Issue Date: November 28, 2004

Above & Beyond

Asked to serve their country in Iraq, these U.S. soldiers found more than just duty awaiting them: They found causes close to their hearts.

By Dennis McCafferty

It appears all but inevitable that many U.S. men and women in uniform will spend the coming holidays stationed in Iraq. But as sad as that is for their families, all Americans can take heart in the proud traditions our military upholds every day, traditions that speak to the core of this nation's values: reaching out to people in need, regardless of where they call home.

A one-man, 38-hour desert run raised more than $10,000 in clothes, school supplies and more.

Yes, within the past two years, we've seen some unsettling images that speak to the darker impulses of war. But every day in Iraq there are acts of kindness and compassion that should be celebrated. These moments speak to the true commitment of our men and women in uniform. As unspeakable acts unfolded about them, these soldiers sought to do something good, to make the lives of the Iraqi people a bit more bearable. They weren't ordered to do so by their commanders. It wasn't their duty. It was simply the right thing to do.

What happened: A Marine launches his own grueling 135-mile marathon to raise supplies for Iraqis.
Who did it: Maj. William Maples, 41, of the 1st Force Service Support Group, based out of Camp Pendleton, Calif.

While stationed at Pendleton, Maples put his resources to the test by running what's called the Badwater Ultramarathon, which stretches for 135 miles from Death Valley to Mount Whitney, Calif. "The Badwater beats you down," he says. "I've finished it three times and felt like it would finish me instead."

This past summer near Fallujah, Maples invented his own version of the Badwater event and, in the process, raised more than $10,000 worth of school materials, clothes, athletic equipment and other supplies for the Iraqis. These donations came from family, friends and marathon runners back home, as well as members of the military community. They didn't donate on a per-mile basis; instead, they donated what they could.

He dubbed it the Baghdad Badwater and trained hard, vowing to finish within 40 hours. At Pendleton, he had prepared for the Badwater by running in polar fleece in the Mojave Desert. In Iraq, he substituted what's called an "interceptor vest," weighing 16 pounds and offering little ventilation. Wearing that, he ran 10 to 14 miles every day, often in 100-degree temperatures. He ran laps around the perimeter of Camp Taqaddum, where he was based, and figured out that he would have to run just over 13 laps to reach 135 miles.

He started running on July 12, at the very same moment that the California Badwater began. For Maples, the ultra-marathon staged in Iraq would challenge him like no other. "The wind and dust are what made it so bad," he says. During the event, fellow Marines ran with him a few miles at a time to support him and keep him occupied in conversation rather than focused on the pain. Iraqis stopped and applauded in support. On July 13, the reality of war interrupted his progress near the 60-mile point. Enemy rocket shelling could be heard in the distance. Even though it wasn't close enough for Maples to be in danger, he had to stop running and wait for an "all-clear" signal, which came more than 2 1/2 hours later.

After he resumed running, Maples completed the 135-mile ultra-marathon in less than 38 hours (not counting the shelling delay). "I do these races for philosophical reasons," he says. "People should challenge themselves by doing something beyond their normal abilities. I can't change society. But I have motivated a few Marines and civilians here to go see what's over the next hill."

What happened: Iraqi children get to play soccer, thanks to a soldier's call to her hometown to donate equipment.
Who did it: Spc. Katie Smith, of the 212th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital of the 30th Medical Brigade, and the Antelope Valley Press in Palmdale, Calif.

Deployed to Iraq in August 2003, Smith, an advanced trauma life support medic, struck up a friendship with a 12-year-old boy named Ahmad. He followed Smith around and volunteered to translate for her, even hook her up with the best deals from the vendors at the street market. "Anytime I'd tell him I was going to the market, he'd run up to me with a huge smile," says Smith, 25. "Other kids would join us while we were walking and show me all the gifts they'd received from soldiers. One kid wore an L.A. Dodgers hat, which I loved, being from that area." Smith had something in common with Ahmad and his friends: a passion for soccer. Smith has played since she was 5. But the kids weren't able to play soccer: They didn't have a single ball to kick around.

