Dear Reader,
    Originally a single story of growing up in Turkey, John Tudbury's subsequent updates take us from setting foot in Turkey for the first time as an eight year old, son of a military diplomat, and growing up speaking both English and Turkish, to having lifelong friends in two countries (or more), choosing the military and a Military Police career, and then - after getting out of the Air Force - continuing a civilian law enforcement career that included a medal for valor! After realizing the "middle east itch" wasn't going to leave him, he quit his civilian police job and set off for Iraq, where he trained new civilian police officers. Now we have yet another update: this time dateline:  Beirut, Lebanon! This is one terrific guy; as the pictures and stories show. Immediately below is his latest update and as you read down the page you'll go back into his previous lives. (or you have the option of starting with the earliest (bottom-most) story and working your way up and into the present. Take your pick.

New 3/8/2011

What an adventure:  Having Surgery in Lebanon

So, on March 4th, I had knee surgery in this fine country of Lebanon. Now, before you gasp. Lebanon really is a modern and technologically advanced society. I had the best surgeon in Lebanon, Doctor Walid Germani, doing the operation. He was by all accounts as good or better than any surgeon in the United States. Not only was I confident in him, I looked forward to him relieving the nagging pain that had been dogging me for nearly two months.

At this point I need to tell you:  I am no stranger to pain. Thirty-eight years of law enforcement has given me much pain. I should also mention that I have always aspired to be pain free as much as possible. The mere mention of hospitals, doctors - and especially doctors who call themselves surgeons - makes me want to flee in terror. Despite the fear, I found myself on a surgical table surrounded by nameless, faceless glove and mask wearing doctor types. They were scaring the **** out of me. I tried to bribe them by handing out Boise Police Department patches in the surgical room. I'm sure that was a first for most of them, and I doubt most patients bring a gift when visiting an operating room. It didn't help, however, as I was strapped to a table so that I couldn't flee in the middle of this ordeal.

It gets better: I said to myself, "Okay, I made it this far, put me to sleep and let's get this over with in a hurry." Wrong. This nice nameless, faceless, Yale-medicine-educated anesthesiologist said, "We are going to give you a 'local' now and start the surgery".

Okay, I am no doctor, but I do know what a "local" means. That's the shot a dentist gives you to numb your face while he fills a cavity. All I could muster was an, "Excuse me???"

It went downhill rapidly from there. As I tried to escape, I forgot that I was strapped to a thousand pound surgical table. Neither of us budged. This nice, faceless, anesthesiologist noted some anxiety in my voice and body as I tried to recreate The Exorcist in front of his very eyes. All he said was, "It will be all right." I asked, "For whom???"

They covered my lower half with a curtain so that I would not direct the operation. I could not tell what was going on. He began to recite his resume, medical degrees and recent positive surgical experiences. I didn't care. I wanted to be put to sleep for the next two weeks so I didn't feel any of this. Now, not only was I going to be awake through the whole process, but I thought my knee wasn't that bad after all and we could all go home. That is when he stuck some electrical probe into my hip looking for a nerve to make my left foot do a funny rendition of Riverdance. Fortunately, he hit the nerve on the first try. Not bad. Then came the second probe. This time I knew it was coming because he was talking in English to someone other than me. I really didn't want to know, and wished he would revert back to Arabic so I didn't know what was coming next.

Blam! He inserted the next probe to make my knee try to keep in step with my foot which was still Riverdancing. He hit it on the first try as well. I said something like "I wish I could get just one of my hands free for a minute". At least he stopped probing me, and despite begging for my life and promising him and whomever he was talking too I would never do a bad thing, ever again, he gave me the "local". Confidently, he said, "We will begin the surgery in twenty minutes when this takes effect". He also gave me a sedative to keep me from levitating above the surgical table. Exactly 19 minutes, 45 seconds and 12 milliseconds later someone started cutting my flesh with a scalpel. What was worse:  I knew someone was cutting my flesh with a scalpel. I asked, my closest friend in all the world, the anesthesiologist, "I am supposed to feel that???" Two minutes later I was sleeping like a baby.

Thirty minutes later I was wide awake and being pulled across the surgical table like a dog's chew toy. I didn't feel anything that was happening but was relieved they had thought to strap me in because it was an "E-Ticket" ride at Disneyland (to you old timers). To make matters worse, the doctor was on the opposite side of this thousand-pound surgical table and was leaning on me to get an even better grip. For the next three and a half hours I sat there bored to death. Those of you who know me know I can make a funny situation out of any situation, but because of the sedative, I really didn't care if they worked on my good knee as well! I even told them in Turkish that I was getting hungry. "Ben çok açim !" (forgive my spelling). Of course none of them understood Turkish so I didn't get any food delivered to me. I don't know how to say I'm hungry in Arabic and really didn't care because I was still bored.

To relieve the boredom I remembered they had forgotten to strap my right leg down to the table. At this point I was thinking of anything that might reduce the boredom. I kneed the surgeon in the chest with my free leg. He stopped dragging me across the table for a moment. I thought, "I'll bet he thought that was just a reaction and not intentional." So I gave it a few minutes. He began dragging me around the table again. This time I tickled his stomach with my toes. That got a reaction! Not only did I get slapped on the leg (I realized there had to be a female in the operating room as grown men don't slap grown men!), but someone starting pinning my free leg to the table. I asked them, "So do you want to give me a local for that too???" I didn't understand the Arabic reply. They didn't think it was as funny as I did, so I just resigned myself to wait for them to finish. Then the possibility occurred to me that might have been the female in the room I was tickling, not the surgeon. All the more reason to stop.

After four long hours, the surgeon finally got bored and quit dragging me around. I mustered a Shukram ("Thanks" in Arabic) but I didn't mean it and I think he knew that as well. The only - and I mean only - nice thing about receiving a local anesthetic for this operation was not having the sedative hangover that comes from being put to sleep. To me, at least, I was my usual funny self immediately. I often forget American humor is lost on the Lebanese people. They are very polite but obviously (and correctly) think we Americans are somewhat demented. I doubt they have ever seen someone come out of major surgery cracking jokes. Seeing the slightest smile, I could tell they were thinking, "That local is going to wear off and we'll see how funny you feel then!" It really wasn't that funny after all.

