Here Was a Man

I met then-Specialist Chris Cates at the Bayji Joint Security Station in July 2007. He was a 23-year-old forward observer with Charlie Company, from Winnemucca, Nevada, and had been in the Army for two years.

In the early days at the JSS, before most of the soldiers had warmed up to me, he was friendlier than most, happy to talk to somebody new. He was never on the ground that much, often driving a Humvee instead; what that meant was I never had a chance for good pictures of him, and without pictures the Winnemucca newspaper wouldn't have much interest in a story.

But we still chatted here and there, about nothing interesting or special.  He shows up in my notes the first time sort of randomly, and I know I'd already talked to him by the time I wrote his name down.

The notes I took don't mean much, four years later. Now they're jumbled together, and I don't have the memory to say it was him or not, who said the things I wrote down. I think he did - it says he was a "13-F," which was the MOS of a forward observer, so I think it was the notes I took while we talked.

I must have asked him something like, "so what do you do?" or something similar; that was the usual first question I asked, to see if it where it might go.

"I'll end up driving," he said - I think, which makes sense, because he was always driving when I went out with him. "Pull security,make sure nobody's coming up on us; peek around corners, avoid sniper fire; other than that, not much you can do.

"If we're in steady contact, I'll call it in," so return fire could be directed at the enemy, he said - the job of a forward observer.

"You got to get used to it, first time I was in Bayji...." but I don't know what he said after that. "First time," what? I don't know.

 "My father, my grandfather," I wrote, were in the Army - I think he meant. Joining the Army, "was just one those things. A different route."

There are other short phrases, but they're incomprehensible now. I didn't expect to write a story about him, so I never went back over the notes to decipher the handwriting, and four years later, I can't figure out what I was writing.

"Only time I was ever hit, it banged my mirror." Is that right? Did his Humvee's mirror get shot? Is that what my notes said? I don't think so. It might be. Does it matter?

Other people talked about him. We were sitting in a Humvee, waiting for an explosive ordnance team to come defuse a discovered IED, when Tony Atkinson and Greg Ramirez showed me a video of Cates dancing in the middle of Bayji city's primary East-West Road. Cates' dance was pretty funny, there in the middle of the street; a way to kill some time during a similar mission, sitting and waiting five hours for another EOD team to show up, for another IED.

"He makes up all kinds of funny songs on his guitar," Ramirez said. "One time, he just had a breakdown because he couldn't get Crispy M+Ms."

"Yeah," Atkinson agreed. "He hears some voices in his head."

But it was said with affection, the kind of good-natured backstabbing that everybody had to put up with. If you weren't in the room, then you were probably the subject of the conversation.

"Cates used to work in a gold mine or something," I think Atkinson said, "drove a big dump truck filled with ore. He's a funny storyteller. Refers to himself in the third person a lot. That's kind of funny."

I never heard Cates do that, but he'd go on a few political rants now and then. In 2009, we were sitting in the dining hall at Combat Outpost Carver - he and Paul Beliel were headed home on leave; I was headed home for good. Sgt. Hyrum Durfee, a soldier I had met in 2007 but didn't remember, was there too, listening to Cates talk about how Ron Paul was the only one who could save the country.

"Keep it going, Cates," Durfee said, when he got up to leave, slapping Cates on the shoulder.

2009 was a lot different than 2007. Before he left, Durfee had laughed - "Back in 2007, I was like, 'today, I just want to live.' Now, it's all about what I can bench press." 

In 2007, I rode in a Humvee as Cates drove and Aaron Donatto sat up in the turrett. The early morning mission was to the small farming village of Bujwari. We left at 3 a.m., and without night vision, I didn't want to try walking around until the sun rose a few hours later.

The Humvee - a piece of shit that had been handed off from unit to unit over several deployments - kept stalling as Cates tried to meander through the village, keeping slow pace with the soldiers on the ground. Donatto, in the turret, tried to guide the vehicle. But it was a comedy of errors.

"I know what's wrong!" Cates yelled up, when the truck stalled again.

"Well, fix it!" Donatto yelled back, barely audible above the engine.

"I can't fix it; I'm not a fucking mechanic," but that was said more to me, with his voice too low for Donatto to hear.

"Cates!"

"Yeah?"

"What's the deal, dude? What are you doing?"

"Driving, dude. I'm in four low."

"Can you like stay steady on the gas at all? It's fucking squealing!"

"What's squealing?"

"The fucking engine. Can't you hear it? You're driving like a kid, you're 24 years old!"

