Heart Book Series

Also included is the lovely poem, "Please Don’t Knock."

Whether you are a military family, know of one, know of a person serving in the US military service (any branch), you will be touched by this message.

During the notification officer’s announcement, "Sir, I’m sorry to inform you…," Deborah’s mind replayed a flood of memories. She and Dave had just discussed the trip to Fort Polk to meet the unit when they arrived in another fifty days or so. They had planned the trip to Disney World. The Christmas tree was still in front of the dining room windows with Patrick’s gifts beneath it. Now, was someone actually telling them the sun would no longer rise? That overnight, the earth had stopped spinning on its axis? That gravity no longer existed? Deborah fell to her knees on the floor, her hands cupped to her face, catching the flood of tears. Dave stood in silence, his arms crossed in front of his chest as though the posture would repel the horrible truth.

Sat down with my father this afternoon, having cake at the dining room table, and asked a simple question: "Dad, what did you do in WWII?"

WOW! So glad I grabbed my iPhone and hit RECORD… for the next hour he told me!   I had NO IDEA he was in 19 helicopter crashes while doing his job in the Army Corps of Engineers, and as a recalled Reservist. What an amazing man. At a perky 83, the stories flowed from him as if they happened yesterday! The detail. The places. The pride.

My father, Hiram Roush, served in the Army Corps of Engineers, and went on to become one of the best military aircraft design checkers, masterminded the hydraulic wheel lift system on the E-2, and saved the Apollo 11 black box from exploding on impact at the first landing on the moon on July 20, 1969.

Dad’s younger brother, Henry, was killed in a test flight at Miramar Air Station, taking another guy’s shift so he could be with his family.

Dad’s older brother, James Roush, was a B-52 Bombadier, noted for his accuracy and successful missions.

My mother, Beverly Roush, was a Rosie the Riveter, and met my father when working late shifts at the same plant. Several relatives are members of DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution).

Living in a military base town such as San Diego, it was bound to happen that I would meet and marry a man in the Navy, an Air Traffic Controller (Top Gun), stationed on the USS Horne, and later USS Valley Forge. Not sure how “romantic” this was, but he proposed to me during an episode of M*A*S*H. I understand all too well, being a West-Pac Widow, as his ship was assigned to the USS Ranger during the Persian Gulf War. Although he was highly decorated for his merits, he came home a different man, and became an abusive alcoholic. I’ve since dated a Submarine Senior Chief, and a Marine (not that I’m dating my way through the ranks!).

As a professional trainer, many of my clients are from the military world, not only the individuals and their families, but also their service providers, their hospitals, their housing coordinators, and their transition teams.

I have a certain affinity and a special place in my heart for our military, so I’m proud to produce this book of stories from—and tributes to—each and every one: the service member and their loving, dedicated families.

It is the soldier, not the poet,
Who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the soldier, not the campus or community organizer,
Who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.

It is the soldier, who salutes the flag,
Who serves beneath the flag,
And whose coffin is draped by the flag,
Who allows the protester to burn the flag.

While I stood there in disbelief, thinking of my options, the sound floated into the hallway—the primal scream of a mortally wounded dinosaur. Should I meet him on his terms? Should I retaliate? I turned without a word, went into my office, and closed the door. It is better to act than to react.

Major Miller did not agree with a course of action I had laid out for him. We discussed it, but I did not adopt his way of thinking.  He could not contain his anger. In my nine years on the Army Staff in the Pentagon, this was the only incident when someone so strongly and openly disagreed with me.

Coming to work in the Pentagon was distasteful for many officers. There is a popular cliché portrayed on postcards and other memorabilia, “Happiness is the Pentagon in the rear view mirror.” Officers coming into our division usually had been in command of troops. They were accustomed to being the leader in their units. In the Pentagon, they had a desk job in a cubicle, without a secretary or staff of any kind. Yet, a tour of duty in the Pentagon was necessary for moving up in the ranks. There, officers learned things they would never be exposed to in the units, like the culmination of the budget process, force planning data and assumptions, and preparing general officers for their Congressional testimony, among many things. They also had an opportunity to work closely with civilians in the Department of Defense.

Major Miller is a good man, a dedicated soldier with sound values. He had simply encountered a different kind of tension in this job, a civilian woman in authority, and he didn’t know how to handle it. The sound of his pounding floated into the office of the Director, a Major General (two stars insignia). After a short while the general’s executive officer (XO), crossed the hall. He knew that my boss was on Temporary Duty, out of town. The XO opened my office door, stuck his head in and asked “Is everything okay?” I nodded, “Yes.” He closed the door and went back to his office. That sign of affirmation and trust, and others like it, kept me going when otherwise my knees may have buckled.

