Troops surprised, touched by gestures of generosity

There's a diner called Peggy Sue's about eight miles outside of Barstow, Calif., and as hard as Lt. Col. Kenneth Parks tries, he never can seem to pay his bill.

He orders a burger and a chocolate shake. Before he's finished, though, the waitress informs him that the tab has been taken care of by yet another stranger who prefers to remain anonymous, but who wants to do something for a soldier in uniform.

Many Americans have conflicted feelings about the Iraq war, but not about the warriors. The gestures of gratitude and generosity that occur with regularity at Peggy Sue's — across Interstate 15 from Fort Irwin, a military desert-training site — have become commonplace across the United States.

A spontaneous standing ovation for a group of soldiers at Los Angeles International Airport. Three $20 bills passed to a serviceman and his family in a grocery store in Georgia. A first-class seat given up to a servicewoman on a plane out of Chicago.

These bursts of goodwill have little to do with the holiday season or with political sentiments about the war. In contrast to hostile stares that greeted many Vietnam veterans 40 years ago, today's troops are being treated as heroes throughout the year, in red states and blue, by peace activists and gung-ho supporters of the Iraq mission. The gestures often are spontaneous, affiliated with no association or cause, and credit seldom is claimed.

"It makes you feel great. It may just be a burger and a shake, but it's the thought behind it," said Parks, who has served two tours in Iraq. Stationed at Fort Jackson, S.C., he goes to Barstow regularly for training.

"My father went over to Vietnam three times, and he felt like he was not respected," Parks said. "Sometimes he felt like he was not even an American. But I see a big difference. I feel we're appreciated. An airport is about the best place for a soldier to be."

That was Sgt. Baldwin Yen's experience when he landed at LAX on Thanksgiving Day 2004. The pilot asked if other passengers would mind letting the service members on board exit first so they could get home to their families all the sooner. Not a passenger complained. Still in their combat fatigues, the soldiers were assembled in a corner of the airport when a bystander began to applaud. Soon, people were standing up and clapping in spontaneous tribute as far as Yen could see.

"I was kind of embarrassed," said Yen, 27, of West Hollywood, Calif. As an Army reservist who wore his uniform infrequently until he was called to Iraq, he was unaccustomed to such attention. "I'm a slight, Asian man — 5-feet-9 and 140 pounds. People usually didn't think I looked like the military type. But then all these people were standing up. I was touched and surprised."

This is not a nation at war so much as it is an army at war. Service members and their families mostly bear the weight of the Iraq and Afghanistan missions alone — family separations, career dislocation and danger. Many soldiers are serving third tours, and there is no clear end in sight.

For civilians, the chance to touch a military member or family can be irresistible, so much so that people break the comfortable anonymity of public places — airports, hotels, stores — to walk up and pat a soldier on the back.

"For probably the first time in American history, civilians are asked to make no sacrifices in a time of war. We don't have a draft. There is no gas rationing the way there was in World War II. There is no increase in taxes; we get tax cuts instead," said Charles Moskos, a leading military sociologist at Northwestern University. "These acts are small ways of showing some recognition, because we're not doing it any other way."

Army Capt. Alina Martinez was in a grocery outside Fort Benning, Ga., with her soldier husband and their 3-year-old daughter last spring. Noticing the haircut, the couple in line ahead asked if Martinez's husband was in the military. He answered that they both were. The couple thanked them repeatedly for their service and left the store.

The cashier soon handed Martinez $60 that the strangers had left for them.

"It wasn't the money; it was the fact that this couple only spoke to us for a couple of minutes, and they were so generous and sincere," she said. "It brought tears to my eyes right in the store."

National sentiment has come a long way since the days when Randall Rigby came home from Vietnam and was instructed by commanding officers to change out of his uniform before going out in public to avoid ridicule. Now a retired Army lieutenant general, Rigby recalled the memory recently when he watched a large man give up several inches of legroom in first class to a small female soldier seated in coach.

Charitable and nonprofit organizations, in the tradition of the long-serving United Service Organizations, have burgeoned since the beginning of the war. There are Web sites for collecting books to send to deployed troops (www.booksforsoldiers.com), and sites that offer "Take a Soldier to the Movies" packages that include popcorn, candy, a drink and a DVD (www.soldiertomovies.org). One site explains how to donate air miles to the loved ones of injured troops (www.fisherhouse.org).

Donations have grown steadily. Founded nearly two years ago, the Hero Miles program has delivered nearly 175 million air miles, saving military families an estimated $6 million in travel costs, said Jim Weiskopf, spokesman for the Fisher House Foundation, a Maryland-based charity that supports service members and their families.

Similarly, more than 7,000 DVD packages have been distributed to troops abroad through "Take a Soldier to the Movies." The site was created by Bernie and Kathy Hintzke of West Allis, Wis., a year ago to help support their son and his unit in Iraq.

But the American people have taken charity a step further, bypassing formal groups to help or comfort a soldier or a military family directly.

Celeste Zappala's son, Sgt. Sherwood Baker, 30, was killed in an explosion in Baghdad on April 26, 2004. She still receives packages from strangers: quilts, religious cards, American flag pins in the shape of teardrops.

"People who just see my name on the Internet somewhere will pick up the phone to call and tell me they are sorry for my loss," said Zappala, 58, who lives in Philadelphia and is an active peace advocate. "It's really very dear."