“Mike’s Credo”

[Martrae]

Michael Carlson
May 29, 2005

I was born in Wisconsin. We lived in a town called Webster, on a road called Lavern Lane. Since then many things have changed, but many more remain the same.

We no longer live in the country; we only go to church once or twice a year, and we no longer struggle to make ends meet. Today we live in the city, but we still have a junkyard, and my dad still works 16 hours a day, every day. Today I am a man, not a 7-year-old child. There are still cars everywhere; we own over 90. About 20 of them still run and 12 of those we store in the city. No, we don't have a parking lot. What we do is borrow our neighbors' unused stalls for fixing their cars and doing other little things for them.

I admire my father more than any other person on this planet, not for being a mechanic or a tough guy but for his ambition. For 30 years, he has gone to work every day, come home, gone to the garage and worked more hours. I don't know how he does it but I do know why. He does it for us. He wants my brother and me to have everything we need and most of what we want. Lots of people say that the best way to learn is by the example of others. Well, then I have one of the best teachers on how to be a man [and] how to treat others. I mean, he is not perfect by any means, but is anyone really perfect? I think that he is pretty close.

Sometimes I wonder if my dad ever thought of college. I wonder if he is happy. I sometimes even feel sorry for him. What I mean by that is that I look at him and I see a guy who has spent his entire life working. That is what he does. He works. If my mom never brought up the idea of a vacation, he would never think [about taking one]. He would work to the day he died. I love hard work, but how do you go to the same dead-end job every day knowing that you will be doing it forever?

Every now and then, someone who had my dad fix his car will stop by and need something, and every time I talk to them they always start talking about my dad's work. They compliment him on paint jobs he did 20 years ago that still look like they are brand new. That reminds me of another trait I have taken from my dad, besides my hard work ethic. "If you are going to do a job, do it right the first time, because a job not done well is a job not worth doing," so the saying goes. I take that personally. If someone has an honest complaint about my workmanship, I will bend over backwards to make it right. If people are going to pay you good money to do something, you had better do a darn good job. That is why I usually work alone. Then, if there is a problem, I know whom I can blame.

My dad hasn't taught me everything, though. A lot of it I have learned on my own. I've still got a lot to learn, but I have figured out things like how to deal with people I don't like and those who don't like me. I've also learned why, when cutting a frozen bagel, you cut away from yourself. I have the scar to prove it. My dad calls this type of learning "the school of hard knocks." Some of the knocks are harder than others.

I love sports. I love football, wrestling, weight-lifting, skiing and hockey. I love the thrill of competition, the roar of the crowds, the agony on the faces of your opponents as the final seconds tick off the clock. However, I don't want to do it as a profession. I think it would be fun for a little while, then it would get boring. I guess the point that I am trying to make is that when I am on my deathbed, what am I going to look back on? Will it be 30 years of playing a game that in reality means nothing, or will it be 30 years of fighting crime and protecting the country from all enemies, foreign and domestic?

I want my life to account for something more than just a game. In life, there are no "winners" -- everyone eventually loses his life. I only have so much time; I can't waste it with a game. I want to be good at life. I want to be known as the best of the best at my job. I want people to need me, to count on me. I am never late; I am either on time or early. I want to help people. I want to fight for something, be part of something that is greater than myself. I want to be a soldier or something of that caliber, maybe a cop or a secret service agent.

I want to live forever. But the only way that one could possibly achieve it in this day and age is to live on in those you have affected. I want to carve out a niche for myself in the history books. I want to be remembered for the things I accomplished. I sometimes dream of being a soldier in a war. In this war I am helping to liberate people from oppression. In the end, maybe there is a big parade and a monument built to immortalize us in stone. Other times I envision being a man you see out of the corner of your eye, dressed in black fatigues, entering a building full of terrorists. After everything is completed, I slip out the back only to repeat this the next time I am called. I might not be remembered in that scenario, but I will have helped people.

I guess what I want most of all is to be a part of the real world, not an entertainer. I want to have an essential role in the big picture. I want adventure, challenge, danger, and most of all I don't want to be behind a counter or desk. Maybe when I am 100 years old, I will slow down and relax. Until then, I have better things to do.

[Martrae]

His words are his legacy
Chuck Haga, Star Tribune
May 29, 2005

When a teacher at St. Paul's Cretin-Derham Hall High School asked seniors in May 2000 to write a "credo paper," a statement of their life values and dreams, Michael Carlson didn't hold back.

Nicknamed "Shrek," Carlson was an all-conference wrestler and a big, affable lineman on the school's state championship football team. But he didn't see his future in athletics.

"I want my life to account for something more than just a game," he wrote. "I only have so much time; I can't waste it with a game.

"I want people to need me, to count on me. ... I want to help people. I want to fight for something, be part of something that is greater than myself.

"I want to be a soldier or something of that caliber."

On Jan. 24, Army Sgt. Michael Carlson and four other soldiers died in Iraq when their Bradley fighting vehicle overturned in a canal.

He was 22.

"I want to live forever," he had written at 18, but "the only way ... is to live on in those you have affected. I want to carve out a niche for myself in the history books. I want to be remembered for the things I accomplished.