It happened that Rich Breault, 53, senior writer at Smith's hometown paper, the Press, had coached Smith when she was growing up. Via e-mail, Smith let him know about the lack of equipment in Iraq, and the two of them came up with a plan called Operation KickStart: Breault and the Press would hold a drive asking readers for soccer balls, air pumps, uniforms, cleats, shinguards and even baseball caps. The donations poured in. About 150 soccer balls, several hundred uniforms, 500 baseball caps, and assorted football, baseball and basketball items were collected and shipped. Robertson's Palmdale Honda paid the shipping costs. "My hometown came out in full force," Smith says. "It was enough to fill two truckloads! Seeing how generous the people at home are reminded me of what we, as soldiers, were doing in Iraq."

Smith left Iraq before most of the donations came in. But she did receive a special shipment from loved ones and family in advance -- 16 soccer balls and four pumps -- that she personally delivered to the children. "I told them this was from my family and other Americans who played soccer and wanted them to be able to play, too," Smith says. "Ahmad immediately started kicking one around, and his friends swarmed around him to play, too. He hugged me and thanked me. I'll never forget him. I hope he never forgets me, either."

What happened: Iraqi children without toys receive thousands of Beanie Babies.
Who did it: Maj. Jim Barker, of the Heidelberg, Germany-based V Corps.

'Where are the toys?" That was what Barker thought every time he went into the neighborhoods in and around Baghdad. He noticed none of the children had any. Serving in April of last year as an aide-de- camp for Lt. Gen. William Wallace -- who'd led the Army ground forces in the attack that toppled Saddam Hussein's regime -- Barker often visited the local communities with Wallace. Stopping at a school just outside of Baghdad International Airport, Barker met a 4-year-old named Sara.

"She had nothing to play with," says Barker, now a lieutenant colonel based at Fort Rucker, Ala. "You'd think she would have a doll or something." Barker happened to have a Beanie Baby with him, a dog named Courage. He gave it to Sara, and her astonished reaction turned out to be quite an inspiration. "At first, she was stunned. It was like she had no idea what to do with it," he says. "Once she realized she could keep it, it was like seeing a child's face on Christmas. I thought, 'Oh, boy! I should get more of these.' "

He turned to the Web and sent an e-mail to a Beanie Baby collectors' site. "I shared how this little girl got excited about this," Barker says, "and I needed more." His wish was granted -- and then some. Within a month, he had received about 40 e-mails with commitments to send more than 2,000 Beanie Babies.

Determined to inspire more giving, Barker then launched his own Web site, BeaniesForBaghdad.com, which resulted in even more generosity. In June 2003, he'd get his mail and find no fewer than 10 boxes of Beanie Babies three or four times a week. "I'd get boxes with notes saying, 'Thank you for doing this,' " Barker says. " 'We want to give the kids a semblance of hope.' "

By the time Barker left Iraq that month, he had distributed about 15,000 Beanie Babies, mainly at schools. "We made sure the teachers got one, too," he says. "It put a smile on their faces."

What happened: A rubble-laden park is brought back to life.
Who did it: Officers from Kirkuk Air Base, more than 120 miles north of Baghdad.

About three months after the fall of Hussein in April 2003, Army and Air Force officers at Kirkuk saw that a nearby park was nearly destroyed: pounded by war, overcome with rubble. A sewage pipe leaked, and the swing set was a rickety shadow of its former self.

About 20 officers took action. They gathered equipment -- shovels, hammers and wheelbarrows -- and overhauled the football field-sized park. They filled more than 40 jumbo trash bags with rubble. They assessed damage to the swing set and sewer line, and put in repair requests. In the end, they filled half of a large dump truck with debris.

The real park beneath showed its face again. Overjoyed kids rushed to the playground. Without being asked, they picked up more trash, and their parents helped, too. One brought a watermelon for everyone to share. "It made my experience over there," says one of the organizers, Capt. Gregory M. Kuzma, 30, a logistics readiness officer with the 506th Air Expeditionary Group, deployed from Randolph Air Force Base in San Antonio. "The children were so excited. The park was in such terrible shape that they ran to see what we had done."

Still, the experience was bittersweet. The officers didn't return to the park. Intelligence staff warned them they had been watched while doing the project, Kuzma says, and they were discouraged from returning for their own safety. He still wonders whether the sewage line and swing set were repaired. "They didn't want us to establish a pattern by being there," he says with regret. "I'd sure like to know what happened."

Photographs of Maj. William Maples by Sgt. Matt Epright.