DOVER AIR FORCE BASE, Del. -- The bodies arrived by the planeload, 27 on Friday, nine more Saturday, and then, in the predawn drizzle on Easter Sunday, some of the people who receive the remains of the soldiers who die overseas gathered to pray.
"Maybe we don't see God in our tough times, but he is there," said Chaplain John Groth, recalling that whenever he watches the men and women of Dover Air Force Base at work -- with "honor, dignity, and respect" -- in the mortuary, "I know he lives."
These are the times that challenge the faith of all who work at Dover. After the brutal battles across Iraq last week, the base attended to the highest number of military personnel to die in combat since the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks. For many at the base, the Easter celebrations were squeezed in among the grim tasks of identifying remains, performing autopsies, and preparing the dead for return to their grieving relatives.
A few hundred yards from where Chaplain Groth, an Air Force lieutenant colonel, delivered his sermon in a simple military chapel, those who work at the military's main mortuary said their Easter prayers before beginning the hard work of preparing the bodies of the 36 soldiers and Marines and others who were due to arrive that day.
On a normal day, the men and women who work in Dover's mortuary number from five to seven. This weekend, there were as many as 100, and they were working so hard that meals were delivered to them. The pace has stirred emotions not felt in years.
"Many don't watch the news, because they don't want to see the families," said Lieutenant Colonel Jon Anderson, the base's chief public affairs officer, who has been called upon to escort the remains of those killed in action to their husbands, wives, parents, and other loved ones.
Half a nation away, at Fort Hood, Texas, President Bush celebrated Easter with troops and said, "I pray every day there are less casualties, but I know what we are doing in Iraq is right, right for long-term peace, right for the security of our country."
All of the Americans killed overseas are transported home through Dover Air Force Base. The C-5 Galaxy planes lumber into Dover with coffins in their cargo bays. A senior officer and chaplain, one of six on the base, greet every plane. The coffins are draped with flags, carried off the planes, and transported by van to the mortuary that sits next to the giant airstrip, as the chaplain recites a short prayer.
It is a ritual that is familiar to all who work at Dover, but one the public does not get to see.
The Defense Department continues to ban any photographs or observation of the bodies returning from overseas.
That policy, combined with Bush's decision not to attend military funerals so far, has prompted a flurry of criticism in Congress from, among others, Senator John McCain, Republican of Arizona and a former Vietnam prisoner of war, that the Defense Department is trying to shield Americans from the true cost of war.
Here, people speak of "the Dover test," Pentagon parlance for how many casualties Americans can stomach before they begin in large numbers to question whether the cause is worth so many American lives.
"We don't let the media come on the base to perform the `Dover test,' " said Anderson. "That is Department of Defense policy."
For the staff in the mortuary, described as having a "cathedral-like atmosphere," the "Dover test" is an everyday occurrence.
Workers have difficulty eating and sleeping and have nightmares, officials say.
"It's a tough job," said Groth, the chaplain. "They are not in full combat, but are seeing the results like no other support troops. People bottle up their emotions."
At yesterday's service, Groth recounted one young female reservist who, with tears welling in her bloodshot eyes, told him simply, "I can't do this."
To minister to the staff, he said, "sometimes it's serious talk, sometimes we use humorous stories."
Still, the mission comes first for the mortuary staff, which is straining to keep up. Military policy requires that soldiers' remains arrive at Dover no more than 48 hours after death.
"One thing that amazes me in there that America never sees is how respectfully those remains are treated," Groth said. "The coffins are sealed and never opened again, but you see fellow soldiers making sure that uniform that is never going to be seen is again perfectly pressed. Processing is not the right word and preparing doesn't even begin to describe what they do."
At Fort Hood yesterday, home base of 10 soldiers who lost their lives last week, Bush acknowledged that it has been a "tough week" for American servicemen and women and their families. He told reporters it was "hard to tell" when the violence would end. At Dover, the pain will end when the bodies stop coming home.
Easter proved no different than other recent days: Nine more bodies were scheduled to arrive. And, late in the day, came word that more will be coming; the Pentagon announced that two more soldiers were killed in Iraq.