"Grrr..." And that's what Cates said - he literally growled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What the fuck? Turn the wheel to the right...go straight..."

"What?"

"Turn to the right!"

"To the right?"

"Cates!"

"Right!"

"Right! Keep right!"

"Right?"

"Cates, please!"

"Please what? Pull up there?"

"No! Right! Turn Right!"

"It's stalled, hang on."

"Cates!"

"Hang on! It's stalled!"

"Turn right!"

"Hang on!"

"CATES!"

"Hey, fuck you! Stop yelling at me, you son of a bitch!"

 

Maybe it's not very funny. Maybe you had to be there.

I asked him about it later - he was a truck driver after all. Humvees are fidgety, but the good news is they can be started out of gear.

"It was aggravatting, stalling out," he said. "Normally it's not like that. Usually, I'd blame it on the fuel injector; put it in neutral, start it, shift it into drive so it won't stall."

I think that's what he said, but I don't know. That's what it looks like in my notes, but the words are unconfirmable.

Earlier, we had stood under the entryway to the JSS, keeping out of the afternoon sun. Then a mortar hit not too far away, and we both looked at each other; a second one hit and exploded much closer, and now we both smirked and moved quickly under the concrete entrance.

Nothing special about it; the mortars hit all the time. It was only special because Cates happened to be the one standing next to me at the time.

In 2009, I left Combat Outpost Cahill on my return to the US, and Cates and another soldier went with me.

We went to the chow hall, where we met Durfee; hung out and chatted in the transiest tent where soldiers arriving or departing had a cot to sleep on, before heading out to parts unknown. I had a private room, a reporter's perk apparently.

Cates and the other soldiers traded stories and joked around. I made a few comments, laughed at the jokes, but I wasn't really part of the conversation.

In my book, in the epilogue, is a passage Cates said, sitting there. I wrote it down, but it was only later when it meant anything to me. When I put it in the book, I left his name out. It was a private conversation, not really an interview. And it was a personal comment that I don't think was meant for everyone else.

He was talking, now in the quiet, fairly peaceful days of 2009, about the bad old days of Bayji. Only two years before, but they seemed a lot more distant.

"When we got to FOB Speicher," Cates said, "after leaving Bayji for the last time, I got to the chow hall and some girl was there, she wasn’t a soldier, was some Red Cross girl, volunteering or something. I don’t even know.

"I started to talk to her; I was so happy to see a girl.

"All of a sudden, it just came out of nowhere. I started laughing; couldn’t stop. And it got worse. Then tears started pouring down my face. I was still laughing, but now I was crying; got so bad I couldn’t even talk.

"She finally just got up and walked away."

He’d been there 15 months, from 2006 to 2007, and would be there twelve more, from 2008 to 2009.

Twenty-seven months is a long time to give the country of Iraq, even if one is supposedly there on behalf of the United States. Twenty-seven months of overseas time, and about five years in the Army. From 21 to 26 years old, that's the better part of a man's youth, spent in Iraq's dust and heat, or the dingy bars, and vast training areas of Fayetteville and Fort Bragg.

So it's only fair that when you give all that - five years - you get to grow old and tell your war stories to somebody down the line, about how it all went down, all those years ago. You can exaggerate it, if you want; or downplay it, and act like the war was no big deal; or shrug your shoulders and say nothing at all.

But after five years, you ought to get that choice.

Christopher Cates, a sergeant by the time he got out, didn't get the luxury of time. He died on Oct. 23, 2011, not in Iraq from a sniper or mortar or IED, or truck accident, or negligent discharge, or helicopter crash or plane crash, or car bomb or truck bomb or moped bomb or suicide bomb; not in a training exercise from a parachute that didn't deploy or deployed too late, or deployed too early, or got swept into the propellor, or cigarette-rolled the whole way down, or got dragged by the wind across the drop zone. He died in a house fire at home in Winnemucca, though that's all I know. Not alone, but with his cousin and two small boys.

It would make me angry, but there's no one to be angry at.

Here was a man, now a few digital recordings of his voice and photos taking up some memory, a few lines in my notes, a few hours of my time.

Comments

[Mike Alcorta]

I read Donatto and Cates' conversation in their voices, and I laughed uncontrollably for a few minutes. That's when the reality set in and I'm wondering why another friend and brother of mine is in the ground.

Cates was a madman, in the best kind of way. He got a tattoo on his arm of a girl he saw through a window while drunkenly eating dinner. He loved her. Didn't talk to her. Didn't know her name. But he loved her. So he immortalized her on his arm. He was also damn proud of "Denise" or whatever name he gave her. He was my friend, and I'm glad you got a chance to know him too, Nate.

