The current issue of Rolling Stone has a feature article on the death of Ryan Manelick, called "Death of a Contractor: Greed and Murder in Iraq's Lawless Desert." Ryan worked with Kirk for Ultra-Services. He was killed in December, 2003 just a day or two before he was supposed to leave Iraq for a holiday. His death is still unsolved.
Originally, the article was going to talk about Kirk as well. I did an interview by phone with the author, Daniel Halpern, way back in spring of last year. However, while he was still gathering information and doing research, we heard from the CID, and it was made clear that Kirk's death, despite the coincidence, was not related to the fraud investigation and Ryan's murder. I let Daniel know at once because I knew it would change how he wrote his article. Recently Daniel contacted me to let me know that Rolling Stone was going to drop Kirk's part of the story, and I told him I had expected something like that to happen, and understood why they made that decision.
I'm very glad that the Manelick family has this chance to get their story told. They have been dealing with the same stress and uncertainty, the frustration and pain that we have. They knew, at least, that Ryan had been killed, while for so long we didn't know even that. But they still don't know who did it or why.
Maybe this article will help somehow. Maybe someone somewhere knows something, and they will finally be willing to talk. Maybe it will just help for people to know that a bright, enthusiastic man, a father, a veteran, was killed on the streets of Iraq and no one knows why.
I haven't read it yet, so I can't tell you anything about it. But I will pick up a copy today, for Ryan, for his family.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Thinking about Thinking about Posting
Things I've thought about posting on:
1. An article forthcoming in Rolling Stone which was originally going to talk a bit about Kirk but has decided to concentrate on the Manelick case instead (which is understandable). Conclusion? Eh, not so much. But I'll try and post the issue information when I know it so people who are interested can go buy a copy.
2. Job hunting - good times, and much more entertaining when done long distance. Conclusion? I'll post when a get a job. Anyone wanna hire me? I code! I design! I write! I market - oooh, just watch me brand...
3. Odd people seen while on the way to and from work. Conclusion? Now that is quality content!
I've always told my kids they can do just about anything non-permanent to themselves. Child Three has sported at least four hair colors at various times, and has had a semi-successful mohawk for a while (child 3 is cursed with floppy hair. It's very, very sad) . Child One was streaked with pink for a time and Child Two hopes to have bright red soon. I don't even break a sweat. Like I tell them, there's no other time in their lives when they can work so hard to look so stupid and be so utterly convinced they're cool. So the deal is, reversible? Fine, but nothing, absolutely nothing permanent can be done that can't be easily hidden, and nothing that could even possibly compromise health and safety. No eyebrow piercings, no nose rings or tongue studs. Sorry guys.
Some things make these things easier though. Like seeing the guy in Target who wasn't wearing his massive sized ear gauges. Ear gauges in? Scary goth punk man. Gauges out? Young guy with ear lobes that look like chicken butts. Really takes a lot of the edge off it somehow.
It's like the time I saw my friend's mom's tattoo. She had a dragon that wound around her calf - probably looked dead cool when she was eighteen. Trouble is, by the time I saw it, she was around sixty. To this day I can't see a tramp stamp without remembering that sad, toothless, crepey dragon. But I never was tempted to get a tattoo.
Usually the people I see around work are pretty young, so even if they have misspelled body art, or are trying desperately to pull off a convincing set of dreadlocks on top of a freshly scrubbed pale pink face, there's something about being young that makes it, well not attractive, but sort of touching. However, walking past the Einstein's Bagels I got a shocking look at what happened to all those punk rockers from the seventies who didn't die tragically young. There was so much wrong there... and I think really the internet should be spared most of it... but I did have one question answered -
- yes, nose piercings do stretch with age.
1. An article forthcoming in Rolling Stone which was originally going to talk a bit about Kirk but has decided to concentrate on the Manelick case instead (which is understandable). Conclusion? Eh, not so much. But I'll try and post the issue information when I know it so people who are interested can go buy a copy.
2. Job hunting - good times, and much more entertaining when done long distance. Conclusion? I'll post when a get a job. Anyone wanna hire me? I code! I design! I write! I market - oooh, just watch me brand...
3. Odd people seen while on the way to and from work. Conclusion? Now that is quality content!
I've always told my kids they can do just about anything non-permanent to themselves. Child Three has sported at least four hair colors at various times, and has had a semi-successful mohawk for a while (child 3 is cursed with floppy hair. It's very, very sad) . Child One was streaked with pink for a time and Child Two hopes to have bright red soon. I don't even break a sweat. Like I tell them, there's no other time in their lives when they can work so hard to look so stupid and be so utterly convinced they're cool. So the deal is, reversible? Fine, but nothing, absolutely nothing permanent can be done that can't be easily hidden, and nothing that could even possibly compromise health and safety. No eyebrow piercings, no nose rings or tongue studs. Sorry guys.
Some things make these things easier though. Like seeing the guy in Target who wasn't wearing his massive sized ear gauges. Ear gauges in? Scary goth punk man. Gauges out? Young guy with ear lobes that look like chicken butts. Really takes a lot of the edge off it somehow.
It's like the time I saw my friend's mom's tattoo. She had a dragon that wound around her calf - probably looked dead cool when she was eighteen. Trouble is, by the time I saw it, she was around sixty. To this day I can't see a tramp stamp without remembering that sad, toothless, crepey dragon. But I never was tempted to get a tattoo.
Usually the people I see around work are pretty young, so even if they have misspelled body art, or are trying desperately to pull off a convincing set of dreadlocks on top of a freshly scrubbed pale pink face, there's something about being young that makes it, well not attractive, but sort of touching. However, walking past the Einstein's Bagels I got a shocking look at what happened to all those punk rockers from the seventies who didn't die tragically young. There was so much wrong there... and I think really the internet should be spared most of it... but I did have one question answered -
- yes, nose piercings do stretch with age.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Contractors
We (us that is, America) have never used contractors the way we are now. We're using more people, doing more jobs in more dangerous conditions than we ever have. It's hard to get good statistics on just how many people are over there helping re-build, doing security work, transporting things, planning things, building things. They aren't all Americans of course, many are Iraqi, or people from nearby nations. Many are Australian or British, German or French.
