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Soldier‘s memory lives on
AJAY BHARDWAJ, EDMONTON SUN
A fallen Edmonton-based soldier was honoured yesterday morning when the bridge on which he proposed to his girlfriend was renamed in his memory. During a moving 60-minute service, the Rundle Park bridge was officially dedicated to Cpl. Ainsworth Dyer.
"I think this is a great thing," said Tony Silvain, a friend of Dyer and his fiancee Jocelyn Van Sloten. "This was a soldier who went and did his duty and died during service.
"This is not a general. This is not an admiral. This is an everyday blood-and-guts guy, just like you and me."
Dyer was one of four Edmonton-based soldiers killed in Afghanistan when an American F-16 pilot mistook a Canadian training exercise for an enemy attack in April 2002.
The pilot dropped a laser-guided bomb, which also killed Sgt. Marc Leger, Pte. Richard Green and Pte. Nathan Smith. Eight other Canadian soldiers were injured.
Van Sloten was one of the driving forces behind naming the bridge in honour of Dyer, who called Edmonton home.
Dyer had proposed to Van Sloten on the bridge.
He jokingly threatened to throw her off the bridge if she said no, Silvain said.
"By memorializing a bridge after Dyer ... his memory will live on," said Silvain, who came to know the soldier and the Van Slotens as a regular at a bakery owned by her family.
"As long as the bridge is there, people will remember the fallen."
++++
Bombing‘s toll continues
Exactly two years later, many relatives no longer speak to each other
Michael Friscolanti
National Post
April 17, 2004
Paul Dyer‘s new condominium is considerably more furnished than it was last June, when the hardwood floor in the living room doubled as his temporary bed.
The tables and chairs from his previous apartment have long since arrived, complemented by an array of new accessories. The most obvious addition, the big-screen television near the front door, sits right below the large photo of his son, Ainsworth, and the red and white Canadian flag that once covered his coffin.
Mr. Dyer bought the Brampton, Ont., condo with the life insurance money he received after Ainsworth, a soldier in the Canadian army, was killed by a U.S. fighter pilot two years ago today. It is a painful reality: Financially speaking, Mr. Dyer has never been better off, but only because his son is dead.
"It might look good, but it‘s not good, because there isn‘t a day that tears don‘t come down my eyes," Mr. Dyer said recently, his fourth-floor window in the background.
"I love him too much."
Ainsworth‘s mother loved him, too, but because she was not named as his beneficiary, she has not received a dime. Although divorced, Paul and Agatha Dyer did remain on speaking terms until their son‘s death. They do not talk any more. Ms. Dyer does not even know his new phone number.
"He didn‘t give nobody a cent," she said, sitting at her kitchen table in Montreal.
Their rift is not unique among the four families who lost loved ones in that friendly fire blast. Two years to the day after the accident, Major Harry Schmidt‘s bomb continues to inflict damage upon those left behind.
Numerous relatives who grieved together after the tragedy no longer converse. One couple has divorced. Others have had to seek counselling. In some cases, the dividing factor was money. In others, the overwhelming loss was simply too much to bear.
What transpired in the skies over Kandahar two years ago is well known to most Canadians. Nearing the end of a support mission on the night of April 17, 2002, U.S. Majors Harry Schmidt and William Umbach, flying separate F-16s, noticed what appeared to be enemy fire coming from an abandoned al-Qaeda base.
Unaware that the flashes of light were actually a team of Canadian soldiers conducting a live-fire training drill, the two Illinois-based pilots circled their target for more than four minutes, waiting for instructions from a nearby AWACS radar plane tasked with keeping track of what was happening on the ground.
During that time, Maj. Schmidt, a former Top Gun instructor with the U.S. Navy, became convinced Maj. Umbach‘s jet was under attack. Declaring self-defence, he unleashed a 225-kilogram bomb, killing Corporal Dyer, Sergeant Marc Leger, Private Nathan Smith and Private Richard Green. Eight others were wounded.
Nine seconds later, a voice came from the radar plane: "Disengage," it told the airmen, "friendlies Kandahar."