Bryan Bender, Boston Globe Staff, 4/12/2004
[This message was edited by wilheim on April 13, 2004 at 09:40 AM.]
"Maybe we don't see God in our tough times, but he is there," said Chaplain John Groth, recalling that whenever he watches the men and women of Dover Air Force Base at work -- with "honor, dignity, and respect" -- in the mortuary, "I know he lives."
These are the times that challenge the faith of all who work at Dover. After the brutal battles across Iraq last week, the base attended to the highest number of military personnel to die in combat since the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks. For many at the base, the Easter celebrations were squeezed in among the grim tasks of identifying remains, performing autopsies, and preparing the dead for return to their grieving relatives.
A few hundred yards from where Chaplain Groth, an Air Force lieutenant colonel, delivered his sermon in a simple military chapel, those who work at the military's main mortuary said their Easter prayers before beginning the hard work of preparing the bodies of the 36 soldiers and Marines and others who were due to arrive that day.
On a normal day, the men and women who work in Dover's mortuary number from five to seven. This weekend, there were as many as 100, and they were working so hard that meals were delivered to them. The pace has stirred emotions not felt in years.
"Many don't watch the news, because they don't want to see the families," said Lieutenant Colonel Jon Anderson, the base's chief public affairs officer, who has been called upon to escort the remains of those killed in action to their husbands, wives, parents, and other loved ones.
Half a nation away, at Fort Hood, Texas, President Bush celebrated Easter with troops and said, "I pray every day there are less casualties, but I know what we are doing in Iraq is right, right for long-term peace, right for the security of our country."
All of the Americans killed overseas are transported home through Dover Air Force Base. The C-5 Galaxy planes lumber into Dover with coffins in their cargo bays. A senior officer and chaplain, one of six on the base, greet every plane. The coffins are draped with flags, carried off the planes, and transported by van to the mortuary that sits next to the giant airstrip, as the chaplain recites a short prayer.
It is a ritual that is familiar to all who work at Dover, but one the public does not get to see.
The Defense Department continues to ban any photographs or observation of the bodies returning from overseas.
That policy, combined with Bush's decision not to attend military funerals so far, has prompted a flurry of criticism in Congress from, among others, Senator John McCain, Republican of Arizona and a former Vietnam prisoner of war, that the Defense Department is trying to shield Americans from the true cost of war.
Here, people speak of "the Dover test," Pentagon parlance for how many casualties Americans can stomach before they begin in large numbers to question whether the cause is worth so many American lives.
"We don't let the media come on the base to perform the `Dover test,' " said Anderson. "That is Department of Defense policy."
For the staff in the mortuary, described as having a "cathedral-like atmosphere," the "Dover test" is an everyday occurrence.
Workers have difficulty eating and sleeping and have nightmares, officials say.
"It's a tough job," said Groth, the chaplain. "They are not in full combat, but are seeing the results like no other support troops. People bottle up their emotions."
At yesterday's service, Groth recounted one young female reservist who, with tears welling in her bloodshot eyes, told him simply, "I can't do this."
To minister to the staff, he said, "sometimes it's serious talk, sometimes we use humorous stories."
Still, the mission comes first for the mortuary staff, which is straining to keep up. Military policy requires that soldiers' remains arrive at Dover no more than 48 hours after death.
"One thing that amazes me in there that America never sees is how respectfully those remains are treated," Groth said. "The coffins are sealed and never opened again, but you see fellow soldiers making sure that uniform that is never going to be seen is again perfectly pressed. Processing is not the right word and preparing doesn't even begin to describe what they do."
At Fort Hood yesterday, home base of 10 soldiers who lost their lives last week, Bush acknowledged that it has been a "tough week" for American servicemen and women and their families. He told reporters it was "hard to tell" when the violence would end. At Dover, the pain will end when the bodies stop coming home.
Easter proved no different than other recent days: Nine more bodies were scheduled to arrive. And, late in the day, came word that more will be coming; the Pentagon announced that two more soldiers were killed in Iraq.
Bryan Bender, Boston Globe Staff, 4/12/2004
[This message was edited by wilheim on April 13, 2004 at 09:40 AM.]