[edit: Thanks for the link Susie (see comments). There are estimated to be 100,000 contractors working in Iraq alone. The government also hires contractors in Afghanistan, Columbia, and other conflict areas.]
Naturally it's not the first time contractors have been involved in a war zone, so you'd think someone would have figured out how things should be done by now. And in fact, there are some laws and guidelines in place, things that were written decades ago that spell out some of what needs to be done to make sure contractors are protected.
Every company that contracts with the government is by law required to carry insurance. This insurance is meant to pay the contractor or his or her family in the case of injury, death or disappearance. Under the terms of this law, the government has to make sure the company does carry insurance before they are allowed to do business. Then, in case something happens, the family simply files a claim with the labor department, and the labor department makes sure the insurance company pays up. Simple and tidy.
The problem is, the government didn't bother with that. No one checked to see if the companies were covered before contracts were signed - they just let them in. So Kirk's company didn't have insurance. C didn't even know they were required to do so. I'm not sure about the higher ups in the company - they had previous experience in Afghanistan, so in theory they should have known, but if the requirement wasn't made clear to them then either...
There is no system in place that makes sure contractors know their rights before they enter a war zone. There's no group that is there to help a family or contractor after a tragedy to tell them what to file, how to work with various agencies, what help might be available. There's nothing.
I know everyone has heard the stories of corruption, of companies making millions through graft, bribery and fraud. Sometimes I think those stories have colored the way people view anyone who works as a contractor - as though they believe that everyone over there is a thief and a liar.
But many of them are family people. Many of them, like Kirk, like Ryan Manelick, are former military who already served their country once and are now doing it again. Yes, many are there because the pay is good, but they are also trying to do a difficult and dangerous job because it needs doing.
It's a shame, then that the government that sent them there isn't doing everything it can to take care of them.
[edit: Thanks for the link Susie (see comments). There are estimated to be 100,000 contractors working in Iraq alone. The government also hires contractors in Afghanistan, Columbia, and other conflict areas.]
Naturally it's not the first time contractors have been involved in a war zone, so you'd think someone would have figured out how things should be done by now. And in fact, there are some laws and guidelines in place, things that were written decades ago that spell out some of what needs to be done to make sure contractors are protected.
Every company that contracts with the government is by law required to carry insurance. This insurance is meant to pay the contractor or his or her family in the case of injury, death or disappearance. Under the terms of this law, the government has to make sure the company does carry insurance before they are allowed to do business. Then, in case something happens, the family simply files a claim with the labor department, and the labor department makes sure the insurance company pays up. Simple and tidy.
The problem is, the government didn't bother with that. No one checked to see if the companies were covered before contracts were signed - they just let them in. So Kirk's company didn't have insurance. C didn't even know they were required to do so. I'm not sure about the higher ups in the company - they had previous experience in Afghanistan, so in theory they should have known, but if the requirement wasn't made clear to them then either...
There is no system in place that makes sure contractors know their rights before they enter a war zone. There's no group that is there to help a family or contractor after a tragedy to tell them what to file, how to work with various agencies, what help might be available. There's nothing.
I know everyone has heard the stories of corruption, of companies making millions through graft, bribery and fraud. Sometimes I think those stories have colored the way people view anyone who works as a contractor - as though they believe that everyone over there is a thief and a liar.
But many of them are family people. Many of them, like Kirk, like Ryan Manelick, are former military who already served their country once and are now doing it again. Yes, many are there because the pay is good, but they are also trying to do a difficult and dangerous job because it needs doing.
It's a shame, then that the government that sent them there isn't doing everything it can to take care of them.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Thank you
Thanks - to all of you, to family and friends who came from all over to remember Kirk and share your stories. It was wonderful to see you, wonderful to hear what you had to say.
For those who couldn't come, we thought of you, and we know you were thinking of us.
I'm trying to get a transcript together of the talks that were given so I can share them with the people who wanted them, but it will take a little time so please be patient.
What I can do is share a few of the moments that I remember, a few more stories to tell. It's not that these are the most important, or even those that struck me most at the time. These are just the ones that I'm thinking of now.
Kirk's brother spoke. He talked about Kirk's honesty, his integrity. But the story I particularly liked was when he talked about how they would fight as kids. I had heard Kirk's version of some of this so it was fun to hear from the 'little' brother as well. They would really tear into each other, he said, but Kirk would never punch him in the face. Nope, he would just smack him. Because Kirk, said his brother, he was kind.
Now... I never had a brother, so I admit I don't own a copy of the male dictionary. and I'd have to take S's word on this definition of kind, but I noticed that while many of the women in the room were laughing, but shaking their heads, many of the men were laughing and nodding in approval.
A colleague of Kirk's spoke as well, a man I feel I know quite well although I've only met him twice now. He had worked with Kirk in Virginia, during that endless frantic year. He shared a view of Kirk that most people in the room had never seen. I know it made our son smile when he heard this man say that Kirk was the finest analyst he had ever met.
But it made the rest of us laugh out loud when he told us about a guy in their unit who had bought a suit to go for his first civilian interview. He was awfully proud of himself, and had come in to show off and get everyone's opinion. There he stood, J said, like a big... purple... dinosaur. Everyone was trying to be kind, of course, trying to be nice and give him some confidence. But a bit of a crowd was gathering, as you would expect when something very large, very purple, and sporting a cheerful tie spotted with dolphins is in the room. J couldn't remember just what Kirk sang, very quietly, but whether it was 'I Heard it Through the Grapevine,' or 'I Love You, You Love Me' the effect was the same. J responded with a dolphin squeal... I think things just got worse from there.