At six o‘clock the next morning, Arthur and Doreen Coolen received a knock on the door of their Nova Scotia trailer. They knew what was wrong before the Canadian officers standing outside even opened their mouths. Richard Green, Doreen‘s only child, was dead.
The next few weeks were a blur, Ms. Coolen said recently. As the cause of her son‘s death gradually emerged, she could not even bring herself to read the newspaper reports.
Mr. Coolen, Pte. Green‘s stepfather, saved all the clippings, just in case his wife ever changed her mind. "That‘s when she died," Mr. Coolen said, recalling those first few months after the accident.
It is also when their marriage began to fall apart.
Seven months after that knock on the door, Ms. Coolen was chosen to attend Parliament Hill Remembrance Day ceremonies as the Silver Cross Mother, the woman who represents all mothers who have lost a child in battle. Mr. Coolen did not attend.
When she returned home that November, Ms. Coolen‘s thoughts focused on the possibility of suing the U.S. government for damages. In January, 2003, on the weekend before Majors Schmidt and Umbach appeared in court for the first time, she announced she had hired a lawyer. A wrongful death claim was officially in the works, to be filed on behalf of herself and Michael "Herb" MacDonald, a close family friend who is credited with convincing Pte. Green to join the army.
It was not long before Mr. Coolen accused his wife of trying to profit from her son‘s death. She accused him of seeing another woman, a charge he denies.
"It was another bomb," Ms. Coolen said.
Their relationship came to a head on the night of February 2, 2003. Inside the new Simms Settlement home Ms. Coolen purchased with some of her son‘s life insurance money, a nasty argument turned physical. Police intervened, and both Coolens were charged with assault.
"Neither one of them decided to testify against each other," said Sergeant Larry Kavanagh of the RCMP detachment in Chester, N.S. "So as a result, both charges were dismissed."
Ms. Coolen filed for divorce last August, citing "no possibility of reconciliation." The divorce becomes final at the end of June.
In the meantime, she is planning to move back into the trailer where she first heard that knock on the door. She has also ordered alterations to the headstone that sits atop her son‘s grave. Arthur Coolen‘s name will soon be erased, and "Doreen Coolen" will become "Doreen Young," her maiden name.
The name change, however, will do little to quell the bitterness that has emerged between herself and many of the other friends and relatives who loved her son.
After the accident, she and Miranda Boutilier, Pte. Green‘s fiancee, each received $100,000 from the soldier‘s life insurance plan. Since then, their relationship has deteriorated, largely because of Ms. Coolen‘s wrongful death claim. The two no longer speak to each other.
Although not a lawsuit, the claim seeks compensation under the U.S. Foreign Claims Act, a statute that allows soldiers and their families -- both U.S. and allied -- to seek redress in the case of injury or death.
Her lawyer originally asked for US$1.85-million -- $1.45-million for the soldier‘s estate, $350,000 for Mrs. Coolen, and $50,000 for Mr. McDonald -- but that number has since increased by an undisclosed amount.
None of the other families joined the claim, and the two-year statute of limitations expired yesterday.
Ms. Boutilier, who declined to be interviewed for this article, has accused Ms. Coolen of going after "blood money."
"I always thought the world of Miranda, because that was Ricky‘s love," Ms. Coolen said. "And to think that she just snubbed me, stopped talking to me, and told reporters that I was after blood money, it‘s so frigging sad."
Ms. Coolen has also distanced herself from David Green, Pte. Green‘s birth father, and his relatives, who have also been critical of her legal action.
"I don‘t have time for these games," she said. "Walk a mile in my shoes and then judge me."
The claim against the U.S. government is aimed at fixing the problems that led to the accident, she insisted, not about fattening her bank account.
"They have to say who is responsible for this," she said. "And I can‘t emphasize that enough. If it would save one person‘s life, it would be worth it all."
And if she does receive money? A large portion of it would go toward funding shelters for battered women, she said.
"Every day of my life I look around and I say I own this and I own that," she said. "But you know what? I don‘t care about any of it. Nothing. I‘d give it all in a second to have Ricky back."
Although not all of the exact figures have been disclosed, hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of life insurance claims have been awarded to each of the dead soldiers‘ beneficiaries.