Truth be told, I would have surgery with these specialists again without hesitation. The surgeons were top notch and the facilities were spectacular. The nursing core after-surgery catered to my every need without complaint and looked like they enjoyed the work. The Lebanese people are some of the most hospitable and caring people in the world. I am in my second year in Lebanon and would not trade the experience for anything...except a shot to put me to sleep.

Please enjoy in the spirit of giving.

New 1-1-2011

Happy New Year from Beirut, Lebanon!

Once again, I was treated to an awesome display for New Year here in Beirut. Due to the sensitive installations surrounding our immediate neighborhood, photographs and video are prohibited so let me try to describe what it means to celebrate the new year in Lebanon. Picture the fireworks from Disneyland...ON STEROIDS. Here in Lebanon, aerial fireworks are perfectly legal and encouraged. My apartment sits above the city with a splendid view of most of Beirut.

From this vantage point, I can see the airport to the south and the city of Jounieh to the north. Leading up to midnight, many, many fireworks were set off to celebrate weddings which is a popular occurrence on the day before the new year. Each wedding is always celebrated with an aerial display lasting at least ten to fifteen minutes. So, as darkness sets in, fireworks can be seen all over the city. This is nothing compared to what starts to happen about ten minutes before midnight.

To enhance the visual effects, all lights in the apartment are turned off. First, this serves to darken the area around the apartment in order to see more clearly. Second, it prevents us from being back lighted and silhouetted against the backdrop so we don't get shot while standing on the balcony. Of course you are probably thinking how could they be shot by fireworks? Well, not all the aerial fireworks are exactly legal.

The fireworks I am talking about are tracer rounds fired from weapons like AK-47's and machine guns. Among the aerial displays come the inevitable display of tracer rounds shot over Beirut. They are quite beautiful as well as plentiful. Weapons are fired all over the city and in all directions. It makes a rather interesting display among the legal fireworks. The sounds of fireworks exploding mixed with the sound of automatic gun fire from thirty round magazines makes for a visual and auditory bonanza. Typically, the ratio of tracer rounds to ordinary rounds is one per three making the full clip of thirty rounds much more visible. The tracers are generally red in color as they burn and climb to extraordinary heights above the city. This year most of the rounds appeared to be fired toward the Mediterranean sea or straight up in the air; however, there does seem to be little regard as to where they land.

The old adage that someone is going to get their eye put out appears to be appropriate here. Last year, there was only one reported injury due to "happy fire" on New Years eve. Hopefully, this year will be the same. While it seems dangerous, it is very interesting and quite beautiful at the same time. I certainly would not miss the opportunity to see this display by going to bed early. Tomorrow, we will see if this turned out to be a safe and sane holiday celebration in the Middle East.

Happy New Year to all of you and a safe New Year as well.

New 10-09-2010

Life in the Middle East Can Be Hard.

My wife, Sue, just came for a short visit and we had a wonderful time visiting several cities she did not see on her first visit in April. We stayed in the city of Byblos for the first few days. Byblos (Jibel) is reported to be one of the oldest inhabited cities in the world. The city is best known for it's Roman ruins and shopping in the Souks. The hotel we stayed in was right on the Mediterrean and the water was probably 74 degrees. Great time!

Next, we visited a site known as Harisa which has religious significance to all faiths. You might remember me talking about riding a cablecar (of death) to the top earlier this year. Beautiful views of the city of Jounieh from the top of the mountain.

Then, on to the town of Saida. It has a beautiful castle in the bay built by Richard the Lionheart during the Crusades. As we walked through the many alleys and streets of the Souks in Saida, we came across an old Turkish bath from the 1800's. One of the shop owners was kind enough to open it up and let us take a look inside. This was a meeting place for families arranging marriages during the day and a "boys club" at night. Incredible to walk in such historic places here in Lebanon.

We also visited a banana plantation near the city of Tyre (Sur) and ate with the family. The wives were smoking tobacco in an Argileh pipe but did not want their pictures taken with pipe in hand. Great Lebanese food and we were treated like royalty.

Next, my Lieutenant Hamze Haidar took us to his village for the day. It is located in the mountains above Byblos where his aunt prepared a local dish on a round-top cooking stove. The food is a mixture of bread, cheese, and meat and like the old commercial "you can't just eat one". I probably gained several kilos on this trip just from her cooking alone.

Oh yes, forgot about the life over here being so hard...Oh, never mind. Enjoy the pictures!

Click Photos to view Enlargements

Just Another Boring Day at the Warwar Police Academy...

Except for: One large, black, possibly a Black desert Cobra in the sewer system; and making two arrests while working a "mock" vehicle checkpoint in Beirut, Lebanon.

First, the snake:

It has been living in the sewer system for some time. I suspect it was his place to locate rats and mice which are plentiful here. It took three days and finally it was smoked out of hiding by one ingenious sergeant. Guesses range from a Cobra to a black rat snake. I prefer to think of it as a Cobra.

Click Photos to view Enlargements

New 05-30-2010:

What is it About Week 5 at the Police Academy?

Last week we had a bit of a problem at the police academy in Lebanon. It always happens during Week Five which is the week following firearms week. The cadets, once they qualify with a handgun (250 points) and rifle (400 points) feel they have made it through the academy. Unfortunately, it is only Week Four of the academy and there are Eleven weeks in all. As you might guess, discipline is the first thing to go for them. They are on coast and can become quite unruly. As an instructor, I am tasked with the daily routine of completing paperwork, inspections and Lieutenant tracking forms. To help me, I started an Instructor log so that I can refer back to each week and review any significant events during any one academy. Sure enough, the dreaded WEEK FIVE always comes up.