Kirk's best friend from California spoke. Kirk tended to form extremely close friendships, but this one was unusual. They shared, initially, a military background that gave them something in common, but then something happened to S's family. He talked about that, about the bonds that happen in struggle. Kirk was the person S called when he first heard the news that would shatter his life; S was the person Kirk called from Turkey, from Iraq. S read from Henry V, paraphrasing the words before the gates of Agincourt:
"But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive...
...This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother...
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."
My mother talked about her impressions of Kirk over our 15 year marriage. She talked about the words that came to mind when she thought of him, the picture his memory painted, from the day she first met him, long before I dated him. I saw different faces light up as her words reflected memories of their own.
And afterwards other people had a chance to say things that they needed to say, that others needed to hear. Over again I had people mention to me how good it was to hear from such diverse people, to hear diverse versions of who Kirk was.
It was a good day.
Thank you.
For those who couldn't come, we thought of you, and we know you were thinking of us.
I'm trying to get a transcript together of the talks that were given so I can share them with the people who wanted them, but it will take a little time so please be patient.
What I can do is share a few of the moments that I remember, a few more stories to tell. It's not that these are the most important, or even those that struck me most at the time. These are just the ones that I'm thinking of now.
Kirk's brother spoke. He talked about Kirk's honesty, his integrity. But the story I particularly liked was when he talked about how they would fight as kids. I had heard Kirk's version of some of this so it was fun to hear from the 'little' brother as well. They would really tear into each other, he said, but Kirk would never punch him in the face. Nope, he would just smack him. Because Kirk, said his brother, he was kind.
Now... I never had a brother, so I admit I don't own a copy of the male dictionary. and I'd have to take S's word on this definition of kind, but I noticed that while many of the women in the room were laughing, but shaking their heads, many of the men were laughing and nodding in approval.
A colleague of Kirk's spoke as well, a man I feel I know quite well although I've only met him twice now. He had worked with Kirk in Virginia, during that endless frantic year. He shared a view of Kirk that most people in the room had never seen. I know it made our son smile when he heard this man say that Kirk was the finest analyst he had ever met.
But it made the rest of us laugh out loud when he told us about a guy in their unit who had bought a suit to go for his first civilian interview. He was awfully proud of himself, and had come in to show off and get everyone's opinion. There he stood, J said, like a big... purple... dinosaur. Everyone was trying to be kind, of course, trying to be nice and give him some confidence. But a bit of a crowd was gathering, as you would expect when something very large, very purple, and sporting a cheerful tie spotted with dolphins is in the room. J couldn't remember just what Kirk sang, very quietly, but whether it was 'I Heard it Through the Grapevine,' or 'I Love You, You Love Me' the effect was the same. J responded with a dolphin squeal... I think things just got worse from there.
Kirk's best friend from California spoke. Kirk tended to form extremely close friendships, but this one was unusual. They shared, initially, a military background that gave them something in common, but then something happened to S's family. He talked about that, about the bonds that happen in struggle. Kirk was the person S called when he first heard the news that would shatter his life; S was the person Kirk called from Turkey, from Iraq. S read from Henry V, paraphrasing the words before the gates of Agincourt:
"But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive...
...This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother...
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."
My mother talked about her impressions of Kirk over our 15 year marriage. She talked about the words that came to mind when she thought of him, the picture his memory painted, from the day she first met him, long before I dated him. I saw different faces light up as her words reflected memories of their own.
And afterwards other people had a chance to say things that they needed to say, that others needed to hear. Over again I had people mention to me how good it was to hear from such diverse people, to hear diverse versions of who Kirk was.
It was a good day.
Thank you.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Obituary
I just submitted Kirk's obituary to the local paper. Just one of a long list of things I didn't imagine myself doing at my age - heck, at any age really.
I was thinking about what an odd thing it is to do - paying to write a few words that are meant to sum someone up. Naturally, as I'm sure anyone would do, I had to go look up the etymology of the darn word. (Do you want to hire me? I speak dead languages and know what 'etymology' means!)
Obituary: 1706, "register of deaths," from M.L. obituarius "a record of the death of a person," lit. "pertaining to death," from L. obitus "departure, a going to meet, encounter" (a euphemism for "death"), from stem of obire "go to meet" (as in mortem obire "meet death"), from ob "to, toward" + ire "go." Meaning "record or announcement of a death, esp. in a newspaper, and including a brief biographical sketch" is from 1738. A similar euphemism is in O.E. cognate forðfaran "to die," lit. "to go forth."
So before 1706 no one bothered with the whole litany of life and survivors thing. Maybe it was a great newspaper coup with some brilliant marketing mind putting together the miracle of cheap press and the strange fact that nothing sells like death.
I've read a few obituaries recently in a market-research kind of way. It's an odd sort of writing - there was one gentleman who apparently managed to 'pass on' "without tasting the fear or pain of death." I rather wish they'd said a bit more about that; I'd like to know how he managed it. There was a woman who boldly suggested that instead of flowers, people should contribute to her family's trust fund. I quite liked that one - she'd written it herself in the first person and someone had just filled in the dates and things. Talk about having the last word.
Kirk's is, I'm afraid, pretty plain. I felt that the obituary (I'm starting to hate that word, but I think if I just use it three more times in this post it'll suddenly become really, really funny. Maybe) was the place to say what Kirk would want said about him. The memorial, the one we're having this weekend, that's where we can say what we want. But the obituary should say what was important to him. Of course, once I decided that, it became nearly impossible to write anything that seemed adequate. My family tends to save things - understatement that is perhaps explained best by saying that they catalogue and save Instant Messaging conversations - so there's a horrifying feeling that writing this simple obituary (two more to go) is Talking To History. Still, the kids helped me, and we did our best.
It's just... well, if you feel the need to clip it out of the paper and stick it in some scrapbook or something, keep in mind that Kirk... well, Kirk couldn't really be summed up that way.