In Ainsworth Dyer‘s case, that person was his father. Long retired from his job at a Quebec food processing plant, he admits the new-found money has helped him survive.
"It helps me a lot because I have been able to buy this place," he said, sitting on one of the three couches in his Brampton living room, far away from the downtown Toronto apartment he once rented with his son. "And it helps me keep going."
His purchases, however, have been a lingering sore spot for his former wife, so much so that it has sparked contradictory stories about who actually took care of Ainsworth after the divorce.
Mr. Dyer said his son moved with him to Ontario when he was eight years old. Ms. Dyer said he lived in Montreal until he was 16.
"Paul is a con artist," Ms. Dyer said. "He‘s greedy. To me, I lost a son. To Paul, it‘s about the money."
Mr. Dyer laughs off such suggestions. He said if anyone is after money, it is his one-time wife. If Ainsworth wanted it differently, he said, he would have named his mother as his beneficiary.
"All she did was give birth to him," Mr. Dyer said. "I am the one who took care of him. If she was so close to him, Ainsworth would have her on his papers."
Ms. Dyer has barely worked since the accident and is taking medication for depression. Inside her cramped living room, the framed photograph of her son that appeared in the media after the bombing has been taken off the wall and is now tucked away beside a bookshelf.
"I can‘t look at it," she said earlier this year. "I can‘t really accept this at all. It‘s the worst thing in life to lose a child. It‘s like your guts are coming out."
Yet despite her current condition -- her only income, she said, is social assistance -- she does not want her former husband‘s money.
"I‘m not asking Paul for anything," she said. "But he is our child, and we should grieve together. We should mourn together."
Other families have had trouble mourning together, too, but not because of money.
Richard and Claire Leger had raised three children and been happily married for 30 years when they learned their son was dead.
"That accident has removed the fun of my life," Mr. Leger said in a recent interview. "I can‘t celebrate my birthday. I can‘t celebrate Christmas, Easter or any other activity. I just can‘t do that. It‘s sort of like I haven‘t got the right to do that any more."
That outlook has taken its toll on the Legers, who often found themselves at odds over seemingly insignificant things.
Why, for example, could Mrs. Leger find the strength to return dozens of the supportive e-mails they received from Canadians, while her husband could barely write a single line?
"I couldn‘t understand why she would do things," he said. "And she couldn‘t understand why I thought or did my things."
It escalated to the point where they had to see a counsellor.
"With Claire and I, we have to work at our marriage a lot more than we ever did," Mr. Leger said. "We had to get some help because we were going down the wrong path, that‘s for sure."
Things are better these days, he said.
"I knew we had a good marriage," Mr. Leger said. "In hindsight, to see how strong it was only makes it that much stronger."
Despite the differences that have divided some of the families, the dead soldiers‘ loved ones are united on one front: They want Maj. Schmidt‘s court martial to finally begin.
Two years after the once-elite pilot stepped out of a cockpit for what will likely be the last time, he has yet to face a trial for his alleged crime. The original charges of involuntary manslaughter and aggravated assault were dropped long ago, but he still faces one count of dereliction of duty, which carries a possible sentence of six months in prison.
His day in court was supposed to come earlier this month, but legal wrangling has once again delayed the process.
"Right now, we are dealing with the emotions of the courts, the emotions of the lawyers," Mr. Leger said. "It‘s like building a castle one stone on top of the other. I just want to have one stone. Let me deal with Marc‘s death, how it happened, and that‘s it."
Mr. Dyer also wants it "to be over with."
"It would not make anything better," he said. "But I would try my best to go on with my life."
Today, relatives of the four dead soldiers will quietly mark the second anniversary of the accident. The Legers will be in Lancaster, Ont., where they raised their son and then laid him to rest. Mr. Dyer is also planning to visit his son‘s grave at the Necropolis Cemetery in downtown Toronto.
In Fox Point, N.S., Ms. Coolen will do the same, planting some flowers and replacing the Canadian flag she keeps near Pte. Green‘s headstone. On many days, she said it feels as though her son is simply away on another tour of duty.
"But now it‘s sinking in," she said. "Ricky‘s never coming back to me. Whoever said time heals -- well, that isn‘t so."
