Silver Filigree Dog Tags by Lindsay Zike

Lindsay Zike, Collection of Service Dog Tags, Fine and Sterling Silver, 2015 (Private Collection). [Pin on Pinterest]

A simple piece of machine-pressed aluminum, nearly identical to millions of others. A practical solution to a grim problem; just before the turn of the last century it became apparent to the Quartermaster of Identification, Capt. Chaplain Charles C. Pierce, that the fighting in the Philippines had left the Army with too many unidentified fallen. His solution was to outfit each solider with an identity disk made of cheap pressed aluminum. A few years before the US entered the Great War the Army adopted this policy, and with a few minor design changes the modern dog tag came into existence.

Over the years the dog tag has become an icon of the military. In the movies the visual symbolism to indicate that a character was, at any time, associated with the service is the ever-present dog tags around their necks. Personally, a decade after my service ended, I still carry mine with me every day. So associated with the military, the dog tags have also became a symbol of bad-ass-ness; every wannabe, from Justin Bieber to the armchair commandos that answer the call of duty with a controller in their hands have a far nicer set than those in my pocket.

Research Proposal for Veterans in Translation: An Oral History of Peace and War

Discussion of the Topic:

          In 1999 the aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk (CV-63) was on a regularly scheduled three-month-long deployment in the Pacific Ocean when a fire aboard the USS George Washington (CVN-73) prevented them from taking their rotation in the Persian Gulf in support of Operation Southern Watch. Kitty Hawk, a few weeks away from returning to its home port of Yokosuka, Japan, was tasked to immediately redeploy to cover the gap in the rotation. The crew, having only been trained for the anticipated threats of a cruise under Threat Condition Normal, was not ready to go into a hostile environment where there was a chance of unconventional warfare. Making all speed toward the Gulf, the officers and the Damage Control Training Team (DCTT, pronounced DE-set) stepped up every possible training program on the aging ship.

          September 11, 2001 was still a long ways away, and the 1991 Operation Desert Storm was a long time before. The only recent activity in the Gulf that had made international news was in 1998 when Iraq allowed weapons inspectors to enter the country. Before Saddam Hussein had struck an agreement, the 1MC (1 Main Circuit, a public address system) at Recruit Training Facility Great Lakes, Il., crackled to life in the middle of one of the many, nearly identical days I spent at Basic Training. After a short briefing on the situation in Iraq, all of us recruits looked at each other with confusion and foreboding. Before we could flood our Recruit Division Commander with questions, he departed the barracks, leaving us alone to grapple with the news we had just received.

          “Are we going to war?” asked a fellow recruit whose name I will never remember, but whose wavering voice and deeply concerned expression I will never forget.

Smoke and Water

Fading Memories by James Zike

Written June 2008 

         First watch… Always the first watch in the middle of the night, in the middle of the ocean with nowhere to go and almost nothing to do. Well that’s a lie; there was a huge amount of work to do but not anything fun. At least the stark fluorescent lights help all the pasty night-checkers forget the nothingness of the ocean at night just outside every hatch and doorway. Such was my life on board the aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk.

          She was a fine ship back when the shipbuilders laid her keel, but forty odd years later, time and the tides had taken their toll on her. Rust hung over the haze gray hull like streamers around every vent-port and catwalk. Tendrils of corrosion slowly crept their way over her once impressive face, but that’s the way of these things, I suppose. One day she’s a proud and able icon of American strength and determination, the next a relic of ages overstaying their welcome.

          Of course, back in spring of 1999 no one could have even imagined that the passing of two other icons would keep the Hawk around. I certainly wouldn't have guessed it. In fact, I would have guaranteed the Hawk would not be cruising back to port, but I'd be going home with wet feet by night’s end. However, at mid-night, affectionately called “balls” by most sailors thanks to the “00:00” time entry on the deck log, I was still more concerned with playing paperboy.