Maybe we should have just said:
Kirk von Ackermann. Father, husband, friend.
I was thinking about what an odd thing it is to do - paying to write a few words that are meant to sum someone up. Naturally, as I'm sure anyone would do, I had to go look up the etymology of the darn word. (Do you want to hire me? I speak dead languages and know what 'etymology' means!)
Obituary: 1706, "register of deaths," from M.L. obituarius "a record of the death of a person," lit. "pertaining to death," from L. obitus "departure, a going to meet, encounter" (a euphemism for "death"), from stem of obire "go to meet" (as in mortem obire "meet death"), from ob "to, toward" + ire "go." Meaning "record or announcement of a death, esp. in a newspaper, and including a brief biographical sketch" is from 1738. A similar euphemism is in O.E. cognate forðfaran "to die," lit. "to go forth."
So before 1706 no one bothered with the whole litany of life and survivors thing. Maybe it was a great newspaper coup with some brilliant marketing mind putting together the miracle of cheap press and the strange fact that nothing sells like death.
I've read a few obituaries recently in a market-research kind of way. It's an odd sort of writing - there was one gentleman who apparently managed to 'pass on' "without tasting the fear or pain of death." I rather wish they'd said a bit more about that; I'd like to know how he managed it. There was a woman who boldly suggested that instead of flowers, people should contribute to her family's trust fund. I quite liked that one - she'd written it herself in the first person and someone had just filled in the dates and things. Talk about having the last word.
Kirk's is, I'm afraid, pretty plain. I felt that the obituary (I'm starting to hate that word, but I think if I just use it three more times in this post it'll suddenly become really, really funny. Maybe) was the place to say what Kirk would want said about him. The memorial, the one we're having this weekend, that's where we can say what we want. But the obituary should say what was important to him. Of course, once I decided that, it became nearly impossible to write anything that seemed adequate. My family tends to save things - understatement that is perhaps explained best by saying that they catalogue and save Instant Messaging conversations - so there's a horrifying feeling that writing this simple obituary (two more to go) is Talking To History. Still, the kids helped me, and we did our best.
It's just... well, if you feel the need to clip it out of the paper and stick it in some scrapbook or something, keep in mind that Kirk... well, Kirk couldn't really be summed up that way.
Maybe we should have just said:
Kirk von Ackermann. Father, husband, friend.
Friday, January 05, 2007
I have a tendency to assume that other people are privy to my internal dialog - that everyone must know what I've already thrashed out inside my mind. It leads to complications naturally, and it's not helped by the fact that I often feel I'm stating the obvious so I don't spell things out. Maybe I need to say out loud why I started this blog, and exactly why I'm unsure what to do now.
When I began writing, Kirk had been missing for two and a half years. I had no feeling that the investigation was going anywhere, no way of knowing if the situation would ever be resolved. I also realized that there was a sort of power in the hands of the CID (people who, by the way, had treated me with enormous respect and care) who could re-write Kirk's entire life and character with their conclusion.
It's hard to articulate this properly. I was trained as a historian, and part of that training is learning that everyone who writes history or participates in it (through interview, diary - whatever) brings a bias, and that bias changes how history is remembered. Sometimes that effect is very small, but sometimes one person or group has enormous power, and can write history in their own vision.
I realized that the CID had that chance. They could, with their conclusion, decide not only what had happened to Kirk (and how could I say they were wrong?) but who he was, what he was thinking, why he did what he did.
So I began to write some of Kirk's story. I can't write it really, and I think that's obvious because of all the times I've had to say "I don't know exactly what happened..." or "Kirk couldn't tell me..." But I could write about the Kirk I knew.
I made the choice right from the start to keep my name, and the names of other people out of it. It was, basically, a love letter to Kirk, and all the rest of us are supporting cast.
Finding the moment to end isn't easy. I'm selfish - I didn't want to end with Kirk's disappearance because I didn't want that to define him. But I know that's not really the end of the story, and I do realize that there are other things that could be told.
So now I'm not sure what happens next. I've finished what I set out to do. I certainly haven't written all of it, but the narrative has come to an end point. Obviously the story goes on, obviously there is a great deal more that happened, but it happened once Kirk dropped out of the story, and it's hard to know what to do when the hero leaves the stage. I was always comfortable with Kirk as the star of the show - I'm not at all happy about stepping into that role myself.
I have to decide if there's a valid reason to go on. I need to figure out why I would tell what happened next, and I need to believe that this is the right medium to do it in.
When I began writing, Kirk had been missing for two and a half years. I had no feeling that the investigation was going anywhere, no way of knowing if the situation would ever be resolved. I also realized that there was a sort of power in the hands of the CID (people who, by the way, had treated me with enormous respect and care) who could re-write Kirk's entire life and character with their conclusion.
It's hard to articulate this properly. I was trained as a historian, and part of that training is learning that everyone who writes history or participates in it (through interview, diary - whatever) brings a bias, and that bias changes how history is remembered. Sometimes that effect is very small, but sometimes one person or group has enormous power, and can write history in their own vision.
I realized that the CID had that chance. They could, with their conclusion, decide not only what had happened to Kirk (and how could I say they were wrong?) but who he was, what he was thinking, why he did what he did.
So I began to write some of Kirk's story. I can't write it really, and I think that's obvious because of all the times I've had to say "I don't know exactly what happened..." or "Kirk couldn't tell me..." But I could write about the Kirk I knew.
I made the choice right from the start to keep my name, and the names of other people out of it. It was, basically, a love letter to Kirk, and all the rest of us are supporting cast.
Finding the moment to end isn't easy. I'm selfish - I didn't want to end with Kirk's disappearance because I didn't want that to define him. But I know that's not really the end of the story, and I do realize that there are other things that could be told.
