Home Front Sends Flood of Gifts for Troops in Gulf : Morale: Outpouring of support for U.S. soldiers surprises Pentagon. It is reminiscent of WW II sacrifices.

Uniting in a mushrooming movement reminiscent of the patriotic, do-without spirit that swept the nation during World War II, Americans from Twentynine Palms to Tampa are reaching out to troops stationed in the Middle East, sending them everything from sunscreen to Q-tips to Tabasco sauce.

Retiree Ted Sperling, 66, is doing his part by churning out pound after pound of peanut brittle in his Palm Springs kitchen. Donna Block of Mamaroneck, N.Y., has crated and shipped 10,000 “Archie” comic books.

Vietnam veteran Jeff Cray of San Diego, figuring the desert-bound service members might need a laugh, has fired off a videotape on how to build a giant sandcastle.

“It’s incredible what’s happening,” marveled Lt. Col. Steve Roy, a Department of Defense spokesman. “The people have a stake in this (conflict), and this is one way they can show their support.”

Initially, the public groundswell caught the Pentagon off guard. Preoccupied with the monumental logistics of moving tens of thousands of troops, weaponry and equipment halfway around the world, the Defense Department gave little thought to the prospect of running a large-scale letter and package delivery service to the Persian Gulf.

Before long, the volume of mail became so huge that the government was forced to establish a hot line providing shipping instructions and East and West Coast depots to collect the flood of goods. There is also an official list of approved and recommended items, which range from macrame and kite-making kits to foot powder and Arab language tapes.

“We’ve never had to deal with this before, and I must say it’s a fantastic thing to have to deal with,” said Lt. Col. Henry Wyatt of the Defense Logistics Agency. “Nothing of this magnitude has happened since World War II. Even then it wasn’t nearly the variety or volume of things we’re seeing now.”

Explanations for the outpouring abound. Some theorize that Americans regret the shabby treatment many Vietnam veterans received upon returning home from that unpopular war and may be atoning--consciously or not--through their support for participants in Operation Desert Shield.

Others suggest that the isolation and harsh conditions of the Saudi desert and the horrific prospect of chemical warfare combine to make sympathy for the troops particularly strong.

Benina Berger-Gould, a psychologist in UC Berkeley’s Peace and Conflict Studies Program, wonders if there is another motivation at work.

“Certainly there is a desire to provide (soldiers) comfort in a hostile environment, but there is a franticness about all this giving and baking that suggests some overcompensation,” said Berger-Gould, who studies the psychological aspects of international crises. “There’s been very little dialogue about whether our reasons for being there are right or wrong, and perhaps all of this reaching out suggests some guilt about it, some unspoken dark side.”

Whatever the case, military commanders could not be more pleased with the attention their men and women in uniform are receiving. Given the isolation of the desert front and social restrictions created by Saudi Arabia’s Islamic strictures, troop morale has been a pressing issue from Day One.

“There’s no question this is a morale boost,” said Sgt. Nephi Limb, a spokesman at the Camp Pendleton Marine Base in Oceanside. “A Marine always likes to get a letter or care package, no matter who it’s from or what’s in it.”

There are some mutterings about whether this bonanza of goodies threatens to strip servicemen and women of their fighting edge. Matt Hardiman, a retired Marine Corps sergeant major who directs the United Service Organization in Jacksonville, N. C., said letters and cookies are “important and positive because they give you a touch of home.

“But radios? Camcorders? Air-conditioned tents? Come on!” said Hardiman, who fought in Korea and Vietnam and acknowledges he has an old-timer’s attitude about such things. “How can a guy keep that edge? You’ve got to be alert all the time, not listening to a radio. You’ve got to live like the enemy lives. You can’t run home to mama.”

Remarks by Marine Corps Commandant Gen. Al Gray suggest he agrees. In September, Gray dismissed plans to send comedians to the gulf as “ludicrous,” saying such entertainment “detracts from the mission at hand.”

Such worries have failed to dampen the charitable spirit thriving in Twentynine Palms, home of the sprawling Marine Corps Air-Ground Combat Center. Here, the desire to contribute something, no matter how small, has swept through town like an F-16.

Each week, more than 2,000 books are donated by the community and shipped from the 932-square-mile desert base, addressed to the 7,000 Marines from Twentynine Palms who are stationed in the gulf. Along with the tomes go box after box of personal hygiene items, candy, board games and powdered drink mixes.

An “adopt-a-unit” program has been launched in the schools, a local hospital sends picture of newborns by fax machine and a ceaseless stream of letters keep the Marines informed of happenings on the home front.