Now here we are in Week Five, Academy Class 16, classroom A (my class). I have forty-one students fresh off the range ready to graduate. Someone forgot to tell them the academy wasn't over for another month and a half... Cell phones start appearing in public, they start openly smoking cigarettes during breaks, uniforms failed to be pressed (you get the picture). Well, even some feel they can challenge the authority of the Sergeants, Lieutenants and God forbid, the American instructors (me).

It happened so suddenly, no one saw it coming, especially me. Week Five, Monday afternoon and we are in the middle of baton training outside. We have specific instructors schooled in the art of self defense and baton training. They are guest instructors and I take pride in the behavior of my cadets when a guest is teaching. We were outside with half the class practicing baton strikes and the other half (listening and watching?).

Those in the half not participating are supposed to be quiet so the instructors can shout out commands. I noticed one particular student talking loudly and not paying attention. Usually a look in their direction brings them back to reality and they quiet down. This cadet did not. So, I told him "Bala Haki" (be quiet) in Arabic and to my amazement, he laughed and continued talking loudly. I approached him as the rest of the forty cadets looked on in horror. I told him again to be quiet and he said, "Why?" The instructor came out in me and I explained at 2,000+ decibels that I was the instructor and he was the student (usually a pretty good argument). He stood his ground and tried to give me his best death stare. This continued for about five seconds until he backed down and shut up.

Now we American instructors have nothing to do with punishing the cadets for insubordination. We do have Wasta "influence" with the other staff members including the ISF Sergeants and Lieutenants. Now this cadet had raised himself above the normal student to a status of "dissident" for unruly and inappropriate behavior. It could not go unpunished. As it was the end of the class day, we let the incident go until the next morning but not before I reported it to the ISF Sergeant. I really didn't need to report it because everyone at the academy heard me shouting at him.

The next day was filled with speeches about Respect, Honor, and Discipline. I led the way, followed by my co-instructor, two Lieutenants (who backed me completely) and ISF Sergeant.

I did not single out the offending student as that is not my way. I feel the discipline problem is a team problem as there are no individual cadets, only Class A as one solid team. In the military, we took care of our own discipline problems before they got out of hand. At the ISF, things are different. There is no soft, cuddly hug when a cadet screws up. No, this cadet was jerked from his chair to go outside to some unspeakable punishment or jail. He knew it was coming and he knew it was going to be bad. Tears started to well up in his eyes as he had all night to wait for this moment. He tried to exit through a locked door near his desk. Yes, it was locked. Now, too his embarassment, real tears were forming as he had to do the walk of shame in front of the entire class to get outside the unlocked door on the other side of the room. Did I mention he now had two Lieutenants and a Sergeant yelling at him for not moving fast enough? Yep, his fate was sealed. The other forty students stared in horror. First, because they had never seen me angry or yell at anyone, but mainly because we dealt with the insubordination so quickly and established our authority without question.

Outside this 6'2", 230 pound bully was now crying loudly and uncontrollably. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He was apologizing hysterically and I thought he was going to get down on his knees, beg forgiveness, and grab my leg. The Lieutenant was screaming something in Arabic I have not yet mastered. I got the point. He got the point. The academy got the point as other instructors and ISF staff came out to see all the excitement.

I did not have the heart to press for any further punishment. His apology was heart-felt and completely humiliating to him in front of his fellow cadets. I accepted his apology on the condition he never did it again. I also told him he was one of the leaders in the class and the other cadets looked to him for guidance. I told him to go to the bathroom and clean himself up (so that he could regain some of his dignity). He was very grateful that the punishment he envisioned did not come to pass.

Click photos to enlarge

Did I mention Week Six? Pepper Spray? I probably don't need to say more, as most of our readers have heard me describe the end of the world on Pepper Spray day (story below). This particular student got the worst spraying I have seen as an instructor. Oh, yes: caught on film in brilliant Technicolor. To his credit, he stood there and took it like a man. While the other cadets took a little spray and went off whimpering like little girls, this guy stood there for a full four-shot picture taking bonanza. I was so impressed, I gave him a certificate the next day. It was called the Pepper Spray Award (I made that up myself) for the student who took the biggest hit. He deserved the certificate and everything else he had coming...

Don't mess with the instructors.

Added 03-21-2010:

CLEANUPS CAN GET MESSY

(Click Photos to enlarge)

On occasion, my brain explodes. I don't know why, it just does. Every day going to work in Lebanon we pass a small church. This church is not unlike many churches in this part of the world built 200 or 300 hundred years ago. Small and basic in design from the outside and usually ornate and beautiful on the inside. This particular church has a design dating it around the 1800's. In front, it has been paved and relatively well kept. The back, however, is full of weeds and overgrown with trees. Pretty much the same as most churches of that era now abandoned to larger, more modern churches.

Last Sunday, since I am not much of a church goer, I decided to go work on the grounds of this nice older church. I gathered tools from my apartment manager including saws, shears, rakes, and a hoe. He is used to me doing this since I cleared the orchard behind my apartment recently. I grabbed a driver and off I went to this small church in Baabda.

The driver dropped me off and I went to work. For the next four hours, I weeded and cut down tree limbs. Pruned olive trees and raked up a massive pile of weeds and trash from the garden on the side of the church. The adventure only began when I moved to the rear portion of the property and in sight on one house on the opposite side of the street.

Now picture this if you will. I am in my Sunday clothes (bad 511 pants which were filthy and a bright red t-shirt with "BOISE" across the front, gloves and knee pads). My usual Sunday attire. From across the street, I hear "Hello!?!" I look up to see an elder lady with a walker and her attendant, a Sri Lanken maid. I waved and shouted out, "Merhaba!" (Yes, they use Merhaba (hello) in Lebanon as well). They looked at me somewhat bewildered as most Lebanense do when they see an American doing yard work. In my now familiar broken Arabic/French/English(Spanish) and - occasionally - Turkish language, I tried to tell them what I was doing. Circling my hands toward the ground, picking a few weeds and showing them a Lebanese rake did the trick. They just nodded at me as if I was a crazy man (I get that alot) and went inside. I continued on my quest to clean up this property. About ten minutes later, the Sri Lanken maid came over to the fence to talk with me. Her broken English was about as bad as my broken Arabic. The content of the conversation was quite clear. I had to leave. I asked her why. She merely said I could not be there and had to leave. I said okay.