So now I'm not sure what happens next. I've finished what I set out to do. I certainly haven't written all of it, but the narrative has come to an end point. Obviously the story goes on, obviously there is a great deal more that happened, but it happened once Kirk dropped out of the story, and it's hard to know what to do when the hero leaves the stage. I was always comfortable with Kirk as the star of the show - I'm not at all happy about stepping into that role myself.
I have to decide if there's a valid reason to go on. I need to figure out why I would tell what happened next, and I need to believe that this is the right medium to do it in.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
New Year
Hmmmm.... I've gotten enough emails that I think I have to post!
I'm still here, still checking comments and (eventually - I didn't have internet access over the holidays) posting the ones that were actual comments and not advertisements for pyramid schemes or dodgy plans to enhance body parts I don't actually have.
I'm not sure what happens next. There have been a few requests to go on with the story, but since it sort of ceases to be Kirk's story and (inevitably) becomes my own, I'm not quite sure what to do about that.
But thanks for the emails and the warm thoughts. We'll just have to figure things out as they happen.
I'm still here, still checking comments and (eventually - I didn't have internet access over the holidays) posting the ones that were actual comments and not advertisements for pyramid schemes or dodgy plans to enhance body parts I don't actually have.
I'm not sure what happens next. There have been a few requests to go on with the story, but since it sort of ceases to be Kirk's story and (inevitably) becomes my own, I'm not quite sure what to do about that.
But thanks for the emails and the warm thoughts. We'll just have to figure things out as they happen.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Memorial
We're holding a memorial for Kirk on January 14th. Kirk would probably think of it as his party. Friends who want to come, please email me at missinginiraq@yahoo.com for details.
Friday, December 15, 2006
End of the Story
I've been struggling over where to end the story.
There's an argument for going on, for writing about what happened next: the phone call, the move and all the rest. After all, things did go on for us...
... but I started this as Kirk's story, and now we know that there is an end to it.
The difficulty is to place the punctuation, to put the full stop at the right point.
It's hard because it seems utterly obvious that the story is a tragedy. But I think part of the point of all of this is that his story is much more than that - that the tragedy (real, valid, true) is a part, but not the seminal part.
Kirk was (and that past tense is still not easy to use) a man of such life, such joy, that I would hate to think the tragedy of the end of the story overwhelms the enormous passion of the rest of his life.
I'm tempted to end it where it is - with a small Iraqi girl, and Kirk's delight in a new challenge.
After all, the rest of the story isn't his, and that wasn't the point, was it?
There's an argument for going on, for writing about what happened next: the phone call, the move and all the rest. After all, things did go on for us...
... but I started this as Kirk's story, and now we know that there is an end to it.
The difficulty is to place the punctuation, to put the full stop at the right point.
It's hard because it seems utterly obvious that the story is a tragedy. But I think part of the point of all of this is that his story is much more than that - that the tragedy (real, valid, true) is a part, but not the seminal part.
Kirk was (and that past tense is still not easy to use) a man of such life, such joy, that I would hate to think the tragedy of the end of the story overwhelms the enormous passion of the rest of his life.
I'm tempted to end it where it is - with a small Iraqi girl, and Kirk's delight in a new challenge.
After all, the rest of the story isn't his, and that wasn't the point, was it?
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
One More Story
It was months after Kirk went missing, and there were CID agents in our livingroom. We were all sitting around the table, two dark-suited men, my mother and I. It had been a long and strange conversation. There are any number of stories that could come out of it, but there's just one I want to tell right now.
It was nearly the end of the whole interview. They had been kind, calm, reserved but suddenly they were uncomfortable. They shifted in their chairs and exchanged a look. Finally one cleared his throat.
There was one more thing, something that might be hard...
I didn't know what to think. If they knew what had happened to Kirk surely they would have said something at the start, not waited until the very end of a couple of hours of talk. Months of horrible imagined scenes came quickly to mind.
... there was talk (he said) ... someone had mentioned ... a Russian woman that Kirk might have become friends with.
And I think we shocked those poor CID men, my mother and I, because we burst out laughing. Real laughter, honest, genuine, true laughter.
It was utterly ridiculous to imagine Kirk, six weeks away from home, suddenly starting a torrid affair with a Russian seductress and... no, not Kirk. Not that I doubt the story - there probably was a Russian out there somewhere, and Kirk being Kirk would have delighted in talking to her. But unfaithful? No.
So why tell this piece of that afternoon? Because of the story. Just one of Kirk's many little moments captured, only this was the last one, during one of the very last phone calls, just before the last trip.
I have a confession to make, he said, there's... another woman.
Excellent, I answered, and how old is she?
He laughed. You didn't ask what she looked like!
I know you too well.
She was six, the daughter of the man who owned the house Kirk was staying in somewhere in Iraq. They had asked him in for dinner, and as he sat in their warm house, happily trying to communicate with broken English, Russian, Arabic and German, he felt a small hand on his arm, and turned to see a pair of enormous brown eyes. She was fascinated with this stranger, this American, and once she overcame her shyness she refused to leave his side for the rest of the night. He talked to her father about his own children, and they agreed that this was what was really important. The little girl finally went to sleep sitting with him.
Sorry, he said, he was in love.
No Russian woman, just one small Iraqi girl. One last story.
It was nearly the end of the whole interview. They had been kind, calm, reserved but suddenly they were uncomfortable. They shifted in their chairs and exchanged a look. Finally one cleared his throat.
There was one more thing, something that might be hard...
I didn't know what to think. If they knew what had happened to Kirk surely they would have said something at the start, not waited until the very end of a couple of hours of talk. Months of horrible imagined scenes came quickly to mind.
... there was talk (he said) ... someone had mentioned ... a Russian woman that Kirk might have become friends with.
And I think we shocked those poor CID men, my mother and I, because we burst out laughing. Real laughter, honest, genuine, true laughter.
