Panama X 3

 

PANAMA: THREE DEPLOYMENTS, THREE DIFFERENT WORLDS

1987 • 1989 • 1993

I never expected Panama to become a recurring chapter in my National Guard story, but life has a way of circling back to certain places. Between 1987 and 1993, I deployed there three times — each with similar missions but with a different version of myself. The country stayed the same in many ways: the heat, the traffic, the Canal, the coffee. But the experiences could not have been more different.

What follows is the full story — all three deployments, each one shaping the next.

FIRST DEPLOYMENT — JANUARY 1987

125th Public Affairs Detachment — St. Paul, Minnesota

My first trip to Panama announced itself the moment the airport doors slid open and that hot, humid curtain of air wrapped around me like a wet blanket. It wasn’t a breeze or a whiff — it was a full‑body introduction. One step out of the terminal and I knew I wasn’t in Minnesota anymore. The air felt thick enough to scoop with a spoon, warm and heavy and carrying a smell I still remember: vegetation, diesel, and something distinctly tropical I never could quite name.

Traffic, Stoplights, and Survival Spanish

Some of the longest stoplights in the world must exist in Panama. At least, that’s how it felt to a Minnesotan used to lights that turned green before you finished adjusting the radio. I swear one of those lights lasted three full minutes. Maybe it didn’t, but that’s how my memory preserved it: me sitting in the back of our team's van, watching heat shimmer off the pavement while the same red light glowed stubbornly in front of us.

And just when I thought I’d seen everything, a local man stepped out into traffic with a spray bottle and a rag, heading straight for our windshield. Before we could react, he was scrubbing away like we’d pulled into a full‑service car wash. No words exchanged — just a quick, practiced cleaning and an expectant look afterward that made it clear this was his livelihood.

Panamanian drivers themselves were a whole different experience. We figured they didn’t really use a brake pedal at all — just an accelerator and the horn. Traffic flowed by some unwritten code of speed, sound, and bravado. If you hesitated, you lost your place. If you signaled, nobody cared. And if you didn’t keep moving, someone behind you would remind you with a honk that could wake the dead.

We also picked up a little Spanish as we went. The most important vocabulary word we learned early on was cerveza — beer. Once that clicked, we were unstoppable. “Dos cervezas, por favor” became our unofficial motto.

The Buses, the Trash, and the Tropical Reality

The city had a visual soundtrack too, and nothing expressed it better than the buses. They weren’t buses so much as rolling murals — old American school buses reborn in every color imaginable. Reds, greens, yellows, blues, saints and singers and slogans painted across the sides, chrome shining, music thumping. You didn’t just ride a bus in Panama; you experienced it.

And then there was the trash. Panama City was vibrant and alive, but it also had this habit of collecting piles of garbage on street corners like it was part of the urban décor. Bags, boxes, loose papers — little mountains of refuse that seemed to regenerate overnight.

Our Team and Our First Night

Between the heat, the traffic, and the sensory overload of Panama City, our team was still figuring out how to function in a climate that didn’t care one bit about Minnesota comfort levels. One of our journalists learned that the hard way. He decided to enjoy the sun a little too enthusiastically and ended up sunburning his feet. Only a Minnesotan could step into the tropics and forget that the sun shines straight down.

We were a 12‑person team from the 125th Public Affairs Detachment — broadcast folks, print folks, photographers — all there to cover National Guard units training in Panama. Instead of barracks or tents, we were assigned to a surprisingly nice apartment building, an Edificio in Panama City. I even had my own room, which in Guard terms felt like winning a small lottery.

That first night, for reasons lost to history, we all went out for pizza. One day, while climbing the stairs to our apartments, I saw the biggest cockroach I had ever encountered — dead, but a sort of unofficial welcome committee. And then there was the coffee: strong, dark, and unforgettable.

Panama introduced itself boldly, and I was hooked from the start.

