Newspaper Page Text
Mixed emotions
War-supporting firefighter enlists,
battles disillusionment in
By Carrie Budoff
Knight Ridder Newspapers
PHILADELPHIA — He
went to war as a believer.
A proud professional fire¬
fighter and conservative
Republican, Spec. John Kulick
watched the World Trade
Center bum and collapse, steal¬
ing thousands of innocent lives.
He believed in the war against
terrorism, and, at 33 years old,
he decided to help fight it by
joining the Pennsylvania
National Guard as an infantry¬
man 10 days before the Iraq
invasion.
Kulick thought he’d redis¬
cover the certainties of life that
had begun to slip away after a
difficult divorce and a separa¬
tion from his young daughter.
Instead, daily life in a war
zone delivered only more murk¬
iness, more doubt. To his fami¬
ly, he expressed concern about
poor equipment, misguided tac¬
tics, and slow progress in stabi¬
lizing the country against a
seemingly invisible enemy.
On a two-week break in
June, he sat at a local steak
house and told the waitress that
her boyfriend, a soldier prepar¬
ing for deployment, should
avoid going, family members
recalled.
Kulick seemed to reflect the
complicated nature of war now
dominating the debate in
Washington: He had misgiv¬
ings, but he clung to the idea
that somehow the United States
could make a better Iraq, even
as he began to accept that he
might not make it out alive.
“If it’s my time to go, it’s
my time to go,” he told his
mother during their last phone
call, on Aug. 9. “I’m all right
with that.”
Ottavia Pell-Kulick admon¬
ished him for thinking that way.
“Just know that I love you,”
he said before hanging up.
In 1994, Kulick married Jill
Simpkins, the daughter of a
retired Navy commander. She
was attracted to his gregarious¬
ness. But their relationship dis¬
solved in June 2001, and he was
devastated by the divorce.
Jill Kulick said she feels
responsible for rushing them,
both “stubborn and tempera¬
mental,” into marriage. His
work hours created tension. She
For many couples, choosing
not to have kids the right option
By Vincent J. Schodolski (KRT)
Chicago Tribune
LOS ANGELES — When
Tina Roggenkamp and her hus¬
band, Mark, decided to keep
their marriage free of children
they took a lot of things into
account.
They considered their mutu¬
al desire for greater freedom,
something that enabled her to
get a graduate degree and start a
small consulting business.
There wasalso their enjoyment
of whatshe called “smaller
things” like being able to sleep
late when they wanted and dine
otiT whenever the mood struck
them.
But there were larger issues
as well, such as environmental
concerns and worries about an
already overcrowded planet.
“We worry about what the
world will be like in the future.
There’s so much uncertainty
and I can’t see bringing a life
into such a world.”
Growing numbers of cou¬
ples around the country are
electing to have what they call
“child-free” relationships.
The latest Census Bureau
figures show that about 18 per¬
cent of women between the
ages of 40 and 44 say they have
never conceived a child. The
percentage has grown steadily
since 1976 when the bureau
found that just 10 percent of
American woman reported
never conceiving a child.
There are many reasons why
a woman might not conceive,
but the conscious decision to
avoid children appears to be
wanted to stay home with their
daughter, Amanda Mae, now 8,
but they couldn’t afford that.
John Kulick entered a “pre¬
midlife crisis,” said Bryan
Pearsall, a close friend.
The Sept. 11 attacks pushed
Kulick into action, though he
didn’t act on impulse. He stud¬
ied his options, listing the pros
and cons on Post-it notes.
Personally, Kulick consid¬
ered the timing right.
“He felt like a failure in so
many ways,” though that was
not the case, said Earl
Simpkins, his ex-father-in-law,
who talked with Kulick before
he enlisted. “There are a lot of
people who don’t realize the
contribution they are making.”
Although Kulick joined a
Stryker brigade not fully capa¬
ble for deployment until 2008,
he was asked in spring 2004 to
fill a vacancy in Alpha
Company of the First Battalion
of the 111th Infantry, which
was headed to Iraq. He initially
declined, having just returned
from boot camp. Days later,
they called again, and Kulick
made the decision to go.
Kulick sounded upbeat, at
first.
