Monday, November 17, 2003
The Salute
Yesterday I took a convoy out on an all-day mission to Al Asad and back. We had some trouble getting lined up for the return trip last night, and were running late. So we didn’t arrive at the outskirts of Ramadi until after sunset.
As you approach the city, you pass a lot of little roadside stands, where locals can buy cigarettes, sodas, produce, juices, or meats.
As we passed one of the roadside stands, the shopkeeper—just a regular Iraqi, a regular guy--stepped out in front of his wares and stood ramrod straight, at a textbook position of attention. He then and rendered a perfect, soldierly, salute.
I watched him from the back of the truck. He stood perfectly still, and held his salute until the last vehicle passed, then dropped it and turned back into his store. We continued on with our mission—delivering supplies, mail, and parts to Hurricane point. He continued on with his—supporting his family and getting on with life without Saddam Hussein.
Josh Marshall says, “We’re all alone.”
I know we’re not.
As you approach the city, you pass a lot of little roadside stands, where locals can buy cigarettes, sodas, produce, juices, or meats.
As we passed one of the roadside stands, the shopkeeper—just a regular Iraqi, a regular guy--stepped out in front of his wares and stood ramrod straight, at a textbook position of attention. He then and rendered a perfect, soldierly, salute.
I watched him from the back of the truck. He stood perfectly still, and held his salute until the last vehicle passed, then dropped it and turned back into his store. We continued on with our mission—delivering supplies, mail, and parts to Hurricane point. He continued on with his—supporting his family and getting on with life without Saddam Hussein.
Josh Marshall says, “We’re all alone.”
I know we’re not.
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