It was utterly ridiculous to imagine Kirk, six weeks away from home, suddenly starting a torrid affair with a Russian seductress and... no, not Kirk. Not that I doubt the story - there probably was a Russian out there somewhere, and Kirk being Kirk would have delighted in talking to her. But unfaithful? No.
So why tell this piece of that afternoon? Because of the story. Just one of Kirk's many little moments captured, only this was the last one, during one of the very last phone calls, just before the last trip.
I have a confession to make, he said, there's... another woman.
Excellent, I answered, and how old is she?
He laughed. You didn't ask what she looked like!
I know you too well.
She was six, the daughter of the man who owned the house Kirk was staying in somewhere in Iraq. They had asked him in for dinner, and as he sat in their warm house, happily trying to communicate with broken English, Russian, Arabic and German, he felt a small hand on his arm, and turned to see a pair of enormous brown eyes. She was fascinated with this stranger, this American, and once she overcame her shyness she refused to leave his side for the rest of the night. He talked to her father about his own children, and they agreed that this was what was really important. The little girl finally went to sleep sitting with him.
Sorry, he said, he was in love.
No Russian woman, just one small Iraqi girl. One last story.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
We spent hours on Instant Messaging that last time in Turkey. Kirk had spent a lot of time talking to all sorts of people about his guard shack design, and there was enough genuine interest that the company wanted to move forward. They arranged for Kirk to meet with a Turkish guy - the owner of a large construction company. He offered to go into business with Kirk, set up something just to make these guard units.
Meanwhile things were moving in the company. C was making a move for more control, J was talking about striking out on his own and both were asking Kirk to be involved. Nothing like being wanted I suppose.
What Kirk wanted was simple - he wanted the chance to make his design, to go through the whole process from concept to conclusion. He wanted to spend more time in Iraq, time with people he was just getting to know. But he was also loyal.
He liked J, he was flattered by the Turkish guy, he would stay with C and the company. They were going to send him to Switzerland to meet with some people who made reinforced steel. C promised he would have the company structure figured out, and Kirk would actually have a contract to sign, formalizing his position with the company. Everything was going to get started, just soon as he got back from Iraq.
Meanwhile things were moving in the company. C was making a move for more control, J was talking about striking out on his own and both were asking Kirk to be involved. Nothing like being wanted I suppose.
What Kirk wanted was simple - he wanted the chance to make his design, to go through the whole process from concept to conclusion. He wanted to spend more time in Iraq, time with people he was just getting to know. But he was also loyal.
He liked J, he was flattered by the Turkish guy, he would stay with C and the company. They were going to send him to Switzerland to meet with some people who made reinforced steel. C promised he would have the company structure figured out, and Kirk would actually have a contract to sign, formalizing his position with the company. Everything was going to get started, just soon as he got back from Iraq.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Commitment
Coming back from that second trip into Iraq Kirk made up his mind. Before that, we hadn't told more than a handful of people what he was doing. He hadn't officially quit his job, so we just said he was out of town for a bit and left it at that. But coming back that time, he was sure - this was what he wanted to do.
So we told some friends, and started to plan the move. I only had two real ground rules: we were to be done with the move before Christmas, and I would not move alone, not again, not this time. He was going to have to come back from Turkey to help.
He promised. We would leave together, in November.
So we told some friends, and started to plan the move. I only had two real ground rules: we were to be done with the move before Christmas, and I would not move alone, not again, not this time. He was going to have to come back from Turkey to help.
He promised. We would leave together, in November.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Wealth is Relative
On that second trip in, Kirk was finishing up a number of contracts - delivering the buildings and collecting payments. To complicate matters, the payments were all made in cash. It sounds utterly insane, but I think a lot of small contractors worked that way. It meant they could pay employees easily... or something... nope, it still sounds utterly insane.
By the end of the trip Kirk found himself driving north to the Turkish border carrying something a little over a million dollars. A. Million. Dollars. Cash.
He was supposed to drive through the border, head on to the airport and fly back to Istanbul. But things went a little wrong. Kirk had to declare the money he was bringing in to the country, which was fair enough, but the border official then insisted on publically, slowly, LOUDLY counting the money out. Then he looked around the roomful of men and carefully spelled out the make,model, color, and registration number of Kirk's car. Now, Kirk was a highly trained intelligence officer with experience in dangerous situations, so he was able to figure out fairly easily that this was not a good thing.
I have no idea how he got back to Istanbul, but I know it didn't involve that car, or the plane ticket the border agent had examined. He called me that night from the office. He was sleeping, he said, with his head about two feet from a million dollars.
'Wow,' I said, 'vicariously wealthy.'
'Yeah... Hey, did I tell you what C said to me? He said I look like I've dropped ten years since I got here.'
'You're doing what you want to do, aren't you.'
'Yup. It's a little crazy, but it's what I want to do.'
'okay then. We'll settle for vicariously wealthy and ten years younger.'
'Goodnight. I love you.'
'Me too.'
By the end of the trip Kirk found himself driving north to the Turkish border carrying something a little over a million dollars. A. Million. Dollars. Cash.
He was supposed to drive through the border, head on to the airport and fly back to Istanbul. But things went a little wrong. Kirk had to declare the money he was bringing in to the country, which was fair enough, but the border official then insisted on publically, slowly, LOUDLY counting the money out. Then he looked around the roomful of men and carefully spelled out the make,model, color, and registration number of Kirk's car. Now, Kirk was a highly trained intelligence officer with experience in dangerous situations, so he was able to figure out fairly easily that this was not a good thing.
I have no idea how he got back to Istanbul, but I know it didn't involve that car, or the plane ticket the border agent had examined. He called me that night from the office. He was sleeping, he said, with his head about two feet from a million dollars.
'Wow,' I said, 'vicariously wealthy.'
'Yeah... Hey, did I tell you what C said to me? He said I look like I've dropped ten years since I got here.'
'You're doing what you want to do, aren't you.'
'Yup. It's a little crazy, but it's what I want to do.'
