Lenzi: As U.S. casualties mount in war with Iran, I remember losing my brother in Iraq

As the U.S. starts taking casualties in the war with Iran, we are learning the names of those killed — those service members who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country. This is giving me flashbacks to 2003, when I was still living in my hometown of Portland, Oregon at the beginning of the Iraq War.

In the opening days of the war in March of 2003, my brother, Idaho Air National Guard Major Gregory Stone, 40, was at Camp Pennsylvania in Kuwait when another soldier rolled grenades into the tent where he was asleep. The attack wounded many soldiers. My brother died from his injuries three days later. Army Captain Chris Seifert was shot in the back and killed.

The soldier responsible has been on military death row since 2005.

Like I do now, I worked in the news when my brother was killed. I don’t know if it was a defense mechanism or just diligence about getting “the story,” but instead of simply taking time off and processing the awful reality of losing my brother, I went into reporter mode. Gregg was one of the first U.S. service members killed with ties to Portland. I recognized that because of that, his death was a big story. It was an even bigger story given the circumstances.

The night we found out about the attack, we thought he would survive. I got a hold of Gregg’s commanding officer, and he was willing to give me an interview.

But he asked me, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

I said yes. But, as it turned out, we got disconnected, and I couldn’t get him back on the line.

I ended up calling in another reporter and having him reach out to the C.O., and he eventually got the interview. That was a good thing. But I was ready to do it myself. I was young. I was insecure in my job and my abilities, and I felt like if we missed this story, it would be on me.

But then I became part of the story, and I don’t like that. News people should not become part of the story. Sometimes, however, it’s unavoidable.

I did interviews about my brother for a couple of years

That was tough, but I felt like it was all I could do for him — to tell his story as best I could from my perspective. I could share things beyond what he had achieved during his military career or the circumstances of his death. I could let the world know how much fun I had being his little brother. I was able to share how, because of him, I am obsessed to this day with all things “Top Gun,” that I still listen to Styx and Journey without irony, and how, every year on my birthday, he would make me laugh so hard I would throw up.

These are the things that made him more than a soldier. They are what made him my brother.

As the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan continued, the U.S., of course, lost more service members, including some from Oregon and Washington. My job then (and now) was to gather the news. That included reaching out to family members to see if they wanted to talk about it on the radio, to be interviewed about the loved one who had just died.

What an awful thing to ask somebody to do.

I can’t say I can’t imagine it because I received those phone calls myself. In most cases, I did the interviews. But I think it was easier for me because I was in the same profession as the person making the request. I understood why they were doing what they were doing. I understood it was their job. It was my job, too. Asking a stranger to do an interview about their loved one who has just died is difficult and uncomfortable. But it is nowhere near as difficult and uncomfortable as it is being asked. I am forever grateful to the people who let me talk to them and share their loved ones’ stories.

Now here we are again, 23 years later — a new conflict. So far, a handful of service members have died. We are now starting to learn their names and hometowns. This morning, I instinctively looked for any casualties from Washington. My heart dropped when I saw a soldier’s hometown listed as Bellevue. However, it was Bellevue, Nebraska. For a moment, I was relieved. I was relieved our state hasn’t taken a casualty—at least that we know of. I was relieved I would not have to call that person’s family or ask one of my reporters to make that call. I was briefly the 27-year-old me who had just lost his brother, yet still had a war to cover.

Fifty-year-old me, however, snapped out of it and realized it’s not about hometowns or whether we journalists feel uncomfortable. It is about the service members who have made the ultimate sacrifice. It is about their stories. It is about them. So, as journalists, it is our duty to tell their stories as best we can, as difficult as it may be. That is the only thing we can do for them.

Like I did for my brother 23 years ago, I will do that for them.

I hope I make him as proud as he has always made me.

Frank Lenzi is the News Director for KIRO Newsradio. Read more of his stories here.

Follow @FrankLenziKIRO