"I sometimes dream of being a soldier in a war. In this war I am helping to liberate people from oppression."

Michael's older brother, Dan, read the high school paper at the funeral on Feb. 5.

An Army sergeant who was part of the honor detail asked for a copy she could share with others in the military, and "Mike's Credo" raced up the chain of command -- and beyond.

A major general wrote about the essay in a letter to Michael's parents, Daniel and Merrilee Carlson of Hastings.

The 1,250-word paper was read on a nationally syndicated radio program, and it was published last week -- under Michael's byline -- on the Wall Street Journal's opinion page.

Paul Wolfowitz, deputy secretary of defense, asked the Carlsons for permission to attend their son's burial service at Arlington National Cemetery near Washington, D.C. There, he talked with the Carlsons about the Iraq elections that took place shortly after Michael's death. Later, he sent them two books of photographs of Iraqis standing in long lines, waiting to vote.

Wolfowitz also passed a copy of Michael's essay to President Bush, who in a handwritten note to the Carlsons praised their "courageous son."

"It helps not only for understanding Michael and why he was there," Merrilee Carlson said, "but also all the other young people who are driven to do this -- these wonderful people who are willing to go to any extent to protect this country."

Daniel Carlson said his son's essay and the response to it have eased the pain of losing him, and he continues to believe that the U.S. effort will lead to a better, freer Iraq and a safer America.

"He didn't die in vain," he said. "It will come."

Neither of his parents had seen the essay until Michael's brother found it going through his things before the funeral, but neither was surprised by the sentiments it contained.

"Every time I read it, I read something else in it that triggers a memory," his mother said. "And the more I read it, the more I see hints that make me think he knew his life was going to be short.

"He ate fast as a kid. He could sleep standing up. He always had his hammer with him, even as a little kid. He never wanted to waste a chance to do something that needed to be done, whether it was fixing a car or taking a nap."

Part of Michael's essay was an unabashed tribute to his father, a mechanic.

"I admire my father more than any other person on this planet," he wrote. "For 30 years, he has gone to work every day, [then] come home and worked [some] more.

"I don't know how he does it but I do know why. He does it for us. He wants my brother and me to have everything we need and most of what we want.

"Lots of people say that the best way to learn is by the example of others. Well, then I have one of the best teachers on how to be a man [and] how to treat others."

The son's words are lodged now in Daniel Carlson's heart, and he finds it difficult to respond to them.

"He always took care of his friends," the father said. "He always did the hard work."

Merrilee Carlson said she was "so moved by the pictures in the books Wolfowitz sent us," and by the reports of people in Iraq standing in line to vote in the country's first free national elections.

"The way he died just drives me crazy," she said. "But I'm comforted by the fact the average Iraqi people are standing up for themselves."

She was nervous about his desire to enlist right out of high school.

"I told him, 'If you don't like college, then you can join the Army. But if you don't like the Army, you're still in the Army.'

"I think every parent worries about the dangers," she said.

'Part of real world'

Michael tried college, enrolling at Concordia University in St. Paul.

"It didn't go so well," his mother said. "He got good grades, but he wanted to focus on his dreams, and college wasn't getting him there fast enough."

Michael left college and enlisted in May 2001.

"In his mind, 9/11 just solidified why he was there," Merrilee Carlson said. "It was something he felt so deeply about."

Michael's feelings about the war and his role didn't really change over the course of his time there, his parents said, except that it became more difficult to be so far away after he met Crystal Beck, 21, of St. Paul, when he was home on leave.

He proposed to her from Iraq, and she accepted.

"He was wonderful," she said last week. "I loved him very much.

"We had talked a lot about him being in the Army, so it didn't shock me when I read in his paper that he was thinking about it when he was younger."

Michael died before they could be married, but a picture of them together is part of the shrine the Carlsons have assembled around Michael's Bronze Star and Army commendation medals and the U.S. flag from his funeral.

"He wrote to her on New Year's Eve," Merrilee Carlson said. "He said he was lying in the mud, thinking about her: 'I may be crazy, but I'm so happy right at this moment.'

"I think her struggle with his death has been harder than ours. We had him for 22 years. Their life together was just beginning.

"But she will always be our daughter-in-law."

Michael Carlson served in Germany and Kosovo -- where he wrote to his father asking for tools so he could work on his military vehicle -- before he was deployed to Iraq in February 2004.

He was "in the thick of it" in the assault late last year on insurgents in Fallujah, other soldiers told the Carlsons.

He died a few days before he was scheduled to leave Iraq.

"I guess what I want most of all is to be a part of the real world," he had written at 18. "I want to have an essential role in the big picture. I want adventure, challenge, danger, and most of all I don't want to be behind a counter or desk.

"Maybe when I am 100 years old I will slow down and relax. Until then, I have better things to do."

Chuck Haga is at crhaga@startribune.com.

[labbats]

I read that last week in a newspaper editorial. It was very good, but sad as hell to see that he was dead.

[Lyion]

Yeah, I read it too, and while it was meaningful it was very sad.

[kaharthemad]

first time I read it. heart breaking but good.