SECOND DEPLOYMENT — DECEMBER 1989

125th Public Affairs Detachment — St. Paul, Minnesota

Operation Just Cause

My second trip to Panama began like any other annual training with the 125th Public Affairs Detachment. We were there to cover National Guard units, gather stories, shoot photos, and do the usual public affairs work. I’d been in Panama before, back in 1987, and this time felt familiar enough — the same humid air, the same strong coffee, the same sense that we were visitors in a place that had its own rhythm.

The Night Everything Changed

That familiarity lasted right up until the night everything changed.

I was in our apartment in Panama City, half-watching television reports about rising tensions between the U.S. and Manuel Noriega’s regime. The anchors were still speculating, still using words like “possible” and “developing.” Then the first artillery booms rolled across the city.

It was a strange, disorienting moment — hearing the real thing outside while the TV was still talking about what might happen. That’s when it hit me: we weren’t just covering a training mission anymore. We were inside the story.

Within minutes, the atmosphere shifted. Soldiers were being called back to their units. Vehicles were moving. Radios crackled with urgency. Even from our relatively safe vantage point, you could feel the tension settle in like humidity.

Back Home, People Were Watching

Back home, people were watching the same news reports and seeing “Panama” flash across the screen. When the invasion became official, the phone lines lit up. Friends, family, and even readers of the Alexandria Herald suddenly realized I was down there.

The Mitchell Daily Republic interviewed me after I returned, and reading that article now, I can hear the mix of adrenaline and understatement in my own quotes.

Leaving Panama

When we finally boarded the plane to leave, the mood was different from any other Guard trip I’d taken. There was relief, of course, but also a heaviness. We’d been close enough to feel the tremors of history, and that stays with you.

I remember stepping off the plane in Minnesota. It was 19 degrees below zero -- quite an adjustment from the 80-degree warmth we left in Panama just hours ago. The shock of that cold air was almost symbolic — a jolt back into normal life after two weeks of tension and uncertainty.

THIRD DEPLOYMENT — MARCH 1993

129th Public Affairs Detachment — Rapid City, South Dakota

Commander

By the time I returned to Panama in March of 1993, I was no longer the new guy with wide eyes and a sunburned Minnesotan sense of wonder. This time I was the commander of the 129th Public Affairs Detachment out of Rapid City, South Dakota.

A Calm, Steady Mission

Unlike the 1989 deployment, this trip was calm, predictable, and refreshingly uneventful. No artillery in the distance, no sudden shifts from training to history‑in‑the‑making. Just the steady rhythm of public affairs work: documenting training, interviewing soldiers, gathering stories, and making sure the Guard’s mission was captured accurately.

The Canal Tradition

A ship works its way through the Panama Canal's Miraflores Locks.

One tradition carried across all three deployments: a visit to the Panama Canal. I believe every one of our trips included it, and 1993 was no exception. We found ourselves once again standing at the Miraflores Locks, watching enormous ships rise and fall as the Pacific traded water with Gatun Lake.

Electric cars called "mules" help guide a ship through Miraflores Locks.

Transiting through Miraflores Locks.

No matter how many times you see it, the Canal never loses its sense of engineering magic.

CLOSING REFLECTION — THREE TRIPS, ONE COUNTRY, A LIFETIME OF MEMORIES

I present a memento of the 125th Public Affairs Detachment's deployment to Panama to our host.

Looking back now, the three Panama deployments form a kind of trilogy.

1987 was discovery — the heat, the traffic, the buses, the trash, the cockroach, the coffee, the sunburned feet, and the first “Dos cervezas, por favor.”

1989 was history — the night the artillery started, the tension in the air, the sudden shift from routine to reality.

1993 was leadership — calm, steady, and reflective, a return to a place that had already shaped me twice before.

Same country. Same Canal. Same humidity.

But three completely different experiences — each one marking a different chapter of my life in uniform.

Panama didn’t just give me stories. It gave me perspective.

And I’m grateful for every trip.