Straight From the Heart : Letters Link Families to Loved Ones in Mideast

Six-year-old Kenneth wants his daddy to come back.

When Barrie Leonard found her husband’s dirty clothes, just for a moment, it seemed like he was home. Then she cried when she thought about where he had gone.

Michael Zimmerman gets startled looks when he tells people that his wife has been deployed to the Middle East.

Tonya Robinson keeps dreaming the same nightmare: saying goodby to her husband.

These families are trying to regain their balance after husbands and wives departed 11 days ago aboard the San Diego-based Acadia, sailing for the Middle East to assist in Operation Desert Shield. Their departure was abrupt--the destroyer tender was scheduled to ship out in January--and there are no phone calls at sea. Suddenly, their only link is through letters.

The day before Arrington Leonard shipped out, he took an old blue cotton shirt and made a snugly pillow out of it for his 6-year-old son. The shirt smells comfortingly like Leonard. With his father gone, Kenneth sleeps wrapped around the “Daddy pillow.” And, when the young boy is upset, he grabs for the pillow.

Barrie Leonard said her 10-year marriage has not always been easy and that her husband has left home before. But this deployment is different--the possibility of violence looms larger. Barrie, 30, worries whether her husband, a second class petty officer, will return in a body bag.

And she worries whether their marriage will survive the strain of a prolonged separation.

“Depending on how he spends his time, it’s going to ultimately decide whether we stay married or not. He knows that,” Barrie said in their Imperial Beach apartment. “In my heart, I don’t think he’s going to blow it, but I guess we will find out.”

Though less than a week since Arrington, 35, departed, he has already missed a number of significant family events: Six-month-old Johnathan’s first haircut, Kenneth’s first day at school, the couple’s 10-year wedding anniversary.

My Dear Len: 7 Sept. 1990 2215 HR

I’ve been keeping very busy since you’ve gone.

The boys and I went to the park again; Johnathan really likes the grass and Kenneth needs to keep busy. He is still having a hard time with this, honey, but it’s still early into it.

The Kirby (vacuum cleaner) demonstrator came by and did a 2-hour demo (which included cleaning quite a bit of our house). They really wanted me to go for it, but I had to tell him, “my husband doesn’t make major purchases without talking to me, and I don’t make major purchases without talking to him!” So he wants me to talk to you about the Kirby next time you call . . . like we don’t have anything better to discuss?!

Johnny got his first hair cut today. And it’s forever recorded on tape. . . .

I felt real tired again today. . . . I suppose I’m winding down after all the turmoil of your departure. It took a real toll on me, too. I thought I fared well, but I’m feeling so tired now.

I wonder how you are doing, my love! Kenny cries for you anytime the slightest thing goes wrong for him; and I think Johnny is wondering where his daddy is too. I imagine you are keeping busy enough to keep from getting too sad. That’s what I am doing too! I love you sweetheart. Goodnight. Isaiah 41:10

Always, Barrie.

Dear Len: 8 Sept. 1990 2145 HR

Well, Happy Birthday Dear! I know we celebrated early, but I wish I could have been with you on “your day!” Hopefully, you had a nice time, considering. I miss you, babe! Happy 35th.

When I checked on Kenneth tonight, he was asleep holding his pretend “Daddy” (pillow). I’m glad that it’s helping him; I wish I had one, too! . . .

I came across some of your things while doing the laundry this morning. It was, just for a moment, like you could have been there . . . and I could smell you . . . but it was just your clothes. It made my eyes tear up--I miss you so. It seems so silly to cry over the laundry, Len, but I did.

My father called to wish us a happy anniversary and said we “should be proud of being able to celebrate your 10th year anniversary, considering the hardships you’ve been through.”

I am just thankful that our marriage is growing and that we’re growing even though you’re far away.

Goodnight, my love!

Always, Barrie

2230 HR xxxooo

Dear Dad, 7 Sept. 1990

I was wondering if you would like to have this letter and if you miss us. I miss you.

TOP SECRET

xxxxoooooo Love, Ken

John Hunter, 13, started drawing pictures of airplanes dropping bombs and robots menacing soldiers. In one picture, he scrawled: “Nuke Iraq.”

His mother, Kaye Hunter, is ombudsman for the destroyer tender Acadia. And, since its departure, she fields about 50 calls daily. Late into the night at her Serra Mesa home she is on the phone trying to console young wives, enduring their first separation from husbands, as well as those who’ve been in the Navy for years and years.

Kaye Hunter’s husband, Chief Petty Officer John Timothy Hunter, 37, has been in the Navy almost 17 years and he has shipped out on six-month deployments before. But this time, his departure was particularly hard because of the abruptness and because of the possible danger. For Kaye Hunter, an organized woman who plans well in advance, the sudden deployment jangled her nerves.

