Eagles' mix of music, humor strikes
a chord with young Kosovar listeners
By Terry Boyd, Kosovo
bureau
Terry Boyd / Stars and Stripes
Maj. Thomas Kunk, center, is "The Bald Eagle," the basso-profundo (deep
bass) voice of "The Eagle has landed; the Strike Force is in your house." In
spite of such a complex title, Kunk and his supporting staff, including Albanian
translator Murlan Jasique, left, and Sgt. Demetrius McNeil, keep it simple. |
VITINA, Kosovo — Every unit rotating through Kosovo has its own idea of how things
should be done, especially when it comes to using the airwaves to shape public opinion.
Some public affairs soldiers and psychological-operation types favor happy shows with
innocuous pop music and messages of peace. Then there are the "KFOR Hours"
— "talk shows" that are actually solemn sermons about how it’s just so
misguided for Kosovars to shoot at one another and blow up one another’s homes and
businesses.
But no one puts on a radio show like four guys — two infantry soldiers, two field
artillery men — from the Vitina-based Heaquarters Company of the 2nd Battalion, 502
Infantry Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division, and their Albanian translator, Murlan
Jasique.
For at least two hours each Thursday night since Sept. 6, this crew has played music by
Ice Cube and Nelly, the kind of stuff that Kosovar Albanian teens really like. They talk
about whatever pops into their minds, or the minds of listeners, says Sgt. 1st Class Mike
Dougherty, who came up with the show’s name and slogan: "The Eagle has landed;
the Strike Force is in your house."
The eagle is the symbol of the 101st, based at Fort Campbell, Ky., and the Strike Force
is the battalion’s nickname.
No one will mistake this show for the Tuesday night commander’s talk about a
safe-and-secure environment, "which, if you ask me, is somewhat boring,"
Dougherty says. "They love it that we speak English, that we laugh and that
we’re not political."
The Eagles’ ringleader, Maj. Thomas Kunk, describes the show as "a G-rated
Howard Stern show." And that is correct most of the time.
Occasionally, however, one of the broadcasters inadvertently blurts out things that
would get them fired from any radio station in America, Sgt. Demetrius McNeil says.
For example, as the crew is scrambling to get a recent show ready, the Albanian DJs are
playing a local rap song featuring English lyrics that are not too far removed from the
graffiti in Camp Bondsteel’s latrines. Lt. Col. Christopher Reddish, the Vitina
battalion commander, is the show’s first caller — to ask what on earth
they’re playing.
"Ah, don’t touch that dial, sir," Jasique shouts into the phone, trying
to be heard above the confusion.
So, how do they get away with it? Well, what they do works. Ethnic Albanian kids call
and call and call. They call from Vitina and nowhere villages like Kabash and Bozaranje.
And from Debelde, high in the mountains on the Macedonian border. And then they call again
the next week.
The point of the show — and it does have one — is to connect with kids in the
area where American soldiers haven’t always been popular, Dougherty says. The
show’s goal is to tell them that Americans are not just people who walk around town
in battle rattle carrying guns.
And it’s not a bad thing for people steeped in hate to understand how Americans
think, and what they value — things like the Stars and Stripes, romance, fun and a
cold beer. These Eagles are funny, friendly and relaxed, and there is real chemistry.
Kunk has a deep, homey voice and a penchant for double-entendres.
When a female caller asks for his opinion on the differences between Albanian women and
American women, Kunk says that Albanian women "seem to be gifted upstairs."
"I can’t translate that!" Jasique fires back. "I meant that
they’re smart," Kunk swears later.
McNeil, an intellectual-looking young man who speaks several languages, becomes bad,
bold "Mac Daddy" on the air.
Dougherty, handsome and articulate, plays the wisecracking voice of reason. When McNeil
starts reading the question, "What do men like to play with most?" Dougherty
groans, "Oh, God!" because he knows what’s coming.
Though he rarely says a word on air, Tech. Sgt. Jason Cardoza keeps things moving,
constantly making notes.
But the star is clearly Jasique, who has to translate all the nuances of colloquial
English into Albanian. That means he has to be funny in two languages, the bridge between
cultures.
As a group, the Eagles groove on their rogue image. They talk about how they’re
broadcasting "from the bar," drinking cold beer as Kunk describes it. In
reality, the Eagles and two Albanian DJs work from the very austere Radio Ilyria studio in
"downtown" Vitina, squinting at CD labels in the glow of bare bulbs and
cigarette smoke.
This Thursday night is battle of the sexes night, a contest awarding T-shirts and hats
(compliments of the base exchange) to female callers correctly answering questions about
cars and beer. Men get questions about mascara and how to demurely cross their legs.
The only trouble is, by 11:05, the Eagles have run through all the questions that they
thought up that day, and the calls are still coming.
"Wait a minute," Kunk ad-libs. "We’re trying to find you a special
question," while Cardoza frantically writes new material. Such as, "If a man
realizes that he’s forgotten his girlfriend’s birthday, does he: a) pretend that
he didn’t, then try to make her feel guilty for thinking he did?; b) never call her
again?; or c) calls his other girlfriend, and asks her what to do?"
When Valentina gets it right — a) — Cardoza yells, "Yeah, she knows
what’s up! She must be married!"
The show started when Radio Ilyria owners asked Dougherty if he’d ever thought of
getting on the radio and just having fun. They went on thinking that it might last an
hour. Instead, callers jammed the phone for two hours. The second show lasted from 10 p.m.
"till 1:20 in the morning!" says Kunk. "And we’re leaving, and the
phones are still ringing."
It’s not an easy gig. Try getting up at 5 a.m. to begin your duty day, then being
funny at midnight, Dougherty says. After the first couple shows, "we said, ‘We
can’t do any more,’ " McNeil adds. But they have, and there’s a payoff
— all the love coming in."
"I just want to tell you why I deserve a T-shirt," says Vali, a regular
caller who’s just blown a question. "Every Friday, I have to get up very early.
But you make me stay up!"
Kunk gives her a second chance, but she’s stumped again. "Just whisper to
me," she begs. He relents, noting that Vali has called in every week.
"You know," Kunk says slowly, his voice dropping into his lowest octave,
"It’s fun being the coolest guys in Kosovo."
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