By: Ali Elizabeth Turner
Sometimes, I have a hard time getting my head around the fact that it is now nearly 21 years to the day that I left Alabama — first for Houston and then to what we have come to affectionately refer to as The Great Sandbox, better known as Iraq. My plan was to stay for a year; God had other plans, and they say that if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. I stayed for a total of three, and if I felt that I was supposed to go back, I would. Next to becoming a Christian, it was the most transformational experience I have ever had.
One of the things I have a difficult time explaining to people is the powerful and unlikely role of humor in a combat zone. I guess it’s because everything is so tenuous, including that life could be over in an instant, and laughter just lightens all kinds of loads.
So, I must tell you that recently I sat at the post office in Athens, which is named after judicial hero Judge James Horton, and laughed in my truck as I heard Col. Phil Williams, who writes for this paper (and others around the state), tell about a caper that is written in a book entitled, The Devil’s Sandbox: With the 2nd Battalion, 162nd Infantry at War in Iraq. Phil is the host of Right Side Radio, and at the beginning of every show he does a monologue entitled, “The Right Side Way.” It is a commentary on any manner of subjects, sometimes sobering and sometimes hilarious, sometimes political and sometimes spiritual, always well done. It is my favorite part of the show, and I try to catch at least that part live Monday through Friday.
Both Phil and I were in Baghdad the summer of 2004, but our paths did not cross until I called in to his show which is heard on WVNN. He has the three-hour slot from 2-5 p.m., and now Phil has listeners throughout the Southeast, in California, Hawaii, and Dubai.
What made me laugh? Phil’s description of something that is discussed in The Devil’s Sandbox, in which he participated while still a major. He retired from the Army as a full-bird colonel, served in the Alabama State Senate for eight years and also has a law practice.
In the chaos that was all things post-Saddam, Iraqi garbage truck drivers had commandeered the trucks they had driven, privatized the pick-up service, charged like the Mafia to collect garbage, then dumped it anywhere they could find a spot to do so, and used the garbage trucks also as a taxi service. Baghdad stank, and could have easily exploded in that summer heat of ’04. Garbage piles were the size of houses, and no one knew what to do.
But Major Williams came up with a plan that was cheerfully named Operation Oscar after the Muppet of the same name who was a perpetual grouch and who also lived in a garbage can. His crew got word out that American soldiers were looking for the drivers of the garbage trucks because they had something for the drivers to do. The Iraqis thought surely this involved making even more money because money was flowing swiftly in all directions that summer. So 25 of the 26 drivers came on to the base, and then the gates were closed behind them. The “something” that was waiting for them to do involved going around Baghdad with a military escort to ensure that the houses of trash were scooped up and taken to the various landfills. There was no protest, just the firm assurance that this was not a negotiation, and the 162nd even found the 26th garbage truck. In addition, the garbage trucks were no longer going to be operating their own Uber service. Operation Oscar was a smashing success, and you can read all about it and other stories from Operation Iraqi Freedom in The Devil’s Sandbox. Enjoy!!
By: Ali Elizabeth Turner
May 16, 2025
