cup finalists.

Mark Twain supposedly claimed that “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” Northern California indeed features a unique summer climate. The temperature hovered around 60 degrees, with strong winds making it feel much colder. Twain would have been better advised to spend a summer at Lake Winnipesaukee, with its balmy 80 degree July temperatures, while saving San Francisco for January.

San Francisco Giant centerfielder Willie Mays was a victim of contrary winds at Candlestick Park. The Hall-of-Famer hit 660 career home runs, but may well have surpassed Babe Ruth’s 714 had he played in AT&T Park, which opened in 2000. Obviously Barry Bonds had no trouble hitting homers at the newer venue.

Signs remain directing people to Candlestick Park, but that historic edifice was demolished last year. It’s a pity, given all the sports history made by the Giants, 49ers, and others—like the Beatles, who performed their final outdoor concert there in 1966.

Winners of the World Series in 2010, 2012, and 2014, the Giants remain a premier MLB franchise—built in large part by their general manager, Concord’s Brian Sabean.

And then there are the Golden State Warriors. A local delightedly pointed out their recent signing of basketball superstar Kevin Durant. As the Warriors just set the single season NBA victory record, some feel the Warriors are already a lock for next year’s World Championship. But I pointed out that the 1968-69 Lakers were similarly projected as unbeatable after they acquired Wilt Chamberlain to team up with L.A. superstars Jerry West and Elgin Baylor. That unbeatable team fell 108-106 to Bill Russell’s Boston Celtics in Game 7 of the 1969 NBA Finals.

Russell, incidentally, was a product of the University of San Francisco, where he led the Dons to a 55-game win streak and two NCAA titles.

With Stanford University and UCal-Berkley also featuring storied college sports traditions, I wondered if the Bay Area had surpassed New England as the nation’s top sports region. But as it wasn’t until the late 1950s that big-time sports came to San Francisco, historic Boston must remain the nation’s top sports city—though maybe we could rethink that designation if San Francisco sports continue to flourish for a few more decades.

Not that San Francisco can’t claim some history. Sports bars feature plenty of photos of the DiMaggio brothers, who played early on with the San Francisco Seals of the Pacific Coast League. But Joe will also be remembered as a New York Yankee, and Dom as a member of the Boston Red Sox. Sorry, about that, San Francisco.

San Francisco is a friendly place, but somewhat alien to your traditional Granite Stater. Riding the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit system) meant listening to a cacophony of foreign tongues. Still it was heartening to see so many diverse peoples getting along. And I was happy that folks with purple, green, and pink hair had a safe place to be themselves.

Could I live in San Francisco, if circumstances required? Sure. It’s a special place with wonderful sports teams—and more.

But if such a move ever manifested itself, I’m sure I’d end up writing wistfully of New England. Maybe I’d even write a song, for which—with apologies to Tony Bennett—I already have a name.

“I Left My Heart…in Lake Winnipesaukee!”

(Photo caption: The DiMaggos, Dom, Joe, and Vince.)