Now, remember I never mentioned anything about getting permission to clean out the garden of this church. My plan had been to get in and get out, with no one knowing who had been there. It was Sunday and there were no church services here so I figured it to be a good time to clean up while everyone was at another church. I called for a driver and cleaned up what I could of the mess I made. I felt bad because I was not done and the grounds needed a lot of work. I walked over to the house and put one of my business cards in the door for the people to see I was not a vagrant. I was also happy they were able to see my vehicle, a brand new Honda Pilot to show them I didn't just walk to work.

When the driver got there, I asked him to please go explain to the residents why I was there (he is Lebanese and can speak Arabic). He came back saying everything was okay, they just didn't know why I was there. Feeling better, I went back the the apartment to get some lunch and clean up a bit. After lunch was when it started to get weird. I was bothered that I had not finished weeding. So, again without permission, I had a driver take me back to the church so that I could finish up. I unloaded all of my gear and started back to work. Driver left.

Not ten minutes later, the same Sri Laken maid was back with another female. This nice lady spoke very good English. I was trespassing. Now being a former policeman from the United States of America I know that is a criminal offense. Here in Lebanon, I don't know what that means but if a cadet at the academy can get two days in jail for having a cell phone, TRESPASSING can't be good. Since she spoke English, I managed an, "I'm very sorry." Followed by, "I am REALLY very sorry." She explained her Great grandfather built this church and it was the private property of their family (remember the older lady with the walker?) Yep, she's the owner. Graciously, she asked me to leave for a second time. I said my apologies and asked her to apologize to her mother for me. I immediately called for a driver to get out of there. The driver must have sensed something was wrong and brought back-up in another vehicle. By now, this nice lady is getting a sense I am not a terrorist, vagrant or despot planting bombs in a Christian church garden. It didn't make me look any less weird to her. She mentioned Lebanese people do not do these acts of kindness. I felt relieved with the "acts of kindness" statement. I also explained I worked with the ISF academy near the church and I passed by here everyday. As I was leaving, she said one more curious thing. She invited my to Mass at the church the next Saturday at 5 pm. I graciously accepted since I knew I would not be in prison on that day for TRESPASSING. I went back to my apartment and told my boss about being kicked out of church not once, but twice. A new personal record. He gave me the usual "quite messing with the Lebanese people look" and said nothing further.

The next Saturday arrived and I was anxious to make a better impression. I invited one of my co-workers and her husband as witnesses (and she is Catholic and can speak church-type stuff, if needed). I left early and stopped at a local flower shop. I purchase a dozen mixed roses in a nice bouquet to give to the elderly lady with the walker. Mostly, it was an apology for causing her any grief and to try to set things right. I arrived at the church and walked across the street to the residence. The Sri Laken maid let me in and looked me over carefully because I was now in my Saturday clothes, not my Sunday clothes. I was introduced to the son of the elderly lady. His name was Emir Hares Chehab. I met his elderly mother and gave her the roses. I was now her new best friend. I didn't understand a word she said but it sounded kind and she looked happy. Emir spoke very good English and we sat down in the living room.

Emir, being typical Lebanese, wanted to know everything about me. I told him the basics. He asked, do you remember talking with me this week on the phone. I thought, now that is a different question. I said, "No. I am sure I would have remembered that." He said, "Weren't you in General Sousy's office and talked with me?" Now, I think, where is this coming from? I said, "No, I have never been to the General's office." Emir pressed me for more information. He took out his telephone and gave me the exact time of the telephone call. Again, I said, "No. Wasn't me." Emir immediately called General Sousy (my big Lebanese boss at the academy to whom we all report but never see). They talked in Lebanese as I got out another of my business cards when Emir asked my family name (Tudbury). I am starting to think I am now going to prison in my Saturday clothes. They exchanged conversations and determined I had not been the one who talked to Emir from the General's office. I told Emir I had no clue who might have talked to him.

Emir seemed satisfied and gave me one of his business cards. EMIR HARES CHEHAB, General Secretary of the Islamic-Christian National Dialogue Committee. Crap! This guy was huge in Lebanese politics. I'm thinking why did I pick this church now.... he smiled, knowing I knew he was important. He seemed to be more at peace having established I was not, 1. a terrorist, 2. a vagrant, 3. and was just some dumb American stepping in a pile of (you know what). Off we went to church. The Mass did not start until he entered the room. It was filled with the town people who waited patiently for his arrival. Emir and I walked up to the front of the church and sat in the front row. The priest greeted him warmly and proceeded the service in Arabic and Aramaic (language of Jesus). It was a wonderful service and not any different than the Catholic services I attend with my wife, Sue.

After church, I was invited back to the house, along with Chris who showed up slightly late, to have Chai. Emir introduced his mother to Chris and we had a pleasant time talking. I begged for forgiveness saying we had another appointment this evening and had to go. Emir said he wanted to invite us to an invitation-only meeting on the 25th of March at the Jesuite school. He further said it would be the first time all of the various religions (including Druse, Shittes, and Shias) would be in a meeting in a Catholic church in Lebanon and it would be historic. Lech Walesa, the Polich Union leader, would be in attendance as well. Emir said, "Show my card to the guard, that is your invitation."

We left and attended a going away party for several members of our team. I happened to hear one of the instructors talking about his experience this week at the General's office (you guessed it, his name is John). He was so proud he had been summoned to General Sousy's office (and he had to get directions there as it was his first time). When he arrived, he was greeted by a number of dignitaries and General Sousy. One man jumped up and offered John a seat. General Sousy called a phone number and handed the phone to John. John, who is hard of hearing, is now talking to someone on the phone about his mother seeing him in church and thanking him for worshipping God. John, of course, thanked him and hung up the phone. I told John I think the phone call was for me. He said, I wondered why some Lebanese guy would thank me for praising God and his mother seeing me do it. (That's John in a nutshell).

