PW presents an exclusive excerpt from photographer Kyle Cassidy’s new book of photos and interviews, "War Paint: Tattoo Culture & the Armed Forces."
E5, Oregon National Guard, 2003–2007 / Task Force Phoenix 5, 41st BCT (L)
I decided when I was in Afghanistan that I was going to work on two full-sleeve tattoos. The right side was going to be “heaven” and the left side was going to be “hell”—evil and good, just like Afghanistan. I was in the most dangerous part of that place for a year and I learned to take the good with the bad—roll with the punches—you can’t really effect everything in life; sometimes you just have to take it. In Afghanistan I realized nothing is completely good and nothing is completely bad, some things just are. That’s all that mission was. It was just bad throughout the day, and when the day’s over you realize that it wasn’t as bad as you thought it was when you were in it.
My main mission was to inform the infantry people that went outside the wire what was going to happen to them when they got on the road. Informing them of where they would most likely get hurt and how to avoid it—lots of IEDs—no matter where you went, it was a bad trip, it was just hot spots everywhere.
I get really frustrated sometimes because I feel like we’re really fighting the other forgotten war—when I got home for leave, a lot of my friends were joking that Afghanistan wasn’t that bad—they just didn’t even know. And they don’t know that it’s not all bad—we’re doing good things—we’re training the Afghan people to do better for their country, to fight against the people that aren’t going to do them any good; nobody understands that we were doing good over there—that it wasn’t just going outside of the wire and killing people.
I got this tattoo in November of 2007, at the Lucky Dog Tattoo Shop in Seaside. Bob Roughton did it. I took my boyfriend out with me, he got a little tattoo, too, then four hours later, I got mine. It was kind of sunny down in Seaside, which is unusual, so we went down to the beach. I used to live there for 14 years, so it was a lot of me getting caught up on what had changed and what it looked like. We walked on the beach, went and looked at my old house and then went to dinner. I joined when I was 17, that was four and a half years ago.
E5, United States Army, 1942–1945 / Easy Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division
I got this paratrooper tattoo after D-Day. Me and Johnny Martin got a pass for London. When you go on a pass overseas in England you hitchhike. All the trucks are going your way, they take you, then you get off and another truck picks you up. We wound up at an Air Force base, a Royal Air Force base. We got something to eat and a couple of pilots come over to us and started talking to us and they said, “You want to come to Scotland?”
“You gotta be kidding!” They were fighter pilots, they had these Spitfires, so Johnny got in one and I got in the other one. It took about 12 minutes, we got to Edinburgh, Scotland. That’s when we got the tattoos. Drunk as a skunk. If I was sober I never would have gotten it, but I was drunk. We had a good time up there. Edinburgh, 1944. Right after D-Day. Drunk. I would never get tattoos sober. Johnny Martin, he just died about a year ago. When we come back, I went up to see him right after the war. He lived up in Columbus, Ohio. [My wife] Frannie and I went to see him and he said to me quietly: “Don’t tell my mom I have a tattoo, and don’t tell her I drink.” He was nothing but a souse! You can’t hide the damn tattoo, and you can’t hide the fact that you drink. And when they found out, they blamed me. So I took the blame.
This one here [left arm], you can just about see, it’s a cross and it’s got my brother’s name on it—“Dunc,” that’s my brother who was killed in Italy, that was his nickname “Dunc,” that’s like a cross with a wreath on it. He’s buried in Cassino, Italy. That’s the last one I got done.
Reta and her son, Robert Rae
E3, United States Marine Corps, 2002-2006 / Tattoos by Jim Quinn, Inkjam
Robert: The tattoo on my forearm, my unit symbol, I was with Third Battalion, Second Marines, weapons company. It’s the EGA—Eagle, Globe, and Anchor—with a sword and the letters “OIF,” Operation Iraqi Freedom; 0/3-31—that was my MOS, machine gunner, and on the inside of my arm I have two spent rounds, shell casings, and my buddy’s name and the date he was KIA on our deployment and I was hit by an IED myself—you can’t really get an IED tattoo, so I did the next best thing, I got a frag-grenade with someblast behind it.
Reta: My tattoo says “Marine daughter, wife, mom.” My father served, my husband served, my sons served, and my daughter did a stint in the Army. My grandfather served in Vietnam and then my dad served in Desert Storm; both of my boys served in Iraq. Sending a child to war is... hell. You want to support them as hard as they can—you’re proud, because very few people are standing in line today to serve in our military. I saw my mom go through it; I met my husband shortly after he got home from Beirut; and I had two boys who went through in the Marine Corps, so it’s been a family thing. We don’t always necessarily agree with our children’s decisions... no parent wants to bury their children first. We prayed night and day when my oldest was in Iraq. I’ve never been so scared in my life. But I was proud of him—if you love them, then you make the sacrifice with them.
I was on Mass. Ave. coming home from work, about 1:30 in the afternoon, and I got a phone call and it was my Bob and he says, “Mom, I’ve been hit and I’m hurt, I’m alive but I’m hurt.” And then the phone went dead. I was screaming into the phone, “Rob, Rob, Rob, talk to me!” but there was nothing. And we went three days and there was no information no calls ... nothing. And we didn’t know if he was dead or alive. As long as there’s a breath left in them, they let them call home. I didn’t know how bad he was, and the pain and sorrow of losing a child—I was not prepared to sacrifice a child. And then a week and a half later I got a call that he was recovering and in the Iraqi hospital. And I’ve never been so grateful in my life, but I still wanted my son home. And when he arrived in North Carolina back from Iraq—I’ve never been so happy to see someone in my life, so happy. He’s been my savior.
I got my tattoo when Bob was still overseas, after he was injured.
E5, United States Army, 2001-2010 / A-Company 3/67 ARBN; Afghanistan (2002), Iraq (2004 and 2007) / Tattoos by Dre Collins, Ft. Hood, Texas; Killer Tattoos, Killen, Texas; PFC Andrew Gerdner Remadi, Iraq; Lori Allen, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
The second time I got shot I was in Iraq. We were riding in a convoy and I had my arm out the window and this random bullet just hit me in the arm. I said, “Hey! I just got shot!” Someone behind me said, “Are you dead?” I said, “No” and they said, “Well, wrap that shit up.” So I wrapped a bandage around my arm and about a half-mile up the road we hit an IED and our vehicle rolled over. I hit the roof on the inside. My heart stopped and they brought me back with the paddles, it’s just like in the movies. I remember I was completely numb and they paddled me and it was like going from being asleep to falling off the bed into a tub of ice water. I was in the hospital for 11 months after that. I got a tattoo of a zombie right over the bullet scar because I’d been dead and I came back. I have a tattoo for every bad thing that happened to me in the Army. I have 18 tattoos.
Letters to the Editor