Cemetery Street

Among the greatest of Shannie's accomplishments was haranguing Count into journaling his experiences during Desert Shield/Desert Storm. In school, Count never wrote a single paper. I have it on good information he paid Shannie to write his. Count wasn't Harvard material, but he wasn't anyone's idiot. He's letters prove he didn't apply himself in school - he applied himself at life.

Count's letters are treasures. Now a days, when I make it home, its tradition to sit about Diane's kitchen table and reread Count's words. We're blessed with the opportunity to glimpse the possibility life once promised, if only we had the energy to recapture its elusiveness.

We share bittersweet laughs seeing how Count struggled not to let his trash mouth run amok. I've edited out most of his four letter words while trying to maintain his personality. As his letter writing campaign progressed, scribbled out profanities became less-frequent. Here's an example of how his letters would have read: We arrived in fucking country yesterday. We flew into fucking Dhahran, King Fucking Fahd… To quote Count, "You get the picture?"

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Count's Letters:

Dear Shannie, August 19th, 1990

We arrived in country yesterday. We flew into Dhahran, King Fahd International Airport. On the flight, some idiot started a rumor that we'd have to come off the plane gun's blazing; that the Iraqi's would be waiting. When we landed, I guess you can say that we unloaded with our asses blazing. Stepping out of the plane was like stepping into a clothes dryer. Somebody said it was 142 on the tarmac, 128 on the desert floor. I don't know if that's true. Whatever it was, I never felt heat like this before. I feel like a stick of butter in a skillet. I'm telling you, all you do is sweat. Get a load of this shit; we have orders to drink eight gallons of water a day. You read me right! Eight gallons - a person- a day. I don't know about anyone else, but this is one order I won't have a problem following. I never thought I could piss so much. I feel like a walking water recycling factory.

And if the heat ain't bad enough, the flies are freaking atrocious. They're national bird of Saudi Arabia. Imagine the Russian Jew's junkyard in mid-July, times it by a million. You get the picture? And if the flies ain't bad enough there's this dust, an engineer buddy of mine says it's from marl being ground by trucks and boots, it gets on everything; it sticks to you like flour. Mix that dust and heat and you kind of feel like you're in a baker's oven. Other than that, this place is great; better than Hawaii! You really need to contact a travel agent and book a flight. You don't know what you're missing. Do me a favor and tell everyone I'm fine. Phones are scarce so I doubt I'll be calling anyone.