Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, January 16, 1992 TAG: 9201160379
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MARK LAYMAN and DWAYNE YANCEY STAFF WRITERS
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
THE CALM AFTER THE DESERT STORM
A YEAR AGO TONIGHT, America went to war. Western Virginians who took part in the Persian Gulf showdown look back on what's happened to them since.
Roanoke County Police officer Mike Villarini had to work on New Year's Day this year, but he didn't mind. Last year, the Marine reservist celebrated the holiday in the Saudi Arabian desert, playing volleyball - but with a gas mask on, in case of an Iraqi sneak attack.
The world has changed in many ways in the past year. The dramatic TV images of bombs bursting in the nighttime sky over Baghdad have faded in our memories, replaced by images of Boris Yeltsin defiantly climbing onto a tank in Moscow, of a basketball star's heartbreaking retirement in Los Angeles, of our president's frightening collapse in Tokyo.
But those who served in the gulf will always remember this as the night the Desert Storm began to blow.
A year later, the war still sticks with them, like sand in a boot. Al Jennings, a Marine reservist from Montgomery County, finds co-workers at the railroad treat him with more respect, now that he's been to war and back. When Villarini goes out on patrol, he expects more out of himself. But he sometimes has nightmares. And John Price, a cattle farmer from Craig County, dreams of camels.
Mike Villarini\ Roanoke County
Mike Villarini's Marine combat engineers reserve unit went to Saudi Arabia late in December 1990. When the ground war started, his unit cleared a path through mine fields that guarded the Saudi-Kuwait border.
The war stayed with Villarini for months after he left the Persian Gulf.
"I couldn't sleep a long time for hearing noises. I'd jump out of bed. . . . Once, I pushed my wife out of bed. I was having a nightmare, pushing guys into a foxhole, and she was one of them."
He's gone on inactive status with his Roanoke-based reserve unit; not having to put on a uniform and go to drills each month has helped him put the war behind him.
His wife and teen-age daughter "think I'm a little deafer now - that's probably true," he says, laughing. "My wife says I'm not as patient as I used to be. . . . I can't watch a lot of war flicks anymore; my wife won't let me."
When he returned to his job as a police officer, "I felt people expected more of me. I don't know if it was them, or if I expected more of me . . . I feel a little more confident. It makes a big difference."
Being a police officer is a dangerous job, but patrolling Virginia 419 is nothing like preparing for war in the desert. "Over there, you didn't know if the guy selling you a hamburger was going to be shooting at you the next night. We were always 100 percent alert. I'm not that way now . . . I get off duty, I come home, I change, I take a shower - that's something we weren't able to do there for a long time."
Like many who have faced death on the battlefield, Villarini returned home with a greater appreciation for the little things in life. "I tend to cherish life a little more. . . . You wake up and say, `Another fine day!' even if it's raining."
Duane Jones\ Roanoke County
Duane Jones was in the same Marine reserve unit as Villarini. The first day of the ground war, he crawled into an Iraqi mine field to replace a faulty timer on an explosive charge used to clear a path for U.N. troops.
Jones was laid off from his job at Ingersoll-Rand after he returned from the Persian Gulf. He went back to work there in June, but was laid off again in October. "It's just the economy," he says. "It's not anybody's fault. They don't have enough business to keep everybody."
His job search hasn't been easy. "A lot of companies say, `As soon as you get called back by Ingersoll-Rand, you'll go back.' They can't start me out in pay anywhere near where I was at Ingersoll-Rand."
His wife works at Elizabeth Arden, and they have enough money to get by, he says.
When United Nations inspection teams discovered that Iraq had been closer than expected to building a nuclear bomb, "I was thinking what a lot of people were thinking - we should have gone on into Baghdad and got rid of the present government. But if we'd done that we would have lost a lot more people."
Jones spent an anxious Christmas at Camp Lejeune, N.C., a year ago. This past Christmas, he tried to spend more time with his family, to make up for lost time.
Like Villarini, his combat experience changed his outlook on life. "I think I'm maybe not as serious. I try to have a better time. I try not to get upset about things."
And while he doesn't miss the harsh conditions of the Saudi Arabian desert, he sometimes misses the excitement of Desert Shield and Desert Storm. "A lot of times, you sort of yearn for the excitement, the adrenalin flow. But you don't want to put yourself in that danger again."
Mark Eddy\ Formerly of Roanoke County
Lt. Mark Eddy, 32, a 1977 graduate of Cave Spring High School, was bombardier/navigator on a Navy A-6 Intruder based on the USS Saratoga. The night the air war began, his squadron bombed an airfield in northern Iraq. An enemy surface-to-air missile exploded 10 feet from Eddy's plane, knocking out some of its systems. But Eddy and the pilot brought the plane down safely at an emergency landing strip in Saudi Arabia. Two others in his squadron - Jeff Zaun and Bob Wetzel - weren't so lucky. Their plane was shot down during the mission and they were captured by the Iraqis.