“There is one older woman in the area, Edith Stafford, who sends letter after letter--all of them handwritten,” said 1st Lt. Ronald Sharp, coordinator of the outreach program, Operation Desert Care. “Handwritten, every one of them! You can’t put a price on that.”

Twentynine Palms, a city of 32,000 where life is colored by the neighboring base, seems a natural incubator for such activity. But the giving extends far beyond military towns and anxious dependents.

In Luverne, Ala., a town of 2,500 in the peanut belt, a letter-writing campaign is under way and the streets are festooned with colorful ribbons reminding locals of what Mayor John Harrison calls “the sacrifices our Alabama boys are making over there in the Middle East.”

Last month, Bubba Clark and fellow members of the Luverne Kiwanis Club raised the money to buy 40,000 personal-sized bags of salted peanuts for Desert Shield troops. The Chamber of Commerce and the peanut growers pitched in.

“We wanted something that would symbolize our area, so that when they ate them they’d know they were tasting something from Alabama,” Clark said, estimating the nuts’ value at $5,000.

In New Port Richey, Fla., local ham radio operators plan to send messages to Persian Gulf troops at Thanksgiving and Christmas. A citywide committee has been set up to devise other projects expressing support.

“Down at the Gulfview Square Mall, we’re distributing 1,000 holiday cards for people to sign, saying ‘All America is With You,’ ” said Mario Battista, 78, a World War II veteran and member of New Port Richey’s American Legion Post 79. “We’re also sending 300 care packages.”

In Federal Way, Wash., near Seattle, Karen Buker heads a nationwide cookie-baking network attempting to sweeten life on the front lines. Buker, whose son, Michael, is on the USS Gunston Hall in the gulf, said the movement started by accident after she posted a request for cookie recipes on a national computer bulletin board.

“It just exploded. I had no idea of the response I would get,” said Buker, who estimates that “thousands and thousands” of kitchens coast to coast are now linked with her Operation Cookie. “We’re starting to hear back from the guys, and they seem to appreciate the effort very much.”

Virginia Aliano, 44, of Sun Valley has been sending dozens of letters and care packages each week to soldiers and Marines stationed in Saudi Arabia. Recently, responses from the recipients began to trickle in, encouraging Aliano to keep up the effort “as long as their are lonely servicemen over there.”

“I would like to thank you for the box of goodies you sent,” began an Oct. 16 letter to Aliano from Gunnery Sgt. Rod Debolt. After providing a few bits of news about the weather, the U.S. Marine signed off with a sobering pledge:

“In the event negotiations are not successful, we are prepared to do what we are trained for . . . Semper Fi.”

Home-front patriotism during military conflicts is an American tradition, but veterans, Red Cross officials and others say the magnitude of the response to Desert Shield is unusual.

During the Civil War, Red Cross founder Clara Barton was among countless volunteers who solicited donations to provide desperately needed supplies to the Union and Confederate armies.

In World War II, Ted Sperling was a Navy torpedo gunner in the Pacific Theater. He received tins of Toll House cookies and marshmallows from his wife, Evelyn, and an occasional salami from a brother who worked in a cook house, but there were no packages from strangers.

At home, children saved scraps of tin foil while their parents planted Victory Gardens and learned to make do despite shortages of gasoline, rubber and butter. While the war effort was popular, much of the sacrificing was involuntary, compelled by the rationing of 20 so-called essential items by President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s War Production Board.

Soldiers in Vietnam occasionally saw movies and live entertainment courtesy of the USO. The Red Cross periodically distributed “ditty bags”--fabric sacks full of sundries. Despite the grueling conditions in Southeast Asia and the bloodiness of the Vietnam conflict, there was nothing remotely resembling the home-front response to Operation Desert Shield.

“I never got any cookies when I was in Vietnam,” said retired Lt. Col. Carl Morrison of Fallbrook. “I got some burned chickens and a napalmed baby (doll) when I got home and went recruiting on campuses, but never any cookies.”

Many of those slaving over the stove or buying up cases of lip balm for today’s deployed troops say it is statements such as Morrison’s--expressed repeatedly through the years in numerous books and motion pictures--that spurred them into action. Vietnam veterans, they say, were unjustly treated and unfairly blamed for a war that they were simply ordered to fight.

“I think people realize that in the Vietnam era, they made the mistake of taking it out on the guys instead of the politicians and the government,” said Cray, 42, whose memories of a film he saw while stationed in Vietnam prompted him to send the sandcastle videotape. “People have rethought it and realize these guys are giving their time, risking their lives over there, and if we don’t like something we should call the President.”