Frankenchair

Ever since my first visit to the Smithsonian Institute in Washington, D.C. in 1975, I’ve been enamored with life-sized, walk-through dioramas depicting different eras of history. In the National Air and Space Museum, one such exhibit depicts life aboard an aircraft carrier. As you proceed across a makeshift quarterdeck, you enter an area resembling the landing deck of a ship. Various aircraft of different makes and models crowd the deck, wings folded up as if they were at sea. As you wind your way between the aircraft, you enter the bridge where you watch jets take off and land along the steam covered decks of the ship. Reels of Vietnam era film footage, complete with the sounds or roaring jet engines, provide a semi-believable recreation of life aboard an aircraft carrier.

The American History Museum recreates WWII through several life-sized dioramas. One can walk past jeeps parked haphazardly around a bombed out building, European household knick-knacks littering the ground adjacent to a realistic wall that appears to be crumbling from the effects of war. These scenes are reproduced to allow the visitors to step back in time, to see for themselves the same scenes viewed by Marines, sailors and soldiers in 1944. Someday, these same museums will recreate similar scenes depicting life during OIF, or Operation Iraqi Freedom. One day, we’ll see scenes depicting the urban battlefield of Ramadi or Fallujah and displays depicting daily life among the various camps and FOBs around Iraq.

Yesterday, with the assistance of two Seabees from the 133rd Naval Mobile Construction Battalion (NMCB-133), I was able to collect a particular artifact I have had my eye on since arriving in Iraq. I previously mentioned it in an October, 2005 blog post titled “Generals and Barberchairs” - please forgive the redundant information.

One of the most innovative pieces of unintentional folk art I’ve run across since arriving in theater, the Camp Fallujah barberchair consists of an automobile seat that was taken from the rear of a van or SUV. Welded to a military vehicle wheel rim, the entire unit swivels atop a metal mount, the mount hidden beneath the raised wooden floor inside the Camp Fallujah barbershop.

Granted, there is nothing remarkable about most barberchairs. You’ll find them in every city and town across the United States. This chair, however, is unique, and the ingenuity of the young sailors and Marines who produced this eclectic chair is typical of sailors and Marines deployed far from home. They universally subscribe to the adage “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” Using only their innovation and imagination, they create items needed to combat the enemy or to make life more comfortable while idling away time in the rear.

Rather than sit on a plastic chair or box when getting a haircut, an ingenious young sea-bee from Naval Mobile Construction Battalion 1 (NMCB-1) manufactured the chair out of scrap items lying about Camp Fallujah. Wanting to make the chair swivel, our unidentified sea-bee brought new life to a scrap M-79 rifle mount for a 106 mm recoilless rifle. Originally entering US military service in the 50’s and 60’s, the mount and its missing weapon probably made its way to Iraq decades ago, most likely used during the Iran/Iraq war and quite possibly against coalition forces in Desert Storm and OIF. Life is circular, however, and the mount once again serves our forces in war, only this time in a much different and friendlier capacity.

“Frankenchair” has seen her last haircut. Replaced with a simple plastic chair, "Frankenchair" is destined for the Marine Corps Museum. Symbolizing camp life and the ingenuity of our servicemen, it has hosted Marines from Private to General, as well as Marines who are no longer with us, Marines who made the ultimate sacrifice. If it could talk, it would repeat the tales told by Marines since 2003, tales recounting heroics during the battle of Fallujah and explanations of the sights and sounds seen and heard by our Corps of warriors. It would also tell the tall tales spun by our young Marines, the same stories heard for years among small town barbershops, tales similar to those heard by Andy and Barnie at “Floyds Barbershop” in Mayberry.