'okay then. We'll settle for vicariously wealthy and ten years younger.'
'Goodnight. I love you.'
'Me too.'
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Back To Iraq
The second trip to Iraq was a sort of watershed. The first time in the country Kirk was trying to get a feel for things. He still wasn't totally committed to the company; he had the option to return to his old job if he wanted. He wasn't exactly looking for reasons to say no - he wanted this to work - but he didn't want to blindly dive in either.
He came back to Turkey with a fistful of contacts and a lot of enthusiasm. He had talked to local Iraqis and to military commanders. He had figured out some of the delivery problems, renegotiated a few deals that were in crisis, and run his guard shack design ideas past a few people who had been unanimously enthusiastic.
He also had driven the roads and walked the street. Before he went in I know he had been nervous - excited and challenged of course, but understandably edgy about heading into a war zone. When he came back he had real experience to lay against those fears, and perhaps he felt he understood them at least a little bit.
What I know about that second trip in is anecdotal as usual - Kirk once again telling the story, sketching out the most exciting or interesting pieces of his adventure. Like the afternoon he spent as a German eye doctor.
There was a road block apparently, tying up dozens of local Iraqis, and Kirk. I don't know if he was alone - I got the impression that he had an Iraqi employee with him - but I do know the cars were being searched, and Kirk had no desire to produce his American passport and id in front of a mixed group of Iraqi men. He was already in a bit of difficulty because he had a hand-gun with him, and the guards were talking about confiscating it. Apparently this was a positive thing for him though, because it roused the sympathy of the men around him.
Still, when asked for his name and nationality he didn't want to trot out his US background. So he said he was German. It can't have been the hardest sell in the world, to convince a group of bored American guards and a mixed lot of Iraqi nationals that you are actually Herr von Ackermann from Germany. Ah, but why was Herr von Ackermann there? Well... it's really Herr Doktor von Ackermann sir... and I'm a ... doctor... an eye doctor. Yup, I'm here in a humanitarian effort to see that the fine Iraqi people do not go another day without opthamalogical help.
It was a brilliant ruse, and worked beautifully. He was allowed to keep the gun, he was not asked for papers, and the guards stopped searching the car.
However he had to spend the next hour solemnly examining the eyes of every last Iraqi man at that roadblock.
He came back to Turkey with a fistful of contacts and a lot of enthusiasm. He had talked to local Iraqis and to military commanders. He had figured out some of the delivery problems, renegotiated a few deals that were in crisis, and run his guard shack design ideas past a few people who had been unanimously enthusiastic.
He also had driven the roads and walked the street. Before he went in I know he had been nervous - excited and challenged of course, but understandably edgy about heading into a war zone. When he came back he had real experience to lay against those fears, and perhaps he felt he understood them at least a little bit.
What I know about that second trip in is anecdotal as usual - Kirk once again telling the story, sketching out the most exciting or interesting pieces of his adventure. Like the afternoon he spent as a German eye doctor.
There was a road block apparently, tying up dozens of local Iraqis, and Kirk. I don't know if he was alone - I got the impression that he had an Iraqi employee with him - but I do know the cars were being searched, and Kirk had no desire to produce his American passport and id in front of a mixed group of Iraqi men. He was already in a bit of difficulty because he had a hand-gun with him, and the guards were talking about confiscating it. Apparently this was a positive thing for him though, because it roused the sympathy of the men around him.
Still, when asked for his name and nationality he didn't want to trot out his US background. So he said he was German. It can't have been the hardest sell in the world, to convince a group of bored American guards and a mixed lot of Iraqi nationals that you are actually Herr von Ackermann from Germany. Ah, but why was Herr von Ackermann there? Well... it's really Herr Doktor von Ackermann sir... and I'm a ... doctor... an eye doctor. Yup, I'm here in a humanitarian effort to see that the fine Iraqi people do not go another day without opthamalogical help.
It was a brilliant ruse, and worked beautifully. He was allowed to keep the gun, he was not asked for papers, and the guards stopped searching the car.
However he had to spend the next hour solemnly examining the eyes of every last Iraqi man at that roadblock.
Monday, November 27, 2006
The Value of Education
While travelling to the Superior Aunt and Uncle's for Superior Turkey, I overheard a security guard administering a sobriety test:
Guard: Okay sir, why don't you recite the alphabet from D to T for me.
Man: Okay... um... EFGRLMN... wait, starting where?
Guard: D. D to T
Man: Right... D... EF... RSPQ... See, you're making me really tense here, I'm really nervous which is why I'm having trouble sir!
Guard: I understand, that's okay. Tell you what, why don't you count backwards for me, from thirty?
Man: Yes sir, no problem! 30, 29, 28, 27, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26....
Guard: I get a little mixed up in the twenties too, don't worry about it. Let's see, can you tell me what time it is without consulting a clock?
Man: Six? No, wait! Eight!!
Guard: Well, we've established that you don't know your alphabet, you can't count, and you have no idea what time it is. Can you tell me how much education you have?
Man: A lot! I have a college degree sir.
Guard: What in?
Man: Business.
Guard: Ah. Well, that explains it then!
And he let him on the plane.
Guard: Okay sir, why don't you recite the alphabet from D to T for me.
Man: Okay... um... EFGRLMN... wait, starting where?
Guard: D. D to T
Man: Right... D... EF... RSPQ... See, you're making me really tense here, I'm really nervous which is why I'm having trouble sir!
Guard: I understand, that's okay. Tell you what, why don't you count backwards for me, from thirty?
Man: Yes sir, no problem! 30, 29, 28, 27, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26....
Guard: I get a little mixed up in the twenties too, don't worry about it. Let's see, can you tell me what time it is without consulting a clock?
Man: Six? No, wait! Eight!!
Guard: Well, we've established that you don't know your alphabet, you can't count, and you have no idea what time it is. Can you tell me how much education you have?
Man: A lot! I have a college degree sir.