He requested care packages
of Tastykake chocolate-chip
bars and beef jerky. He playful¬
ly lamented living conditions at
Forward Operating Base
Summerall in Beiji, 155 miles
northwest of Baghdad.
“The toilets don’t flush with
toilet paper so you have to put it
in a trash can next to the toilet.
(Smells great),” he wrote in a
Dec. 17 e-mail.
But just days after crossing
into Iraq from Kuwait, Kulick
relayed a grim assessment:
“Reality has struck.”
A suicide bomber drove
through the base’s gate, and two
mortar shells landed just out¬
side.
“Thank the Lord they can’t
aim right,” Kulick wrote.
More ominous news fol¬
lowed two weeks later.
“They tried to blow me up
last week by an IED (roadside
bomb) while on patrol,” he
wrote on Jan. 5, “but they’re not
going to get rid of me that
easy.”
Small gestures pleased
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Photo/Rachel Lecrone, Chicago Tribune
Emily and Jimmy Connolly,
boxers, Cosmo and
opting out of having
playing a larger role these days.
While accurate numbers
tracking child-free couples can
be hard to come by, many
groups have formed that seek to
connect these couples around
the country.
No Kidding! and The
Childfree Ring are among the
most active. Some offer bumper
stickers. One reads: “If I want to
hear the pitter-patter of little
feet, I’ll put shoes on my cat.”
Some childless couples
report that not everyone is com¬
fortable with this trend. Jennifer
Shawne, 32, author of “Baby
Not on Board: A Celebration of
Life Without Kids,” said she
has even been accused of being
un-American for making the
choice not to opt for mother¬
hood.
“There is this assumption
that all women have a biological
clock that one day is going to
Kulick. He paid special atten¬
tion to the Iraqi children, hand¬
ing out toys and pens on patrols.
His platoon sergeant, Anthony
Kelly, said Kulick became &
mentor to younger soldiers and
used his emergency medical
skills to assist injured civilians.
“John saved a lot of lives,”
Kelly said.
In May, Kulick’s mood
seemed to turn darker. His
grandmother died. He had been
quarreling with his ex-wife.
U.S. military deaths spiked, hit¬
ting 80 that month, the highest
since January, when 107 sol¬
diers were killed.
“Things went down hill here
the past two weeks,” Kulick
wrote on May 21. “It’s been
really bad. Stress is really get¬
ting me from ... here and the
homefront.”
But he did have something
to work toward: a two-week
break in mid-June.
First, he went to the dentist.
Then, he bought a suit at
Men’s Wearhouse for a chris¬
tening, picked up his daughter
in Dillsburg, Pa., and settled in
for barbecues, parties, and a trip
to the Jersey Shore.
Friends found him at ease.
His family saw a man who
was far more somber at times
than ever before.
Privately, he confided in his
parents and former father-in
law.
Iraq was a “hell hole,”
Kulick told them.
When they swept a town,
the insurgents would return just
days later. Foreign fighters were
allowed to slip easily through
unsecured borders. Army lead¬
ership seemed disorganized and
disconnected from the ground.
Certain tactics, such as 3 a.m.
house raids, created a new gen¬
eration of terrorists.
The military seemed to
scrimp on armor but served filet
mignon and lobster tails once a
week. At first, the unit entered
Iraq with crudely assembled
armor, but the vehicles were
upgraded over time, said Spc.
Edward Greene, 28, who served
with Kulick.
“I think his greatest disap¬
pointment in the Army was the
way that the soldiers were treat¬
ed,” Jill Kulick said. “John had
the same concerns that we all
have here, and that is the fact
of Chicago, with their two
are one of many couples
start ringing, and we’re going to
become baby maniacs who have
to give birth no matter what,”
Shawne added. “But that’s just
not true.”
A lot of young women
today, Shawne said, are realiz¬
ing that the feminist ideal that
you can have it all — kids and a
successful career — is not feasi
ble.
This is hardly the first gener¬
ation of people making such a
decision. Over history changes
in society, technological break¬
throughs and economic hard
times have made it possible, and
for some desirable, to refrain
from producing offspring.
“Childlessness is not new,”
said Philip Morgan, a professor
of sociology at Duke University.