[ashleyharrison00]

Love catesface. Loved his tattoo of his lovely lady. Loved his tattoo onhis chest (lacoste) one thing Christopher Cates loved too much was metallica. I will miss him so much.

[chris mcfarland]

I was in 1st platoon also Cates was a great man he will be missed.

[Jon Thran]

This man is my brother and I served part of the time on his first tour with him. He will never be forgotten because of articles like this. You can tell the kind of man he was just from a few hours with a reporter years ago. Only two words to describe Chris Cates and that was Chris Cates. Miss you and remeber Chris Goodbye's are not for legends!!!!!!

[Rahfa]

If you've found this column, please comment and let me know how you came across it...and please pass it along to any of Cates' friends or family that you think might appreciate it.

N. Webster

[Jon Thran]

I found the article just by googling my Chris's name and it was one of the first things to pop up. I am passing this article to as many as I can. I thank you for writing something like this. If you need more pictures or anything for this article let me know I have bunch of him deployed and in class A's

[Jon Thran]

also here is a link to a video of Chris Cates singing and playing guitar on one of his deployments http://www.myspace.com/video/contributor/the-christopher-cates-project-part-one-the-wedding-singer/51008563

[Cassie Kellison]

Chris Cates is my cousin. He passed away with my Sister Ashley, and her two son's Cody and Cole. Chris and Ashley were best friends so it seems only fitting that they would go together. Our family is still trying to cope with the loss of four beautiful people. Thank you for writing about him. His last deployment my husband was stationed in Italy so I was only a few hours time difference from Chris and we talked almost every day he was there. Mostly he talked about going to the gym and "facecreeping". There are too many memories to write here, I have known him for 25 years and it really wasn't enough time. I love and miss you always Catestopher.

I found this article on facebook through Chris' sister in law.

[Ashley]

What a wonderful image! He was an amazing person and you wrote about him so wonderfully. It just goes to show how this crazy guy touched the lives of many.. He was a friend of mine in high school, I was there when he lost his best friend (best friends boyfriend) I had wonderful memories and I will hold them close to me... I never got 25 years... but I sure wish I did!

[Shay]

Oh gosh..this article means everything to my family..chris was my big brother..i love and miss him so much..but it has been passed around to the family..he was a wonderful funny person..he will never be forgotten

[Max F.]

I never knew Christopher, but his brother, SGT Thran, is one of my soldiers. Jon, if there is anything you or your family need from me or the detachment, please do not hesitate to ask. We are here for you. My sincerest and deepest condolances on your loss. Your brother in arms, 1SG.

[Tim Glass]

I appreciate this article very much. If for nothing else it made me reflect on the time I spent with Chris. He was my Forward Observer and we have spent many long days and nights training and in combat. He was the type of person that I loved being arouond. He was very interesting. He held such original and strong opinions and stood up for what he believed in at all times. He was a very strong willed individual and it was a character that could be looked up too regardless of your position. Most importantly though, he was an entertainer. He always likes telling stories or even getting into in depth conversations about random ridiculousness. Either way you always left Chris with a smile on your face. The smile was either joy or disbelief at what he just said of did! He will truly be missed. The Observation Post "The Hill" won't be the same without him!

["Lobster"]

As a vet myself from the Bosnia era, and living here in Winnemucca, it was strange to come across this article. Very sobering how life is percieved. Thank you for the little glimpse of memories and good people that this would give any vet, or any family that's lost a soldier.

[Ashley Andrews]

The Cousin of My Best Friend

[Ashley Andrews]

Chris & his cousin Ashley were the 2 very best friends ever, in the whole world. I would know, because i was 1 of her other best friends. I do not have many friends, she was my very best friend. But Chris was hers. As much as it hurts that my best friend is gone, that her 2 wonderful sons who i saw grow almost from birth, are gone, it is, as Cassie said, only fitting that they should go together. Chris was a very very special awesome person, and I know he is n heaven in his prized alligator boots, probably driving Cody and Cole around in the Humvee. Because they would love their Uncle Chris driving them around! He is playing guitar, making up awesome song. This earthly world, down here with us mortals, will never be the same without these 4 awsome people. Miss you all: Ashley, Cody, Cole, & Chris ...

[lakota]

chris was one of my closes cousins if it were not for him i would have no interest in guitar what so ever. i loved him so much as sick as it is i will miss the wrist watch and helicopter.he was a great man and a funny sone of a bitch love you chris watch over ash and the boys for me.