Guard: What in?
Man: Business.
Guard: Ah. Well, that explains it then!
And he let him on the plane.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Happy Thanksgiving
Definitely taking a blog break for the holidays! Time for family and lots of it. Much love to all.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Encounter
There was an Iraqi Kirk met on his first trip in - Kirk described him as a leader of some sort, but with the convoluted way of things over there that could have meant anything from a locally important guy to a man with three goats and an inflated sense of importance. Still, as always Kirk fell to talking.
He asked the man about his view of the American presence. The man admitted that he was fighting America, that he would continue to fight America. To what purpose, Kirk wanted to know. Do you want America to leave Iraq?
No, the man replied firmly. Oh no, if America leaves there are ten thousand Kurds to the north, and they will sweep down and they will kill us.
But you fight America.
Oh yes, the man said. We will fight, and we will lose, and then we will rebuild together.
You realize that's ridiculous, Kirk said.
Yes, he said serenely, it is stupid and many will be killed. But we are warriors. And we are stubborn bastards.
He asked the man about his view of the American presence. The man admitted that he was fighting America, that he would continue to fight America. To what purpose, Kirk wanted to know. Do you want America to leave Iraq?
No, the man replied firmly. Oh no, if America leaves there are ten thousand Kurds to the north, and they will sweep down and they will kill us.
But you fight America.
Oh yes, the man said. We will fight, and we will lose, and then we will rebuild together.
You realize that's ridiculous, Kirk said.
Yes, he said serenely, it is stupid and many will be killed. But we are warriors. And we are stubborn bastards.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Couch
When Kirk left I moved to the couch. Not permanently or anything, just for the nights. I did the same thing when he went to Italy a couple of years before. It wasn't the best thing on the back, but our couch was friendly and squashy and not-too-large while our bed was king-sized and distinctly empty.
Actually, there was a more practical reason when he was in Italy. He would call when he got a free moment, and that free moment was often in the very-unsocial hours of the night. If I slept on the couch I could keep the cordless phone on the floor and answer it before I was even awake.
Kirk didn't call from Turkey. He emailed a lot, and used IM all the time, but he didn't really call except for the first 'I'm here, I'm fine' one.
Still, I moved onto the couch, and spent the quiet hours of the night almost, but not quite, awake and listening for the phone to ring.
Actually, there was a more practical reason when he was in Italy. He would call when he got a free moment, and that free moment was often in the very-unsocial hours of the night. If I slept on the couch I could keep the cordless phone on the floor and answer it before I was even awake.
Kirk didn't call from Turkey. He emailed a lot, and used IM all the time, but he didn't really call except for the first 'I'm here, I'm fine' one.
Still, I moved onto the couch, and spent the quiet hours of the night almost, but not quite, awake and listening for the phone to ring.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Turkey
Kirk called from Germany. It was the first time he had been there since we left in the 90's. It was sort of a watershed place - the last time he could call on his cell phone. We had gone into the store a few days before he left to ask them if they covered Turkey. I think it probably livened up the afternoon for the twelve year old covering the floor. He did some 'research' (his word - he called his next higher-up) and discovered that the 'can you hear me now?' people apparently can't hear you from Istanbul. But Germany was covered, so from Frankfurt he called for a few minutes, and laughed about the baby on the plane that flirted with him over the back of the seat.
C met him at the Istanbul airport and took him to the company headquarters. Kirk had no apartment of course, so he would just sleep there - headquarters was a Turkish house - and look for a place to stay later on.
It's ridiculous that only now I find myself wondering where this place was, what it looked like, where Kirk spent his time. I only know one thing about it - the very pious dog.
Kirk loved dogs (see Sophie, story of, referenced earlier. If I weren't so lazy, I'd probably go and get a link. Luckily I was raised in a culture of righteous pressure - otherwise known as guilt - so I'll doubtless go fish it out soon*) and was always aware of things canine wherever we went. Actually that awareness has spread to the whole family, so any one of us will happily drop whatever we're doing to fawn over stray dogs that cross our path (we are discerning though - no little monsters in handbags thanks - remind me to tell you a funny Kirk story about that sometime. My kids were honestly offended several years ago when a toupee on wheels won the Krups cup over a clearly superior large breed of some sort). This dog didn't belong to the company, but lived in a house nearby. Kirk was charmed to find that twice a day, as the call to prayers went out over the city, the dog would dutifully lift its muzzle and chime in.
I love that image. I love the thought of Kirk sitting there, excited by the new place, the new challenge, but for the moment caught by the sound of a Turkish dog joining in the evening prayers.
*Never underestimate the power of guilt.
C met him at the Istanbul airport and took him to the company headquarters. Kirk had no apartment of course, so he would just sleep there - headquarters was a Turkish house - and look for a place to stay later on.
It's ridiculous that only now I find myself wondering where this place was, what it looked like, where Kirk spent his time. I only know one thing about it - the very pious dog.
Kirk loved dogs (see Sophie, story of, referenced earlier. If I weren't so lazy, I'd probably go and get a link. Luckily I was raised in a culture of righteous pressure - otherwise known as guilt - so I'll doubtless go fish it out soon*) and was always aware of things canine wherever we went. Actually that awareness has spread to the whole family, so any one of us will happily drop whatever we're doing to fawn over stray dogs that cross our path (we are discerning though - no little monsters in handbags thanks - remind me to tell you a funny Kirk story about that sometime. My kids were honestly offended several years ago when a toupee on wheels won the Krups cup over a clearly superior large breed of some sort). This dog didn't belong to the company, but lived in a house nearby. Kirk was charmed to find that twice a day, as the call to prayers went out over the city, the dog would dutifully lift its muzzle and chime in.
I love that image. I love the thought of Kirk sitting there, excited by the new place, the new challenge, but for the moment caught by the sound of a Turkish dog joining in the evening prayers.
*Never underestimate the power of guilt.
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