AJAY BHARDWAJ, EDMONTON SUN
A fallen Edmonton-based soldier was honoured yesterday morning when the bridge on which he proposed to his girlfriend was renamed in his memory. During a moving 60-minute service, the Rundle Park bridge was officially dedicated to Cpl. Ainsworth Dyer.
"I think this is a great thing," said Tony Silvain, a friend of Dyer and his fiancee Jocelyn Van Sloten. "This was a soldier who went and did his duty and died during service.
"This is not a general. This is not an admiral. This is an everyday blood-and-guts guy, just like you and me."
Dyer was one of four Edmonton-based soldiers killed in Afghanistan when an American F-16 pilot mistook a Canadian training exercise for an enemy attack in April 2002.
The pilot dropped a laser-guided bomb, which also killed Sgt. Marc Leger, Pte. Richard Green and Pte. Nathan Smith. Eight other Canadian soldiers were injured.
Van Sloten was one of the driving forces behind naming the bridge in honour of Dyer, who called Edmonton home.
Dyer had proposed to Van Sloten on the bridge.
He jokingly threatened to throw her off the bridge if she said no, Silvain said.
"By memorializing a bridge after Dyer ... his memory will live on," said Silvain, who came to know the soldier and the Van Slotens as a regular at a bakery owned by her family.
"As long as the bridge is there, people will remember the fallen."
++++
Bombing‘s toll continues
Exactly two years later, many relatives no longer speak to each other
Michael Friscolanti
National Post
April 17, 2004
Paul Dyer‘s new condominium is considerably more furnished than it was last June, when the hardwood floor in the living room doubled as his temporary bed.
The tables and chairs from his previous apartment have long since arrived, complemented by an array of new accessories. The most obvious addition, the big-screen television near the front door, sits right below the large photo of his son, Ainsworth, and the red and white Canadian flag that once covered his coffin.
Mr. Dyer bought the Brampton, Ont., condo with the life insurance money he received after Ainsworth, a soldier in the Canadian army, was killed by a U.S. fighter pilot two years ago today. It is a painful reality: Financially speaking, Mr. Dyer has never been better off, but only because his son is dead.
"It might look good, but it‘s not good, because there isn‘t a day that tears don‘t come down my eyes," Mr. Dyer said recently, his fourth-floor window in the background.
"I love him too much."
Ainsworth‘s mother loved him, too, but because she was not named as his beneficiary, she has not received a dime. Although divorced, Paul and Agatha Dyer did remain on speaking terms until their son‘s death. They do not talk any more. Ms. Dyer does not even know his new phone number.
"He didn‘t give nobody a cent," she said, sitting at her kitchen table in Montreal.
Their rift is not unique among the four families who lost loved ones in that friendly fire blast. Two years to the day after the accident, Major Harry Schmidt‘s bomb continues to inflict damage upon those left behind.
Numerous relatives who grieved together after the tragedy no longer converse. One couple has divorced. Others have had to seek counselling. In some cases, the dividing factor was money. In others, the overwhelming loss was simply too much to bear.
What transpired in the skies over Kandahar two years ago is well known to most Canadians. Nearing the end of a support mission on the night of April 17, 2002, U.S. Majors Harry Schmidt and William Umbach, flying separate F-16s, noticed what appeared to be enemy fire coming from an abandoned al-Qaeda base.
Unaware that the flashes of light were actually a team of Canadian soldiers conducting a live-fire training drill, the two Illinois-based pilots circled their target for more than four minutes, waiting for instructions from a nearby AWACS radar plane tasked with keeping track of what was happening on the ground.
During that time, Maj. Schmidt, a former Top Gun instructor with the U.S. Navy, became convinced Maj. Umbach‘s jet was under attack. Declaring self-defence, he unleashed a 225-kilogram bomb, killing Corporal Dyer, Sergeant Marc Leger, Private Nathan Smith and Private Richard Green. Eight others were wounded.
Nine seconds later, a voice came from the radar plane: "Disengage," it told the airmen, "friendlies Kandahar."
