Fuel Handler of the Air Cav

Recently, Donald Hall posted this photo on Facebook and asked about the painting's origin, sensing a story similar to what I had shared about the painting I'd gifted to the late General Colin Powell. During Desert Storm, Donald Hall and I met when we'd billeted together in King Khalid Military City, Saudi Arabia.

My painting hanging in the Pentagon. Photo by Donald Hall.

The genesis to this painting, Fuel Handler of the Air Cav, goes back to my first tour of active duty. I was an attack helicopter pilot with the 7/17 Air Cavalry and we'd been deployed for desert training in the Imperial Valley of California, somewhere between Slab City (outside the Salton Sea) and the Chocolate Mountains. Late the first night, during a briefing in the squadron's TOC (Tactical Operations Center) we heard the commotion of a parade of big trucks roaring out of the darkness. A few minutes later, a female captain of the Transportation Corps strode into the tent. She was dressed in combat garb, covered head-to-toe in dust, and goggles had left a raccoon mask on her face. She reported that our logistical support had arrived--thousands of gallons of aviation gas and diesel plus tons and tons of ammo, mostly rockets. For some reason, our S-3 (the operations officer) was very dismissive of her even though at the time, I thought she had the hardest job of any one of us there. The moment stuck with me.

Fast forward eight years and I was recalled from the Individual Ready Reserve and sent overseas as a soldier-artist for Operation Desert Storm. I wandered about the battle area, mindful of my instructions--don't get yourself injured or killed--which I followed to the letter. What impressed me about the US military was that our combat forces were like rampaging titans but even they needed sustenance. Napoleon once said that an army marches on its stomach and to that you have to add, without gas, you ain't getting anywhere. So out in this desolate wilderness I found this female Specialist, doing her job, making sure our thirsty flying beasts got plenty to drink. When I was sorting through ideas of what images to paint, I thought back to that female captain also doing her job, and so this work is an homage to both women soldiers.

The General and Me

Colin Powell--former US Secretary of State and Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staffs--passed away this week. There was a plenty of discussion about the fact he had been vaccinated and still succumbed to Covid. However, he was 84 and struggling with cancer and Parkinson's so I'm sure given his condition, a simple cold could have likewise done him in.

When I was in the Army, his presence loomed large through the ranks. Black soldiers, and particularly black officers, held him in high regard and affectionally referred to him as the HMFIC.

Though he and I never met, our paths did cross when I reached out to him personally. I had been called up from the reserves for Desert Storm and was sent overseas to serve as a soldier artist for the US Army Center of Military History. During my earlier tour on active duty, I had served as an infantry officer and then as an attack helicopter pilot, so I had already punched my ticket in the combat arms. This assignment as a soldier artist was a dream of mine as many of my boyhood heroes were combat artists such as Howard Brodie, Tom Lea (whose mural decorated the library where I spent many hours as a boy), and the great cartoonist Bill Mauldin.

By the time I got to the front, most of the fighting had quieted down. However during the day I'd hear gunfire and at night see tracers and explosions in the distance. The closest I got to real danger was when we had to clear out an Iraqi strongpoint, which turned out to be abandoned. Unfortunately, as we were approaching the bunkers, we discovered that we were in the middle of an enemy mine field. In literature there's a line when you get so scared that you can hear your pulse hammering in your ears. I experienced that, terrified that I'd get a leg blown off for nothing. 

While making my rounds of the battle area I ran into a black officer, a lieutenant-colonel in the Corps of Engineers. He had been an automotive engineer in Detroit, found that work unfulfilling, joined the Army, and was now the division engineer for the 1st Armored Division. As the expert in both construction and destruction, he was always supposed to be the smartest guy in the room, which I'm sure he was. I snapped his photo for reference, along with the minaret for local color, and a M728 Combat Engineer Vehicle with mine plow.

Months later, after I'd completed the watercolor "The Division Engineer" I read that Gen. Powell collected art featuring American black soldiers. So I send him a framed print. Unexpectedly, I received this note of thanks.