I sent Emir an e-mail clarifying the mystery and asked him to please explain to General Sousy the error. All is well in Lebanon again.

Added 02-26-2010:

PEPPER SPRAY DAY
Or The End of the World!

The Mayan Calendar will abruptly end on December 23, 2012. Experts say the Mayans believed that is the end of civilization as we know it, therefore the calendar ends. It just stops. Here in Lebanon, I believe the Mayans were wrong. According to the cadets of the ISF Academy, Class 14 (A), Warwar training center, Beirut, Lebanon (also known as the center of the universe), the end of the world is February 24, 2010. It is commonly known in the academy as Pepper Spray day.

Now, as a teacher, I know every teacher in the universe has secretly had a thought of pepper spraying their entire classroom full of students from time to time. It is inevitable. But here in Lebanon, dreams do come true. Every cadet, every class, of every academy gets pepper sprayed. I know, they know it. It happens as soon as they come back from a week on the firing range. It happens almost exactly one half way through the academy schedule. It happens....

I can tell when a new class begins. Day One. "Mr. John, when are we going to get pepper sprayed?" They always throw out the disposable English speaker so at least you know one is listening to your entire conversations. I have a pattened answer. "Sometime in the near future." Not good enough for these young cadets. They have a communication system better than the White House. They know before I know and I am the one who picks the time and place.

As the weeks roll towards that inevitable last day of life, the excuses start. My mother only has me to survive the family. I have acne(?) (that was a new one this time). It will surely kill me. I have looked into 42 pair of eyes for a couple of weeks now. I don't know what I am supposed to see but they show me anyway. I tell them everyone gets sprayed. No exceptions. Almost made an exception for the one who had the cutest baby I have ever seen. Oh yes, I have seen the entire family album from most of these cadets. Doesn't help. Just makes me want to spray them even worse.

The week of the end finally arrives. Unfortuantely for these cadets, they were the last one of four classes to get sprayed. They have been told by other students of near-death experiences. These knuckleheads have even begun watching previous classes being sprayed. The self-mutilation is beyond compare. I try to assure them that it will hurt them a lot more than it will me. Didn't help... Offers of free lunches go unheeded. I don't play favorites.

I tried to trick them by telling them the wrong time and order of when the killings would begin. They already knew before I thought it up. I have never seen the Lieutenants and Sergeants so happy for a day to come. One lieutenant even came in on his own time to help kill the cadets. And so it began...

There was more weeping and wailing than a band of hysterical women. I had given them my, "Don't be a crybaby" speech, be professional police officers and suck it up."

Didn't work. Actors in Hollywood have nothing on these cadets. I could not get more response if I shot each one with a pistol. If I had not seen it with my own eyes and filmed it, no one would believe the dramatics. Fortunately, I got video and photographs to prove that no one died today at Warwar academy. I laughed till I nearly cried. Guess we will just have to wait until December 23, 2012 for the real end of the earth. (I wonder if the Mayan's knew about Pepper Spray...)

Please enjoy the pictures.

John L. Tudbury
International Police Trainer
Lebanon Police Mission
Warwar Academy

Click Photos to view Enlargements

Added 2-10-2010:

ROCK STAR STATUS
Everyone Wants Their picture With The Teacher

Living overseas as an American is nothing new. Many Americans live and work overseas every day. Not many of us get to obtain "Rock Star" status from the people we work with and teach. As an instructor at the Internal Security Forces (ISF) Warwar police academy, I have the distingushed honor of training some of Lebanon's finest young police officers. In turn, they show their apprecitation by turning almost every opportunity into a photo op with the teacher. Whether it be on the firing range or in the back of an old Russian duece and a half transport truck, their energy is boundless (and relentless). Once one photo is taken, a group starts to form, then a crowd, then, well you get the picture....

Here are some of my latest and greatest moments as a Rock Star.

Click Photos to view Enlargements

John and cadet	John and cadet	John with multiplying cadets	Mr. John with no clue	Nice hat
Added instruction	Done	class photo #1	class photo #2	class photo #3
class photo #4	class photo #5	Nice aim guys!	class photo #6	class photo #7
With cadets	With cadets	With cadets	Back from the range #2	Back from the range #3
Back from the range #4	Back from the range #5	Back from the range #6	John in old Russian Deuce and a half truck	Sleepy and crew
Firing line	John-demonstration	Kneeling	Photo Op

Added 02-08-2010:

John Tudbury and a pal take an unusual Lebanese taxi ride!

Tonight, Dave Kynoch (my boss) and I tried to hail a cab coming from the movies. It was late and our drivers were no longer working. A little old man stopped and Dave began negotiating a price. The man wanted too much money and Dave said he would find another cab. The man got out and started negotiating. I could hear Dave say, I will only pay $20,000 LL (about $15 US). Then he said, I think you're drunk. The man said he had a little to drink. Dave said I think you are really drunk. Dave then said I will give you $20,000 but you must let me drive the taxi. The old man agreed.

So, here we are, driving around late at night in a foreign city with an American driving a Lebanese taxi. The drunk old man questioned Dave about how long he had driven a car on the way back to our apartment. Thirty-five years seemed to satisfy him. Dave drove us to the apartment with the driver sitting in the front passenger seat. He even paid Dave a compliment for his safe driving. When we got there, Dave paid him the $20,000 and the driver said I think I should pay you, instead. Just goes to show anything is negotiable (including who drives) in Lebanon.

Absolutely a first for me.

New 02-03-2010:

They Are so Eager To Please

Our new academy class is into it's second week. These are great kids and much more disciplined than the last group. Mostly, because we laid down ground rules for behavior from the start. I have tried several experiments to see what works and what does not work. First, I laid black duct tape on the ground to mark where desks are supposed to be in the classroom. Last class, the desks started migrating around the room until you could barely walk. For whatever reason, the duct tape has worked. Not one desk has moved more than an inch since we started. It is like an invisible wall they can't climb or go around. Probably reverts back to their training and keeping perfect formations. So, experiment #1 was a success.