At six o‘clock the next morning, Arthur and Doreen Coolen received a knock on the door of their Nova Scotia trailer. They knew what was wrong before the Canadian officers standing outside even opened their mouths. Richard Green, Doreen‘s only child, was dead.
The next few weeks were a blur, Ms. Coolen said recently. As the cause of her son‘s death gradually emerged, she could not even bring herself to read the newspaper reports.
Mr. Coolen, Pte. Green‘s stepfather, saved all the clippings, just in case his wife ever changed her mind. "That‘s when she died," Mr. Coolen said, recalling those first few months after the accident.
It is also when their marriage began to fall apart.
Seven months after that knock on the door, Ms. Coolen was chosen to attend Parliament Hill Remembrance Day ceremonies as the Silver Cross Mother, the woman who represents all mothers who have lost a child in battle. Mr. Coolen did not attend.
When she returned home that November, Ms. Coolen‘s thoughts focused on the possibility of suing the U.S. government for damages. In January, 2003, on the weekend before Majors Schmidt and Umbach appeared in court for the first time, she announced she had hired a lawyer. A wrongful death claim was officially in the works, to be filed on behalf of herself and Michael "Herb" MacDonald, a close family friend who is credited with convincing Pte. Green to join the army.
It was not long before Mr. Coolen accused his wife of trying to profit from her son‘s death. She accused him of seeing another woman, a charge he denies.
"It was another bomb," Ms. Coolen said.
Their relationship came to a head on the night of February 2, 2003. Inside the new Simms Settlement home Ms. Coolen purchased with some of her son‘s life insurance money, a nasty argument turned physical. Police intervened, and both Coolens were charged with assault.
"Neither one of them decided to testify against each other," said Sergeant Larry Kavanagh of the RCMP detachment in Chester, N.S. "So as a result, both charges were dismissed."
Ms. Coolen filed for divorce last August, citing "no possibility of reconciliation." The divorce becomes final at the end of June.
In the meantime, she is planning to move back into the trailer where she first heard that knock on the door. She has also ordered alterations to the headstone that sits atop her son‘s grave. Arthur Coolen‘s name will soon be erased, and "Doreen Coolen" will become "Doreen Young," her maiden name.
The name change, however, will do little to quell the bitterness that has emerged between herself and many of the other friends and relatives who loved her son.
After the accident, she and Miranda Boutilier, Pte. Green‘s fiancee, each received $100,000 from the soldier‘s life insurance plan. Since then, their relationship has deteriorated, largely because of Ms. Coolen‘s wrongful death claim. The two no longer speak to each other.
Although not a lawsuit, the claim seeks compensation under the U.S. Foreign Claims Act, a statute that allows soldiers and their families -- both U.S. and allied -- to seek redress in the case of injury or death.
Her lawyer originally asked for US$1.85-million -- $1.45-million for the soldier‘s estate, $350,000 for Mrs. Coolen, and $50,000 for Mr. McDonald -- but that number has since increased by an undisclosed amount.
None of the other families joined the claim, and the two-year statute of limitations expired yesterday.
Ms. Boutilier, who declined to be interviewed for this article, has accused Ms. Coolen of going after "blood money."
"I always thought the world of Miranda, because that was Ricky‘s love," Ms. Coolen said. "And to think that she just snubbed me, stopped talking to me, and told reporters that I was after blood money, it‘s so frigging sad."
Ms. Coolen has also distanced herself from David Green, Pte. Green‘s birth father, and his relatives, who have also been critical of her legal action.
"I don‘t have time for these games," she said. "Walk a mile in my shoes and then judge me."
The claim against the U.S. government is aimed at fixing the problems that led to the accident, she insisted, not about fattening her bank account.
"They have to say who is responsible for this," she said. "And I can‘t emphasize that enough. If it would save one person‘s life, it would be worth it all."
And if she does receive money? A large portion of it would go toward funding shelters for battered women, she said.
"Every day of my life I look around and I say I own this and I own that," she said. "But you know what? I don‘t care about any of it. Nothing. I‘d give it all in a second to have Ricky back."
Although not all of the exact figures have been disclosed, hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of life insurance claims have been awarded to each of the dead soldiers‘ beneficiaries.
