Redeployment(33)

There was brief silence.

“And it’s not like I don’t think it’s hard,” he continued. “All of this is hard. Doing anything in Iraq is hard.”

“The clinic—”

“Is not jobs,” he said. “Give me Rosie the Riveter. Not Suzie the Yeast Infected.”

“Suzie the Cured of Yeast Infection,” I said.

“Right now the business association is the only thing your ePRT has going for women’s empowerment,” he said. “That’s not good. Not good at all. And you want to shut that down? No. Fucking no. Keep it going. Use it better. Start some f*cking jobs. Do you have anything, anything at all, even in planning, for women?”

I could hear him breathing heavy over the phone.

“Sure…,” I said, racking my brains, “we’ve got things.”

“Like?”

There was an awkward silence. I looked around the office, as if I might find an answer hanging on the wall somewhere. And then my eyes settled on Bob’s desk.

“How much do you know about beekeeping?” I said.

“You’re going to have women beekeepers?” he said.

“Not just women,” I said. “Widows.”

There was another pause. He sighed.

“Yeah,” he said. His voice sounded resigned. “A lot of ePRTs are doing that one.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Do you… do you know this is bullshit?”





? ? ?


The e-mail popped up as soon as I got off the phone. The subject was: IRAQ’S SOON TO BE NATIONAL PASTIME. The sender was: GOODWIN, GENE GABRIEL. I thought, Who gave this * my e-mail address? That was answered almost immediately.

Dear Nathan (I hope I can call you Nathan? Major Zima told me you were a very approachable guy),



I’m glad to get a hold of someone who’s finally willing to give this a shot. You won’t believe the amount of BS you’ve got to go through to get anything done with the US Army.

Here’s the idea: The Iraqi people want democracy, but it’s not taking. Why? They don’t have the INSTITUTIONS to support it. You can’t build anything with a rotten foundation, and Iraqi culture is, I’m sure, as rotten as it gets.

I know this sounds crazy, but there are few better institutions than the institution of BASEBALL. Look at the Japanese. They went from Emperor-loving fascists to baseball-playing democracy freaks faster than you can say, Sayonara, Hirohito!

What I’m saying is, you’ve got to change the CULTURE first. And what’s more AMERICAN than baseball, where one man takes a stand against the world, bat in hand, ready to make history, every moment a one-on-one competition. Batter versus pitcher. Runner versus first baseman. Runner versus second baseman. Third baseman. If he’s lucky, against the catcher himself. And yet! And YET!!! It’s a team sport! You’re nothing without the team!!!!

I guess they play soccer over there now. Figures. There’s a sport that teaches kids all the wrong lessons. “Pretend you’re hurt and the ref might help you out!” “You’ll never make it on your own, kick the ball to your friend!” And worst of all, nobody ever scores. It’s like, “Go ahead, kids, but don’t expect much! Even if you’re near the goal, you’re probably not gonna make it!” And they can’t use their hands. What the heck is that all about?

I know this probably sounds silly to you, but remember: Great ideas always sound silly. People told me my Grand Slam Discounts were silly too, but I went and did it and nobody calls me silly anymore. It’s like we say in the mattress business: SUCCESS = DRIVE + DETERMINATION + MATTRESSES. And here I’m supplying the materials. All I’m asking from you is a little effort to give these Iraqi kids a chance for the future.

Yours Truly,

GG Goodwin



Reading the e-mail was like getting an ice pick to the brain. I stared blankly at my computer, all higher mental functions short-circuited, and resisted the urge to punch the screen. This, I thought, was bullshit. I composed a terse note explaining that while we appreciated his generosity, baseball wasn’t likely to catch on, and while the kids would certainly make use of the uniforms, I couldn’t promise him they’d be playing baseball in them. Then I clicked “send.”

Within an hour, I found myself cc’d on an e-mail to none other than Representative Gordon. Also cc’d were a host of military and civilian personnel. Chris Roper. Some brigadier general. Major Zima. And the colonel in charge of the BCT I was attached to. The sight of his name alone was enough to let me know I’d seriously screwed up. I was new to the cc game, a game played with skill by staff officers throughout the military, but I knew enough to know that the more senior people you could comfortably cc on your e-mails, the more everyone had to put up with whatever bullshit your e-mails were actually about.