Experiment #2 was an attempt to have the cadets improve their image and uniform appearance. There seems to be a severe lack of shoe polish at our academy. Yesterday at the beginning of class, I watched the cadets in formation. I picked out one student (who also happens to be our entire basketball team rising to a height of 6'7") because of his perfectly shined shoes. Now imagine, this kid has probably stuck out all his life in a region of 5'8" males. I have never heard him utter a word in class.

As I began classes for the day with the ISF Lieutenant standing with me, I called Amer to stand up. He looked horrified that he had done something wrong. The Lieutenant was not part of the plan so he had no idea what I was doing as well. He put on his game face like he was going to punish this cadet for something I had seen him do which made the moment all that much more dramatic. I called Amer to the front of the class with my interpreter, Nabil. Amer promptly came to the front of the class and snapped to attention. The look on his face told me he expected to be crawling in the mud, have yogurt thrown on him and mud on his face by the time I was done. I told the class to look at Amer carefully. I said that Amer has the most perfect shoes in the class and he was an example for the rest of the class to follow. I told him, "Thank You," and to take his seat. He exhaled so hard I thought he would faint. He took my outstreched hand and gave me a big grin before taking his seat. I later caught him glancing at me and smiling. I never said another word about the compliment to the other cadets.

Today, I walked out of the office, coffee in hand to meet the troops as they formed into perfect rows. They called to me, (Mr. John) and wanted me to notice their shoes. Each and every one of them had spit shined their shoes for today's formation. They looked perfect.

So, experiment #2 was a success.

As we had a guest speaker in the room to talk about Lebanese law and Class B in attendance as well, I took the opportunity to again single out Amer and thanked him for being a positive role model to the rest of Class A and their outstanding appearances. Now, I noticed members of Class B were looking at their own shoes....hmmm, experiment #3 perhaps?

Please enjoy the pictures.

John

Click Photos to view Enlargements

First Lieutenant Baracat.	70 degrees and they're still wearing coats.	Amer is the tall one in back.	Class 14-A	Can't beat a little competition among cops.
Competition: 200 meter run.	Class A Sergeant Daadoud	Enjoying the sun.	Crash and Burn.	Facing Academy entrance.
Lt. Nassar during class break.	They never miss a photo op'!	Timing the run.	Obstacle course.	John timing the run with help.
One of my supermen.	The fastest in Class 14A.	LA Ruba.	Portable Showers	ISF Academy office.
Cooks with cigar in kitchen.	View from top: new classrooms.	Another view of new classrooms.	Workers sifting sand.
Cadet chowhall kitchen.	Dining room.	Dining room 2.	New kitchen area.	New kitchen.
Workers in new building.	Future classrooms	Interesting electrical housing.	Nearly completed classrooms.	New academy office building.

Added 1-11-2010:

John Tudbury and team graduate first
class of Police Trainers in Lebanon

Ten weeks turned into fifteen weeks because of various events, Christmas, and a new year but we finally graduated our students here in Lebanon. As a prize for being the top student for the academy, one student gets an all-expense paid trip to the United States. United States Ambassador to Lebanon Michelle Sesson and Mr. David Johnson, Assistant Secretary of State were present to hand out diplomas. Top officials from our company were also present for the ceremonies. ISF provided an Honor Guard and Band for the festivities.

We graduated 286 cadets and 21 officers. One of my students was in the Top Ten in academics and firearms. He received a certificate by the head of the International Security Forces, General Ashraf Rifi and a Boise Police challenge coin and patch from me. It is sad to see them go but I look forward to a new crop of recruits within the next two weeks.

Please enjoy the pictures below.

John

Click Photos to View Enlargements

Day 2 in Cyprus on the Mountaintop

Highlight of the trip was the finale at the Monastery Stavrovouni. We were allowed to enter the site today and we had to leave Mari at the front gate because women are not allowed in the church. I actually got to touch the sacred cross bearing Jesus's wooden cross and had a blessing bestowed upon a cross I purchased from Monk Antonio. I am not that religious but being in a location that has been guarded by Monks for 2,000 years really made me think how lucky I am to be in the presence of such an iconic symbol of Jesus. It was well worth the trip. Click Photos to view Enlargements
	Church at Stavrovouni Monastery	Church ceiling at Stavrovouni	Church keeper with keys	Church at Stavrovouni Monastery
	Church of All Saints Icons	Church of Lost Persons	Cross at Monastery Stavrovouni	Church at Monastery Stavrovouni
	Monestery on Mountain	Paintings at Monestery Stavrovouni	Paintings at Monestery Stavrovouni	Church at Monestery Stavrovouni
	Church at Monestery Stavrovouni	Street Scene	Street Scene	Wall at Monestery Stavrovouni
	Freedom Statue, Nicosia	Ceiling fresco, Medieval Chapel, Lumiere	Iconic paintings	Lumiere
	Medieval Chapel, Lumiere	Inside Medieval Chapel	Mt. Olympus and Monastery Stavrovouni	Stavrovouni Monk, Antonio
	Nicosia Street, Old Town	Restaurant, Lumiere	Roman Aquaduct	Rules of Monastery Stavrovouni
	Setting the Prisoners Free	Shop Area, Nicosia	Signposts	Forthright Signage, Saint George's Monastery
	Fresco Featuring Virgin Mary

Added 12/20/2009:

John Tudbury Brings A Little Christmas to Lebanon

We have spent a very gratifying day at a convent run by two Sisters, Natalie and Zuzu. It is located in the mountains above Beirut and it is about an hour drive by car.

David McNeely,one of the instructors with our company, began a donation drive when a group of orphans visited his place of work. He decided to research other orphanages, and perhaps start a donation drive. In Lebanon, there really is no such thing as "orphanages". These children do have extended families, however, due to circumstances, most are kept in Convents or Monasteries which are more like social services in the United States. A particular Convent, at Zaraaya, came up three times as a place which receives no outside help when David interviewed other Orphanges. It was decided to help two places, the Convents of St. Michel and Zaraaya. Unfortunately, I do not know the exact meaning of Zaraaya. The church itself, has been standing on the site for more than 300 years. The Sisters are Marionite Christians who take any and all children, regardless of faith. Some of the children are Muslim by faith.