[Sgt. Mouth]

I’d like to echo the above sentiments of my former boss, Mr. Tim Glass. Well said.

This is devastating. I have trouble talking about Cates in the past tense; it doesn’t make sense to me. I remember the hundreds of times I shook his hand and said to his face, "Christopher Cates is a great American." This was our standard greeting, and it was what I’d often say whenever there was a lull in conversation. It was a half-sarcastic declaration, a playful attempt by me to reflect his own affinity for talking of himself in the 3rd person, but it was also utterly true. It is true. Christopher Cates is a great American.

We shared a lot of hard-to-explain inside jokes like that, little conversational tics we would use to express a mutual understanding of the ridiculousness of the world we inhabited, whether it was in the FSNCO office in Bragg, in our Fayetteville apartment where we were roommates for several months, or in Iraq. Mr. Webster mentions a time when Cates said, “Grrr.” This is accurate. In CONUS, Cates’s “growl” devolved to a gentler “Mmmm.” The expression “Mmmm” became our catchall phrase, akin to most people’s “whatever” or “hooah” in Army parlance. We actually had many conversations over the phone in which the majority of the words & texts were merely “Mmmm,” and we always knew exactly what that meant.

Cates was the first combat veteran FISTer to befriend me, a skinny little cherry paratrooper, when Bragg became my permanent duty station. Toward the end of each duty day, there’d usually be at least a 20 minute interval when the FIST platoon would have to loiter & wait for final formation and COB, and somehow, after I got done cleaning the floors & taking out the garbage while he supervised, Cates & I ended up chatting. He liked talking about Nevada, politics, gold mines, ballistics, Bayji, the prospect that someday maybe I’d be allowed to wear his patch on my right shoulder, all sorts of stuff. He was extremely affable & sensitive, yet he was also a natural tough guy, the kind of guy you’re glad is on the American side. He could be brutal in combatives & physical training in the morning, yet at lunchtime he would say things that make me laugh more than any professional comedian ever has.

Cates was more experienced as a fire support specialist, and he dominated in terms of attracting pretty women and in terms of lifting weights. Thus, as long as I was around him, as his teammate, his roommate, & his buddy out on the town, I had no choice but to compensate by trying to one-up his level of professional expertise, his amazing sense of humor, & his epic political rants. We were in a constant, vaguely defined competition. I enjoyed every second of it, and it made me a better person & a better paratrooper.

Living with Cates in Fayetteville also meant I endured the spectacle of him constantly walking, pacing in the living room and around the apartment complex (He liked to “go on patrol” at random times in the parking lot.) to burn off this infinite energy he possessed regardless of the fact that he never consumed caffeine. He very rarely simply sat & watched TV; he had to pace, usually with a laptop or a guitar in his hands. I think he was allergic to chairs.

We’d often share complaints, usually pertaining to the Army life and the poor decision-making of our colleagues & commanders, and we’d argue about virtually everything else, but we never forgot we were teammates & friends.

For example, Cates would go on a semi-serious tirade about having to go to work earlier than usual the next day, then I’d empathize, then he would tell me I’m a communist terrorist who wants to destroy America, then we’d talk about who we were going to vote for, then he’d play a Metallica YouTube video and try to figure out the melody on his guitar, then he’d tell me about a tactic he learned during his first deployment to make me a better soldier, then he’d ask about my girlfriend, then he’d compose & play a song about my girlfriend, then he’d insist we go to the gym so I could spot him on the bench press. That was a typical hour living with Christopher Cates.

I won’t try to retell the whole story of our friendship and all the times he made me laugh, and I won’t recount what we did together IVO Baghdad in Operation Iraqi Freedom, because this post is long enough already. I believe I have quite a few photographs and videos of Christopher Cates stored on my computer. I shall attempt to compile what I have in a useful fashion so that maybe one day I can share more memories with others who knew him.

Thank you.

[Amanda Goble]

I knew Chris for the last 15 years. We met in the 6th grade and were instant friends. He was the greatest guy that I knew and was the all American man and soldier. He wanted to be in the army as long as I knew him. He wanted to follow in his grandpa and fathers foot steps. I never met a person that didn't like him. He was so funny, he never got mad or sad about anything. He kept the people that he loved so close no matter how far they really were. I'm grateful for all the moments I shared with him and sad for the ones that I will not be able to share going forward and for all the people that did not have the blessing to meet such an amazing, unique and admirable human-being. Chris, I love you and miss you all the time. Cha!!