Grateful American: A Journey from Self to Service(75)
CHAPTER 14
Helping Children
We suited up in helmets and bulletproof vests and drove out in a convoy of Humvees to visit one of the Iraqi elementary schools that US troops had been working to improve. It was November 2003, my second tour of Iraq with the USO. The school itself wasn’t considered dangerous, but the roads out to the school and back were always suspect, particularly when traveling with US military. Troops had built walls and restrooms at the school, repainted sections of the building, and installed windows and ceiling fans, and they wanted to show us what they’d been working on.
Keep in mind that our troops had only been in Iraq for eight months or so. The statue of Saddam had fallen in Baghdad in April, and the insurgency had now started to pick up. During the next few years, from about 2004 to 2007, the insurgency would grow, and Iraq would become a highly dangerous place indeed.
On this trip in 2003, Wayne Newton, Chris Isaak, country singer Neal McCoy, and I all traveled in the convoy together. Soldiers operated as our security detail. When we arrived at the school, the headmaster came out to greet us along with Iraqi teachers, interpreters, a few Iraqi parents, and a welcoming cadre of children. They greeted us warmly and beamed with pride about their new school. Boys and girls played together outside. Inside, they were taught separately, in about eight classrooms total.
We all said our hellos. School representatives led us on a tour of the school building. Boys filled the first classroom we stepped into, and I was shocked and surprised when the boys all shouted, “Lieutenant Dan!” Everybody burst out laughing, including me, and it turned out that one of the soldiers had coached them how to say that before I arrived. When the laughing subsided, I turned to Wayne Newton and said, “Well, I think I’m going to be living with ‘Lieutenant Dan’ for a while.”
Wayne chuckled and replied, “Yeah. Lieutenant Dan is your ‘Danke Schoen.’” I chuckled back. The German-titled love song was inextricably linked with Wayne, even though he had recorded and performed many other hits. In 1963, when he was just twenty-one, Wayne had recorded a version of the song that shot up the charts. And in 1986, his recording rode a new wave of popularity after Matthew Broderick lip-synced it in the hit comedy Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. This was my second tour with Wayne in six months. He had always been a big supporter of the troops, first singing with the USO as a child. Over the years, Wayne did many other USO tours and performed with Bob Hope during Vietnam.
It wasn’t all fun and games at the school. The children themselves seemed happy, grateful for an education, and proud of their school. Conditions at this school had definitely improved since Saddam ran the country. I couldn’t help but notice how many children sat at each desk. The desks looked longer than typical American school desks, perhaps built to seat two comfortably. Yet three to four children huddled at each. Each little group would share one pencil stub, passing it back and forth among themselves, working on just a few sheets of paper. These desks and pencils were the only school equipment I saw. The walls at this school were bare—and not because they’d recently been painted. I asked a few careful questions, and it turned out that the sparseness of school supplies was typical of area schools. Few pencils, sheets of paper, or books were available. Certainly nothing close to the mass of erasers, glue, rulers, binders, geometry sets, art supplies, maps, posters, lettering charts, sports equipment, and backpacks we saw at home. When I asked why the Iraqi children didn’t have more supplies, the surprising answer came back: “Because we can’t get them here.”
The kids themselves seemed smart and kind. I tried to put myself in their shoes. What would it be like to go to school in a war-stricken country? What would it be like to go to a school consisting solely of students, teachers, and a small building with only eight classrooms? No gym. No library. No sports field. We continued from classroom to classroom, where all the kids greeted us enthusiastically, and cheered readily for the US soldiers. It was obvious just how much the troops cared about the children, and just how safe the children felt around the troops.
At one point I pulled out a picture of my own children, squatted down next to a group of Iraqi schoolgirls, and showed them my family. The interpreter explained who the kids were in the picture. The girls beamed and giggled, and talked with each other, very excited. Through the interpreter, they asked more questions about my own kids.
The headmaster of the school wanted to show me something. Through the interpreter, he explained how he’d made a plaque and put it up in his office, a tiny room. The plaque was written in Arabic and English. He was very proud. The plaque read:
BY THE GRACE OF GOD, AND THE COOPERATION BETWEEN THE FREE IRAQI PEOPLE AND THE COALITION FORCES, AL-MAJD PRIMARY SCHOOL HAS BEEN REBUILT. THIS SCHOOL IS DEDICATED ON 20 SEPT. 2003 FOR THE EDUCATION AND A NEW GENERATION OF FREE IRAQI PEOPLE. MAY THIS WORK STAND, UNDER GOD’S WATCHFUL EYES, AS A TESTAMENT TO THE HARD WORK AND DEDICATION TO FREEDOM OF IRAQ AND THE COALITION FORCES. CONTRACTOR: AL-ANWAR CONTRACTING CO. COALITION FORCES: 205 MI BRIGADE
I never forgot that. At this moment, prior to the insurgency, it showed they had a lot of hope for the future.
At one point in one of the classrooms, Wayne beckoned me over to form an impromptu quartet with Chris and Neal, and we sang “You Are My Sunshine” for the kids. When we finished, they clapped heartily. We spent several hours at the school, just talking with the children and troops and school officials, giving high fives and playing simple games with the kids, taking many photographs that I still have, and trying to ingrain in the minds and hearts of Iraqi children and their parents that they weren’t forgotten by the world. They were respected and valued. They mattered. And our troops were there to help them.