Kaye Hunter, 39, is used to chatting with her husband, filling him in on the events at the church school where she works. She is used to watching and discussing the news with him and taking long drives together. Now she spends her evenings bolstering the spirits of spouses and family members who call her. She usually waits until late at night, then she breaks down and cries.

Her mother came to visit after the deployment and the two women took young John to Disneyland for the weekend. From the hotel bathroom, while her son and mother slept, Hunter wrote to her husband.

(Undated, on Disneyland letterhead)

Dear Tim:

No, it’s not a letter from Mickey!

A friend of John’s wound up coming at the last minute, so they are off and running, spending those last few quarters, before they burn a hole in his pocket!

Mom and I hit Star Tours right away, as usual. We finally got John on it, and he loved it. Just like we figured he would.

The van is running good. I’m gonna check the oil tomorrow and will make a note to check it every Sunday (right after church!). Mom and I went on all the (rides) that were slow and cool--Small World (kill the dolls!), train, etc. Let’s hear it for air conditioning the roller coaster!

We finally found that orange stuff mom found last time she was here. Just like frozen OJ!

Our room here is the “suite” type--a little side room for the kids, 2 bathrooms, 2 TV’s. It’s very nice--AC on high, of course! . . .

I am doing OK, I guess, but I miss you. This would be a much nicer weekend if you were here, too. Did you get your seasick tablets in time? I hope so, or else it’s gonna be a long trip west! I hope all is well with you and the CD player is running fine.

I love you, Tim. You know, Capt. G was right--it never gets any easier. I find myself thinking, “I’ve got to tell Tim” and then getting kind of a lump in my throat, since, of course, you’re not there to tell! Keep yourself safe and comfy, honey. I’ll write again, soon.

love,xxoo,

Kaye.

Many people are startled when 26-year-old Michael Zimmerman tells them that his wife, Eva--a second class petty officer--was deployed to the Middle East. Zimmerman, in fact, doesn’t get a lot of sympathy--since most civilians forget that husbands have also been left behind.

Eva Zimmerman’s departure was particularly difficult since she is leaving the Navy in January. Under the original schedule, her ship was supposed to deploy this winter--and it was an assignment she would have missed. Eva cried when she got two weeks’ notice to pack her sea bag.

Before she left, Michael Zimmerman asked her where she wanted to be buried. She replied: “With you.” And they discussed the subject no further.

For Michael Zimmerman, whose mother died when he was 12, the prospect of anything happening to his wife is more than he can bear.

“It’s just scary. When you love someone, you don’t want to think anything will happen,” said Michael, a Lemon Grove resident who left the Navy to work full-time as a courier and attend college at night.

Asked how his life is different without Eva, Michael replied bluntly: “No sex.”

There are other changes as well. Michael wakes during the night when her cat, Josh, pounces on his chest. “Josh jumps on me and meows--he looks where Eva used to sleep,” Michael said. “I say, ‘Josh, go to sleep.’ We do that night after night.”

Hi Gorgeous:

How are you doing on this fine day? I hope all is well and you have not forgotten us.

I have the motorcycle running again. . . . The eight-two brake setup seems to work, and I wish you were here to go with me on its maiden voyage.

There is a motorcycle course that they supply the bike, and it only costs $60. The course has three sections, beginning, intermediate, and professional. I was thinking once you make it to professional, if you need to take that part, I could take it with you.

When you get back, we could also lower the rear end of the bike by putting shorter shocks on it. This would probably make it easier for you to ride. . . .

I didn’t go to church today, for I got up at 9:45.

Michael

Tonya Robinson, 19, met her husband, Seaford, at a picnic in Detroit. This past year, things happened in a blur. Seaford, also 19, joined the Navy, the couple married, moved to San Diego, and they had their first baby--Seaford III.

Tonya Robinson doesn’t understand how she so abruptly lost her husband, a machinist mate.

“I am in a state of shock,” said Tonya, cuddling her 2-month-old baby. “My husband and I have never been away from each other.”

And she is plagued by the same bad dream. Over and over, she dreams that she is saying goodby to her husband. “I just hurt inside.”

Sept. 12, 1990 Dear Seaford:

Hi Baby, I love you. I miss you and I wish you were here with me. I hate that you won’t be here for our anniversary, your son’s very first Christmas, and bringing in the New Year. The most important one is little Seaford’s first Christmas, I wish you could come home. I just wish we could be together.

I am still having dreams about when we were saying goodbye to you. I know that when you come home we will have to start all over getting to know each other.

Anyway, be careful out there. Remember we love you.

Kisses,

Tonya