Eddy flew 10 more bombing missions during the war.
Eddy has left the flight squadron and is on instructor duty in Norfolk.
"I occasionally think back on it; I probably always will," he says of the war. "As far as I can recall, I never have dreamt about it . . . I have no misgivings. It had to be done."
For his actions the night the air war began, Eddy was awarded the Navy's Distinguished Flying Cross.
Carolyn Rector\ Vinton
A year ago, Carolyn Rector's concern for families with loved ones in the Mideast turned her into a tornado of nervous energy. She opened the Troop Support Center in a downtown Vinton storefront to console anxious relatives. For months afterward, she was the Roanoke Valley's chief cheerleader, putting together airport welcoming receptions for returning gulf veterans.
Carolyn Rector is still welcoming troops home.
The Troop Support Center closed in May, but the trickle of returnees continues. Over the Christmas holidays, two Roanoke Valley servicemen - who had been sent directly back to their bases in Europe after the war - finally made it home.
Each time, Rector was there.
"We had the list [of volunteers] and started calling. We had banners and flags. I had 40 to 50 people at the one reception."
Looking back, she reflects on her experience as the valley's impromptu support counselor: "I just think it was part of my personality I was allowed to show. I care about people. I guess you don't often get to show people what you think about them or make some public statement."
Now, she's remembered in private ways. Rector made a lot of new friends during the war, who showered her over the holidays with letters and snapshots. "They're calm and happy now. Some have stated their kids are out of the service, looking for jobs, and they have them at home under their feet."
John Price\ Sinking Creek
John Price did the same thing during the war he does back on the farm in Craig County: He drove a tractor, a big, brand-new John Deere that he used to tear through Iraqi obstacles when his Roanoke-based Marine reserve unit smashed into Kuwait during the first hours of the ground war. It was the only time during the war Price felt at home in the desert. He left behind an 80-head cattle farm at Sinking Creek in the hands of an obliging neighbor. He also left behind his wife, Dena. Pregnant.
"About 30 seconds," Price laughs. That's how long he says it took him to re-adjust to life on the farm. A month after he returned, on May 21, Jonathan Zachary Price was born. "So it worked out pretty well," Price says. "He thinks he's Richard Petty when you put him in the walker."
When he first returned home, Price found himself besieged by well-wishers. "Everybody I saw asked the same questions: What did you do? What did you see? I had to run through that scenario a quarter of a million times. Finally, I got most people answered. My stories got better and better."
All that seems a long time ago now.
"Sometimes I catch myself kind of thinking about things we did over there." Sometimes he even dreams about it. "No nightmares. It's just like they have a Middle Eastern flavor. Instead of cattle, they might have camels. I wake up thinking, `damn, I shouldn't have eaten that pizza before I went to bed.' "
Price remembers the war with a sense of pride. "It was something big and I had a piece of it. I'll be able to tell my kid about it. If it came up, I'd do it again."
Al Jennings\ Elliston
The night the war started, Al Jennings was hunkered down in a Marine camp near the Kuwaiti-Saudi border, with other men from his Roanoke-based combat engineers reserve unit. Back home, his wife, Tammy, was giving birth to their first child, Alison. The first sight Jennings got of his daughter was when he returned to Camp Lejeune, N.C., in April, and spotted a baby in a camouflage sun bonnet. And a sign: "Alison Jennings Wants to Meet Her Daddy."
"She's walking now," the proud father says. "Really it was a big shock when I first held her. I've gotten used to that now and I'm a typical father. I think I've gotten used to it now. I'm the king of the diaper changers."
There are other changes, too.
After a four-month tour of duty in a war zone, "I was never so happy to get back to a job in my life. Most people dread Monday coming. I was never so happy to get to work." Jennings is a car welder for Norfolk Southern at Shaffer's Crossing. "But it's the same old grind now. I look forward to Friday and when Monday comes, I'm kind of hesitant."
Jennings also finds he's treated differently at work now. "There are a couple of other veterans, from Vietnam. They've brought me up to their level now, as a veteran. I had a supervisor, who before I left, treated me like a boy. Now he treats me like a man. I think I won his respect, by going overseas and fighting the war."
Jennings thinks the war was worthwhile. "If we had lost more lives, I'd feel it wasn't worth it. But for the number of people we lost, it was worth it. If we hadn't done it then, we'd have had to do it eventually. Who knows, 20 years from now, we may have to go back there."
920116 WAR STORY #12507 TOPIC KEYWORDCUTS 2 DESK AUTHOR:YANCEY01/16/92 page a8 cutlines photo photo photo
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