After some time, Major Miller regained his composure and came in to see me, apologetic and ready to get to work. I was neither vindictive nor angry. His outburst had not diminished my standing or my self-esteem. He soon transferred out of the office.

During times of emergency regular duty hours in our area went out the window. Often it was 7:00 PM or later before we left the building. On one occasion, it was 10:00 PM before I got home. There were no taxis in sight.

Walking from the Metro rail station to my condo took me down a dirt road traveled only by our shuttle bus which had stopped running by the time I arrived. Two parallel ruts, a small clearing, then underbrush and trees—we had been warned of robberies that occurred along this road. This was in the days before cell phones and I was afraid.

My heart pounded—would the gate to the condo complex be chained? How could I get around the enclosure if it were? I nervously fingered my pass card as I neared the gate. The night was dark. God is good, the pass card slipped into the groove on the second try and the gate release clicked. I pushed and the bars began to move. Within seconds I was in the lighted parking lot. My steps quickened and soon I was inside Building 4 where I lived. The upholstered furniture in the foyer was very inviting, but I resisted. Upstairs I had a drink and fell into bed. Knowing that morning was not far away. When we realize the value of what we do, we are inclined to do whatever it takes to get the job done.

It was another exciting day. A unit commander who had served in our office when he was a young major, needed help quickly—desperately. He had orders to move his troops as quickly as possible from the tree-studded hillsides in Germany to the hot desert sands of Saudi Arabia. Saddam Hussein had already invaded Kuwait—no one knew where he would strike next. The adrenaline was pumping! This commander had a serious computer problem. If it didn’t get fixed, troops in the Middle East would not get the supplies they needed. In the fog of war, his regular chain of command was not responsive. He called me.

“I need some help here,” he said and then explained his situation. I called the experts at the Logistics Center in Petersburg, VA. They gave the computer problem the necessary priority and the mission was accomplished. Sounds easy, doesn‘t it? Creative thinking, professionalism and dedication to duty saved the day.

A few years later, as I stood in the line of well wishers at a Change of Command ceremony in Pennsylvania, I spotted that officer in line ahead of me. He was then Chief of Staff of an Army Depot, a colonel with eagle insignia on his uniform. I stepped out of line and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and in what seemed like slow motion, a huge smile spread across his face as he recognized me. He abruptly stepped out of line, grabbed me around the waist, lifted me off my feet, and began whirling me around! It was surreal! “Here’s a colonel in full uniform with his boss standing nearby,” I thought, “whirling me around and around!” It was like a warrior’s homecoming, our own Times Square celebration. He was very happy! I was embarrassed but very happy, too.

Celebration is good for the soul. Too often we demure, “It was nothing,” and short circuit someone else’s thanksgiving.
Whether on the battlefields of war or the battlefields of business, personal power is important. Be real. Know who you are. Value loyalty to your country and your God. Speak your truths and respect others. You have the power.
The Army is a family. It’s their culture. As a civilian employee, I was family, too.

In our organization departing personnel received a large picture of the Pentagon surrounded by a wide white mat. The print and mat were circulated among the staff for comments, kudos, and farewells, then framed and presented to the departing person.

My father was especially pleased that one of his children was working in the Pentagon. When he was hospitalized in Corpus Christi, Texas, with congestive heart failure, I asked one of the officers if I could get the print matted for my father. He wanted to know more. I explained about my father’s condition and suggested that our Director, Major General Akin, might sign it. The officer said he’d see what he could do.

After a few days he presented me with a framed, matted print for my father.
Our Director was away, so took the picture to the next level. Lieutenant General Ross, the Deputy Chief of Staff for Logistics, a three-star general. General Ross personalized it.

MR FREDDIE FOUNTENO
Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Logistics
Headquarters Department of the Army, Pentagon, April 1991.
“Mr. Founteno, We share your pride in Jo and the super job she has done for the Army. She is clearly one of our best. Please accept with our compliments this symbol of our nation’s defense.”

One might suggest that the comments about me were exaggerated and I would not argue. My father was so pleased, he had a nurse post the framed print in the hallway outside his room so everyone going by could see it. He died May 9, 1991.

Great people are never too important or too busy to take time for others.

-Jo Condrill, CEO of GoalMinds, Inc., www.GoalMinds.com

What does it take for a woman to successfully lead a diverse group of seasoned personnel? The Secretary of the Army awarded Jo Condrill The Decoration for Exceptional Civilian Service. It is the highest award possible for a civilian employee.