“However, childlessness in
the past was more closely con¬
nected with non-marriage than
now.”
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Photo/Spc. Edward Greene/U.S. Army
Army Spc. John Kulick, foreground, a member of Company A 111th Infantry
Regiment, boards a plane in Louisiana heading to Kuwait. In June, Kulick came
home to Whitpain, Pa., for a two-week break, and told his family Iraq was a ‘hell hole.’
Kulick died in a roadside bomb attack on his Humvee upon his return to Iraq.
that it doesn’t look like we’ve
really accomplished a lot in the
improvement of the Iraqi peo¬
ple’s lives and in eliminating
terrorist activity.”
His mom described him as
“disillusioned” by a sense of
helplessness.
As meticulous as ever,
Kulick prepared for the worst.
Before returning to Iraq from
his break, he secured his will in
a plastic storage bin, where his
father would later find it resting
on Kulick’s perfectly folded suit
from Men’s Wearhouse.
On Aug. 9, Alpha Company
tried working as if nothing had
changed, even though three
days earlier, the unit had suf¬
fered its first combat deaths: A
roadside bomb had killed two
soldiers, friends of Kulick.
After sundown, he set out
with his unit to check out
reports of shelling a few miles
from the base.
They were moving north in
four humvees when insurgents
unleashed a complex attack,
detonating a bomb buried
under the road. Riflemen
opened fire from a line of trees
to the east.
The explosion killed Kulick
and three others in the vehicle.
Only body parts were recov¬
ered.
Spec. Edward Greene, who
wasn’t on the patrol but heard
eyewitness accounts, said the
vehicle had a basic armor kit.
“But to be honest with you,”
he said, “it wouldn’t have mat¬
tered.”
Jim Kulick Sr. lay in bed,
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unable to sleep. A day earlier,
his son had told him what
would happen if he died.
“You will know it is me
when you hear a knock on the
door,” Kulick had told his
father.
That knock came at 6:30
a.m. Aug. 10.
“I am here to inform you
that your son, Spc. John Kulick,
was killed last night in
Operation Iraqi Freedom,” the
officer said.
“That can’t be,” his dad said.
“I just talked to him not too
long ago.”
Dazed and disbelieving, he
took a seat at his kitchen table
in Rockledge, where he wrote
weekly letters to his son, always
signing the return label “Proud
Army Dad Jim Kulick.”
Eighty miles away, Kulick’s
mom got the news from an offi¬
cer at the other end of a tele¬
phone line.
In shock, she threw the
phone across the living room
and ran toward the beach, rip¬
ping a “Support Our Troops”
bracelet from her wrist. She
buried it in the sand.
Hundreds of people lined
York Road the same street
where Kulick had chased fire
trucks as a child — for his
funeral.
A procession of fire engines
carried him to his grave site. A
UPS man stopped his truck and
saluted. More than 60 towns
sent firefighters in dress blues
and white gloves.
“I wish he could have seen
it,” Jill Kulick said. “This would
PAGE 5A
have shown him.”
The mystery surrounding
his death had made it harder for
friends and family.
They weren’t able to view
his body. Details of the bomb¬
ing have been contradictory.
They question why he enlisted.
His friends channeled their
grief into raising more than
$25,000 for a memorial fund
for Kulick’s daughter.
His father, once a war boost¬
er and Bush supporter, turned
against both.
His brother maintained for
weeks that he would join the
military' — to avenge Kulick’s
death. Eventually, he backed
down.
“Life was pretty simple, and
I knew where I stood on every¬
thing,” Jim Kulick Jr., said.
“Now it has been turned upside
down. Someone blew my broth¬
er up, in a foreign land. It’s not
normal.”
They felt desperate — for
answers, emotional stability,
relief. And they were willing to
try anything.
So one month after their 35
year-old son’s death, John’s par¬
ents ended up where they least
expected: at an interfaith service
organized by antiwar activist
Cindy Sheehan and her Bring
Them Home Now Tour.
His mom wept. His dad
looked uncomfortable, drawing
back as people probed for
details of his son’s death.
He scribbled onto a piece of
paper: PEACE NEVER
CAME,” referring to his emo¬
tions and the war. He later
tucked it into a Bible and left.