In Loving Memory Of
Adam James Gray
“The Bomber”
March 20, 1980–August 29, 2004
Our Hero
She handed us two pictures to take home with us: “Just so you have a face to go with the name.”
Cindy recalled how Adam had wanted to serve in the military ever since he was three years old. Growing up in Wisconsin, he and his family lived around the corner from a Navy recruiting station. Adam would often return home with military souvenirs, such as caps and pens. His mother saw him as a rollicking, spirited child with boundless energy. Friends and family nicknamed him “The Bomber.” The nickname stuck. And Adam’s ambition to join the military continued into his teenage years.
Even though Cindy saw a stream of damaged veterans return from Vietnam during the 1970s, she felt she could never discourage her son from pursuing his dreams. Adam jeopardized that future at eighteen when he and local high school friends got arrested for burglary. Cindy downplayed the incident, and said it was quickly settled, but it did leave a mark on his record. The arrest meant he could not enlist in the Navy.
Adam was devastated. But his mother was determined to help him, and together they pushed on looking for other ways Adam could join the military. In the end, Adam was finally able to join the Army.
Cindy saw her son and his friends from his platoon after they finished basic training. They spoke respectfully to others and wore neatly pressed uniforms. Cindy didn’t even recognize her son after he had finished boot camp.
Who is this kid? she thought.
“Before he went to boot camp, he was a bit of a thug,” said Roy. After his training “He grew … he grew into a man.” Adam was fit, pressed, and polite. “The Bomber” had finally become an enlisted soldier.
Adam was always drawn to tanks and planes, and eagerly pursued further training for an armored cavalry unit. Shortly after basic training he was dispatched to Fort Carson, Colorado, home of the “Iron Brigade.” There he learned how to operate M1 Abrams tanks and joined Battalion 1-68, a tank unit with the 4th Infantry Division, 3rd Brigade Combat Team.
Members of Battalion 1-68 remembered Adam enjoying his time in Fort Carson and making close friends on the base. Most of them noticed that he craved to learn as much as possible about tank warfare and seemed excited about joining a four-person tanking crew with the battalion. Adam had finally achieved what he had longed for since he was a young boy. But he was a warrior without a war.
Adam looked forward to taking some time off after he completed his training at Fort Carson. In September 2001, he went on leave and joined his family at Lake Elizabeth, California, near Los Angeles. He spent his evenings chatting with his mother and friends, soaking in a hot tub, and partying into the night.
At six in the morning on September 11, Roy called upstairs to Cindy.
“I just heard something about the Twin Towers or something,” he said. “Something is going on.”
She ran downstairs and switched on the television. It wasn’t clear what she was watching. Was it a movie? she wondered. Cindy focused her eyes on the screen and concentrated on what the TV announcers were saying. It soon became clear to her that it wasn’t fiction. She ran to fetch her son.
“Adam, get up! Something’s happening.”
By the time he woke up and walked over to the television, the second plane had hit the South Tower. The three of them stared at the screen and absorbed what was unfolding across the country.
“Mom, it’s fucking al Qaeda!” said Adam.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“It’s bin Laden.”
She still didn’t know what he was referring to, nor did she know what to expect. But Adam knew it meant war. He would now finally be able to apply his skills in a meaningful mission.
“I need to get on a plane. I need to get back there,” he said, referring to Fort Carson. “We’re going to deploy, I know it.”
Gray reported to Fort Carson soon after, and there was a nervous, excitable energy on the base. Were they going to Afghanistan? Would they fight the Taliban? Were they going to help take out bin Laden and the al Qaeda camps? No one had answers, and Adam and his unit played hurry up and wait.
It finally came out that they would not be deployed to Afghanistan. At first, he and his fellow soldiers felt deflated. Everyone was hungry for payback, and it was tough to watch other soldiers march into action. But the call finally came on January 20, 2003: as part of the 4th Infantry Division, Adam and Battalion 1-68 received orders to deploy to the Middle East.1
President George W. Bush, British Prime Minister Tony Blair, and their allies alleged that Iraq had developed and secretly hidden weapons of mass destruction (WMDs)—nuclear, biological, chemical weapons—designed to inflict mass damage and casualities. They demanded that Saddam Hussein come clean by revealing and destroying Iraq’s WMDs. But none appeared.
Bush pressed on during his 2003 State of the Union address, declaring that the country could not wait. The president insisted that Saddam was disregarding the UN by concealing WMDs from the prying eyes of their weapons inspectors, and that an ominous “mushroom cloud” of devastation loomed if these weapons were left unchecked.2 Bush and Blair argued that Saddam was as dangerous as he was intractable, and that the threat from his regime was imminent.
On March 20, Gray celebrated his twenty-third birthday. Just one day earlier in 2003, American forces and their allies pushed through the Iraqi border in the first days of their military campaign. Adam and Battalion 1-68 were on the front lines of battle in Iraq. He was at last a soldier in action.
* * *
After serving a year-long tour in Iraq Adam returned home to visit his family and friends in Tehachapi during March 2004. Cindy clearly remembered the day Adam pulled up to their house in Tehachapi after Roy picked him up from the airport. Adam seemed to have the same weathered disposition as her nephew, who also served in the Iraq war, and Cindy recalled having the same sense about his return.
He was glad to be home; he was safe.
Friends and family warmly welcomed Adam home. But they found it was sometimes hard to engage him in conversation. Adam’s mind seemed to be elsewhere. “He would get this glazed look over him and we’d be in the discussion and his eyes would literally get glassy and he would just disconnect,” remembered Cindy. Adam was in Tehachapi, but he seemed to be locked onto memories of Iraq. “And you know he was back there because there was something maybe in the background—maybe a song or the TV or something—and he would just stare straight ahead.”
You could almost hear the bombs and the noise, thought Cindy.
It seemed something had been growing inside him since he got back from Iraq. “This stuff was building up,” Cindy said. “He had to go do something before it exploded.” She phoned local veteran groups and asked their advice about how best to approach her son. She spoke to Vietnam vets and those who fought in Desert Storm (the first US war with Iraq in 1991).
“Don’t push him,” they would tell her. “He’ll talk about it if he wants to. Just don’t push him, because you don’t want to trigger anything … Don’t go up behind him without him knowing. Always speak before you go up behind him. Don’t shock him, because you may not come out of it. He doesn’t mean anything by it; it’s just a reaction.”
Cindy took their advice. She would tell Adam she was going out to pick up milk or run errands and wouldn’t come back for five hours in order to give him some space. She and Roy had learned that from noon to four o’clock in the afternoon “you didn’t talk with him … you just didn’t.” Cindy said he would “just get weird. I don’t know if he had to just reflect