Grateful American: A Journey from Self to Service(61)

When we clattered down the cargo plane’s ramp, I could only shake my head in disbelief. In front of us, waiting in two long rows of uniforms, stood American soldiers. Thousands strong. Lining our route all the way from the cargo plane to the hangar like a happy gauntlet. We simply walked forward and shook hands on the way to our destination. Soldier after soldier. Marine after marine. Sailor after sailor. Airman after airman. Smile after smile. I felt choked up inside. Happy to be there. Honored. Grateful. So incredibly grateful. We were here for them. But they had our backs. They weren’t going to let anything bad happen to us. They were there for us.

Inside the hangar, another five thousand troops waited for us. Kid Rock led the charge along with a few members of his band. Country singer Chely Wright walked with Rebecca and John, followed by model and sportscaster Leeann Tweeden and Nappy Roots. I came last, and we all made our way onto the stage.

My shirt was soaked. It must have been 130 degrees inside the metal hangar. Oven-hot. Noisy. Echoes bounced off the metal walls. The troops looked ready for a show, but I glanced at Kid Rock and he kinda shrugged. No one in our group had heard anything about a show, so we weren’t exactly prepared. Luckily, a soldier-led rock band had entertained the troops just before we arrived, and their equipment still sat on the stage. Kid Rock grabbed an electric guitar, John Stamos sat in on the drums, Kid’s bassist hopped in, and country singer Chely Wright jumped on a microphone to sing some backup. They all fired up the opening chords to “Sweet Home Alabama,” and the crowd went nuts. It was a crazy good time, sweat flying off the stage as the energy built. When the song finished, a few football players joined us onstage and were introduced, and the crowd cheered. Leeann Tweeden, dressed in a sexy red, white, and blue top, was a knockout doing interviews with the troops throughout the hangar with her camera crew from The Best Damn Sports Show Period. Nappy Roots launched into an impromptu hip-hop tune, and when they were done with rockin’ the hangar, someone introduced me as “Lieutenant Dan,” and the crowd went nuts again. I got up and said a few words. Everybody in the crowd was smiling. Clapping. The energy ramping up. From the front of the stage, I took a good look at the crowd. The expressions on the troops’ faces fascinated me. There they were, all piled into that hangar where it felt like a sauna. Sweat beaded on every forehead. But in spite of the heat, everyone was having a rocking good time. It was surreal to be there.

When I stepped off the stage, I collected my thoughts. I’d heard some stories already. I knew some of the troops in that hangar had already experienced some bad stuff. They’d lost buddies, seen arms and legs lost to artillery and rockets. The man who’d sat next to me on the plane took the stage, along with two other 9/11 family members. He held up the piece of the World Trade Center, took the microphone, and spoke of what had happened that terrible day. The noise hushed. Soldiers nodded, and some bowed their heads. We’d heard that many of those same troops had volunteered right after 9/11. When the man was finished speaking, he passed the chunk of the Trade Center to a soldier at the front of the crowd. The soldier held it carefully, almost reverently, nodded, then passed it to the soldier next to him. One by one, each soldier touched the piece of concrete as it made its way around the hangar. That chunk of rubble seemed symbolic, even sacred. It represented a moment of great change in America. A change that each and every one of these service members were a part of. A cause so much greater than any one person.

Kid Rock and the gang headed back onstage and blasted away for a few more tunes. I stood backstage while the show rumbled along, and an officer came up and asked me to come with him to meet some soldiers who were getting ready to leave the base. He wondered if I would simply say goodbye to them. I nodded and said sure, then went alone with the officer outside of the hangar and over to a squad of soldiers standing on the tarmac. Fully armed. Fully suited for battle.

“Where you guys headed?” I asked.

One just grinned.

The officer spoke for him: “Into combat.”

I simply shook hands and tried to say a few encouraging things. The squad members climbed aboard the truck and rode away, and it hit me anew what these soldiers’ jobs were all about. In my mind I said a silent prayer: Let them all be safe. Let them all return home again to the people who love them.

I headed back into the hangar. Once the concert finished, I was able to sort through the crowd and locate Captain Justin Morseth, a young rifle platoon leader with the Third Infantry Division. His father-in-law sat on the board of directors for Steppenwolf, and Justin’s wife had given me a letter to give to him if I could find him. And I did. We were indeed able to arrange to meet backstage, and there among the loud noise of five thousand sweaty troops enjoying the entertainment, Justin smiled at the letter when I hugged him and handed it to him. He opened it right there and read it on the spot. Mail was finding its way to the troops, but there was something special about having a letter hand delivered from home, he said. The kind word from home absolutely made his day. And Leeann’s camera crew caught the whole thing on video.

We boarded the C-130 again, strapped ourselves in, and flew back to Kuwait. It was a good day, but I was beat. In the evening, we landed, grabbed some quick chow, and returned to our rooms in the hotel around nine o’clock. For a few minutes I simply wandered around my room, culture-shocked to stand again in the civilian world. I felt jet-lagged, dusty, exhausted, and I knew I stank. For a while I sat on the bed, replaying the day in my mind, trying to take it all in. Then I peeled off my clothes, turned on cold water, and stood under the shower until I almost felt normal again. I dried off, threw on boxers and a T-shirt, lay down on the bed, and closed my eyes.