On the initial drive, more than $1,500 dollars was raised for food (nearly a ton) and Christmas gifts. We drove to the site for the visit. Approximately 20 of our instuctors, language assistants and spouses attended. We spent the majority of the day eating a great lunch, touring the Convent and meeting the children. David McNeely dressed as "Papa Noel" to hand out gifts. There was a lot of inteaction with the children. They sang songs and danced for us, and in turn we danced with them. It was a very magical time and these children deserved as much as we could give them. Consequently, we took a second donation to help pay for fuel costs as the Convent is so isolated, electricity is poorly run and the generators are expensive to operate. Another $400 was raised among our group, on the spot.

I also learned the Convent was operating without a commercial washing machine! The washer had operated for 20 years until it finally broke down. Mind you there are over 45 children and staff living at the Convent. I talked with David, and we decided to buy two new machines and have them delivered. David received donations from several members of the company. I paid for one machine myself. Cost was about $650 in total. We had them delivered yesterday (Saturday December 18, 2009) and we drove up to make sure they were properly installed and working.

Sister Natalie runs the Convent. Sister Zuzu is in charge of cooking and house maintenance. This place was extremely organized and meticulous. We played with the children then ate a Lebanese meal of chicken and rice, tabouli, hummis, goat yogurt and many other foods I cannot pronounce, much less spell!

I spoke about having worked in Iraq and helping the children there. If you've read my stories here, you know how passionate I can be when it comes to children! David McNeely did a wonderful job of researching the locations and their ability to self-sustain themselves before choosing the Convent at Zaraaya. They grow their own food and process figs into marmalade to sell to the local stores in exchange for fuel. The children are very well cared for and are loved by the staff. No one goes hungry there. The children are free to go back to family members when it is appropriate but they remain at the Convent for studies and sleeping. As in Iraq, these were some of the most rewarding events I have been involved with in my career. The difference was we were able to interact with these kids, know them by name, and become an extended part of their (and our) lives. Giving them my expensive camera to use was a spur of the moment idea that worked out beautifully. I would not have thought to do that in a group of American children of the same age group. Here are some of the 550 photos I took.

Click Photos to view Enlargements

Added 11/29/2009:

A Day Trip to Jounieh, Lebanon

It started like any other day in Lebanon. Ate my cereal, took a shower, brushed my teeth and went down to get a vehicle at 8:15 am and to find a driver. Picked up two other instructors, Dennis Shaw and David Hudiburgh and off we went for a day in the beautiful city of Jounieh about 32 kilometers from Beirut. It started out so uneventfully....

Great drive, little traffic for a Sunday and then things started to change. We left the relative low lands of Beirut and headed for the coastal mountains of Jounieh. I knew we were going to see a fantastic statue of the Virgin Mary which sits on top of the "hills" in the area. David, of course, is 72 years old, has lived a long and full life. Dennis is just crazy! We are driving along and I noticed the "hills" are starting to turn into mountains. BIG mountains. The only hills, I left behind in Beirut and I was now heading for a one-way trip to hell (on a Sunday, no less). I remember someone saying something about a little tram ride up the "hill" to the statue. By now, I'm thinking, what "hills"??? This can't be right.

Wrong.

As we entered the little town of Jounieh, the sea was on our left. Placid as the Mediterranean often is and on our right, MOUNTAINS! I was the first to see the blessed Virgin Mary statue from my vantage point in the vehicle. It was sitting on top of this MOUNTAIN. As I stared in disbelief, I thought there must be a convenient way to get there without a tram ride. Nope, the driver said, this was the only way up as we stopped in front of this Disneyland type amusement park, sorta gondola thing. I think he just wanted to dump us there and head back to Beirut.

Now, it is 9:00 am and this tram doesn't start operating until 10:15. Plenty of time for me to fake an injury and get out of this mess. Oh, by the way, did I mention I am terrified of man-made heights? That includes buildings, bridges, dams, elevators and oh yes, trams. Especially trams in Lebanon (only because I have always managed to avoid trams everywhere else in the world). David, the kind old soul that he is, assured me it would be all right. Remember: he is 72 years old. What else does he have to live for? And then,Dennis? Well, I don't take advice from him. He's crazy!

We ate a last meal at a local restaurant which looked like a nice place to spend the entire day while those guys went off on the tram up the mountain. Nothing doing. Tickets were bought, seats secured and off we - all - go.

I reminded Dave (we call him Moses) and Crazy Dennis how petrified I am of heights and these heights seemed worse than my normal fears. The two of them were very re-assuring. Once the mini-gondola (very small, little, gondola) lifted off, I thought, this could be like the one at Disneyland.... Nope. Nadda, Neyet, Nine, No way partner: This was a one-way ticket ($7,500 Lebanese pounds or $4.75 American) to hell; and I'm thinking, "I just paid $4.75 to get scared out of my wits???"

Within moments we were gliding along at ten stories high. Dennis, being the caring individual he is, said he was going to shake the mini-gondola to try to rock it. I won't tell you what I actually said to him but it involved he would die before we ever hit the ground. He didn't rock the boat. No, this ride took two years to get to the top of the MOUNTAIN. OK maybe it was fifteen minutes, but I died a thousand times. When we finally landed on the eagle's nest, I thought, I MADE IT!!! Where is this stupid statue anyway?

Another tram ride away. Now I'm thinking, what did I just say? I hope I didn't make God mad with the stupid comment. So, off we went again on another tram. At least this one was grounded to the side of this steep mountain. This antique was slower than the last air ride to hell. I actually think the thing was trying to back down the mountain.