In Ainsworth Dyer‘s case, that person was his father. Long retired from his job at a Quebec food processing plant, he admits the new-found money has helped him survive.
"It helps me a lot because I have been able to buy this place," he said, sitting on one of the three couches in his Brampton living room, far away from the downtown Toronto apartment he once rented with his son. "And it helps me keep going."
His purchases, however, have been a lingering sore spot for his former wife, so much so that it has sparked contradictory stories about who actually took care of Ainsworth after the divorce.
Mr. Dyer said his son moved with him to Ontario when he was eight years old. Ms. Dyer said he lived in Montreal until he was 16.
"Paul is a con artist," Ms. Dyer said. "He‘s greedy. To me, I lost a son. To Paul, it‘s about the money."
Mr. Dyer laughs off such suggestions. He said if anyone is after money, it is his one-time wife. If Ainsworth wanted it differently, he said, he would have named his mother as his beneficiary.
"All she did was give birth to him," Mr. Dyer said. "I am the one who took care of him. If she was so close to him, Ainsworth would have her on his papers."
Ms. Dyer has barely worked since the accident and is taking medication for depression. Inside her cramped living room, the framed photograph of her son that appeared in the media after the bombing has been taken off the wall and is now tucked away beside a bookshelf.
"I can‘t look at it," she said earlier this year. "I can‘t really accept this at all. It‘s the worst thing in life to lose a child. It‘s like your guts are coming out."
Yet despite her current condition -- her only income, she said, is social assistance -- she does not want her former husband‘s money.
"I‘m not asking Paul for anything," she said. "But he is our child, and we should grieve together. We should mourn together."
Other families have had trouble mourning together, too, but not because of money.
Richard and Claire Leger had raised three children and been happily married for 30 years when they learned their son was dead.
"That accident has removed the fun of my life," Mr. Leger said in a recent interview. "I can‘t celebrate my birthday. I can‘t celebrate Christmas, Easter or any other activity. I just can‘t do that. It‘s sort of like I haven‘t got the right to do that any more."
That outlook has taken its toll on the Legers, who often found themselves at odds over seemingly insignificant things.
Why, for example, could Mrs. Leger find the strength to return dozens of the supportive e-mails they received from Canadians, while her husband could barely write a single line?
"I couldn‘t understand why she would do things," he said. "And she couldn‘t understand why I thought or did my things."
It escalated to the point where they had to see a counsellor.
"With Claire and I, we have to work at our marriage a lot more than we ever did," Mr. Leger said. "We had to get some help because we were going down the wrong path, that‘s for sure."
Things are better these days, he said.
"I knew we had a good marriage," Mr. Leger said. "In hindsight, to see how strong it was only makes it that much stronger."
Despite the differences that have divided some of the families, the dead soldiers‘ loved ones are united on one front: They want Maj. Schmidt‘s court martial to finally begin.
Two years after the once-elite pilot stepped out of a cockpit for what will likely be the last time, he has yet to face a trial for his alleged crime. The original charges of involuntary manslaughter and aggravated assault were dropped long ago, but he still faces one count of dereliction of duty, which carries a possible sentence of six months in prison.
His day in court was supposed to come earlier this month, but legal wrangling has once again delayed the process.
"Right now, we are dealing with the emotions of the courts, the emotions of the lawyers," Mr. Leger said. "It‘s like building a castle one stone on top of the other. I just want to have one stone. Let me deal with Marc‘s death, how it happened, and that‘s it."
Mr. Dyer also wants it "to be over with."
"It would not make anything better," he said. "But I would try my best to go on with my life."
Today, relatives of the four dead soldiers will quietly mark the second anniversary of the accident. The Legers will be in Lancaster, Ont., where they raised their son and then laid him to rest. Mr. Dyer is also planning to visit his son‘s grave at the Necropolis Cemetery in downtown Toronto.
In Fox Point, N.S., Ms. Coolen will do the same, planting some flowers and replacing the Canadian flag she keeps near Pte. Green‘s headstone. On many days, she said it feels as though her son is simply away on another tour of duty.
"But now it‘s sinking in," she said. "Ricky‘s never coming back to me. Whoever said time heals -- well, that isn‘t so."