Finally, and I do mean finally, we reached the top. I'm climbing over little children trying to save myself before this thing falls two billion feet. I tumble out into a parking lot. A parking lot??? Who the heck puts a parking lot on top of a mountain that is only accessible by death-defying trams? Apparently someone thought it would be a good idea. Now I'm standing there with my mouth wide open looking stupidly at a half dozen taxis and one million private cars. I thought, I wonder if they drove up here? My second thought was how come I just took the ride from hell in a tram if they drove up here......I looked around and Dennis and David were running for their lives. I was going to strangle a little kid who was close by but I noticed he still had my footprint on his forehead from me exiting the tram. Guess who paid for the taxi ride when we were done......yeah, me. Take the Tram Ride yourself. Click Here.

Some Time Has Passed.

I'm calm now. Had a stiff Southern Comfort and coke (sorry Dan, no General Order #1 here) and decided to send other pictures far, far, away from the tram ride. Actually, there is a beautiful church down the road from the Virgin Mary statue on top of the MOUNTAIN. This was the Cathedral of St. Peter and John and was a Greek Orthodox church with no tourists (except for me, the taxi driver, Dennis and Dave). Below this church, was a Cathedral of the Patriarchs with nobody but military around it. Not one of the soldiers could tell us who the Patriarch was, but said Pope John Paul II had visited the Cathedral and blessed it. They had a mosaic to prove it. Also at left, I've included the sunset picture of Jounieh to prove I lived through my ordeal.

Enjoy!

John L. Tudbury
International Police Trainer
Lebanon Police Mission
Warwar Academy

New 11/08/2009: Once again I have settled in the Middle East to teach. This time in Beirut, Lebanon. Known as the Paris of the Middle East, this city is making a strong comeback from past conflicts. I hope to spend at least a year in this great land, possibly more if my wife allows me to stay. Currently, I am teaching police Rule of Law at the ISF (Internal Security Forces) Warwar academy. The students are picked from military sources to become policemen. Generally they range in age from 19 - 25 and want as much training as we can provide. The experience has been rewarding and the sights throughout the city unimaginable! Please view the photos below.

Baton Training	ISF Class A	ISF Lieutenant teaching.	ISF Police	Beirut
John teaching baton.	Beirut, Lebanon walk.	Fishermen	John (left) and fellow instructors.	A mosque in Beirut.
Friends and co-workers.(John rear right).	Starbucks, Beirut.	John's quarters.	The kitchen area.	His pantry!
Complete luxury!	Target practice.	Shooting range	Target practice.	Aerial view.
Observation	Target practice	John working on techniques.	Trainees	Lunchtime

CLICK PHOTOS TO ENLARGE,
Browser "back" button to return.

1961: Family apartment in Ankara
 

1963: Family Christmas, Ankara
 

1973: John Tudbury
 

1974: Main Gate, KARAMURSEL
 

1974: Skiing the Sea of Marmara
 

1975: On the Det.94-2 Football Team
 

1975: More football
Note "Elephant Cage" in background
 

1975: KARAMURSEL Gun Range
 

1975: Honor Guardsman
 

1975: John at KARAMURSEL ("Mainsite")
 

1975: Mainsite
 

1975: Mainsite
 

1975: KARAMURSEL baseball team
 

1975: Baseball Tournament at İncirlik, southeastern Turkey
 

1975: Portrait while in İncirlik
 

1975: On duty at the KARAMURSEL main gate
 

1975: On patrol: KARAMURSEL Carnival
 

1975: Turkish street scene
 

1975: A visit back to Ankara
 

1975: John's VW van
 

1975: Wild boar hunting  

1975 Yalova mosque
 

1976-77 Desk duty, KARAMURSEL
 

CLICK PHOTOS TO ENLARGE,
Browser "back" button to return.

1976: John's infamous "all American" stars and stripes arm cast.
 

1976: locals at the nearby carp farm
 

1976: Loading baskets of carp
 

1976: More carp being loaded
 

1976: Photo from "Stars & Stripes Newspaper" of John and friend Dale Miunick hunting
 

1977: Clear Air Force Station, Alaska, about 80 miles north of Denali National Park
 

1977: Bears wandering Clear AFS
 

1977: Feeding "BooBoo" at Clear AFS
 

Advanced Students with CPATT coins.

Boxes to school

Captain Choi at Al Nahtha Elementary School

School class.

Award coins

More boxes.

Still more boxes.

Gift Boxes after delivery.

Gift boxes at school

Passing out the gifts.

Passing out the gifts.

Gift boxes at school

Iraqi Colonel arrives at the school with Personal Security Detail.

Iraqi Colonel with student.

Tudbury joins the students

Iraqi Colonel hands gift to a student.

Youngsters in the class.

Giving out Ronda's t-shirts.

Middle-school students receiving gifts

More gifts handed out.

Military personnel unpacking goods.

More presents for the students.

Bright young students waving to an-off-camera guest.

The Colonel presenting t-shirts to the older students.

The gifts included toys from Haun

Haun Dinosaur

Teacher, Dean and students.

Sandals for the students.

The dean of the school.

Thumbs-up goodbye.

Nabatean Petra Oblisk tombt

Another view of tomb

In the wadi (valley)

Saddle horse relaxes

Petra Canyon

Petra Canyon

Site of the FLR-9 Antenna (Elephant Cage) from current aerial view of KARAMURSEL CDI. The Antenna occupied 1,443 feet in diameter (over 4 football fields laid end to end) and the round conformation permitted direction finding of signals from up to 4,000 nautical miles.

See full view of KARAMURSEL base today.


KARAMURSEL FLR-9 antenna circa 1973. (© 2007 by John Sciuto)

CLICK PHOTOS TO ENLARGE,
Browser "back" button to return.

1977: Practice apprehension of an "invader"
 

1981: After the Air Force, John begins a public law career as a deputy in Ada County, Idaho
 

1982: Uncle John with neices Shannon and Heather, nephew Jason
 

1992: Some R&R back in Alaska on a fishing trip
 

1995: Deer hunting in Idaho
 

1995: Moose hunting in Idaho
 

2005: Proud member of the Boise, Idaho police force
 

2001: John and partner, Steve Van Doren, are awarded medals for courage