biker died...sad story
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you think I care....why?
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RIP Brother!
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Jesus... I'm friends with his brother and sister, but I haven't spoken with them in a while. Never met the guy, but his sister was always so worried he would get killed in Iraq. Last time I spoke with her was just before I crashed. He probably wrecked the same way I did, pushed it too hard on a corner except I got lucky and didn't have a concrete wall in the way. I feel so horrible for them....
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I had seen him around school a couple times........thats the kid that drove the silver 350z.
I also remember seeing him riding before on Adamo drive....didnt he just start riding?
R.I.P bro
it doesnt matter whut your skill level is in riding you should always wear your gear......
I also remember seeing him riding before on Adamo drive....didnt he just start riding?
R.I.P bro
it doesnt matter whut your skill level is in riding you should always wear your gear......
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TR Hydroponics Abuser #36329
J a s o0o n: i need to get piss ass shit face fuck bag bitch ass drunk god damn
TR Hydroponics Abuser #36329
J a s o0o n: i need to get piss ass shit face fuck bag bitch ass drunk god damn
gone fishin
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Heartbreak after safe return
Published May 2, 2005
Scott Dobrzanski's family, from left, his brother Joe Jr., mother, Leda, with the flag that draped the coffin, father, Joe, and grandmother Sylvia mourn at Schaarai Zedel Cemetery in Tampa. Scott Dobrzanski (photo right), who survived dozens of trips on the road to the Baghdad airport, died April 24 at age 22 from injuries in a motorcycle accident.
VALRICO - Scott Dobrzanski had a decision to make.
He had heard the horror stories about what Iraqi insurgents might do to captured American soldiers. And he knew that his fate could be even worse if they took a close look at his dog tags.
The Army could stamp something else in the space reserved for religious preference. Or, as his father suggested, he could simply leave the space blank and get a second set of dog tags to wear after he came home. No one, he was assured, would blame him.
Instead, below his name, Social Security number and blood type, he had them add the word.
Jewish.
He was one of the first soldiers in Iraq when the war began. He lost two friends in battle, killed a man, and made a series of mail runs through Baghdad streets that few others would try.
And in February 2004, he made it home.
He brought back several things he didn't have before - 25 pounds of added muscle, a pair of dirty desert boots, and a new sense of confidence and wisdom. He enrolled in Hillsborough Community College, started dating, and after trying to land modeling jobs, found something that came natural to him: selling cars for Ferman Chevrolet in Brandon.
But Scott Dobrzanski also had a secret.
It was a new Kawasaki ZX-636 Ninja. The motorcycle he bought for $10,124.40 on April 16. The one that no one in his family knew about.
And the one he was riding about 8 p.m. April 24 when he lost control on a downtown Tampa exit of Interstate 275 and crashed into a guardrail. He was thrown from the motorcycle and landed on a concrete wall. He died a short time later at Tampa General Hospital.
It was, a friend said later, one of the rare occasions that he didn't wear his helmet.
He was 22.
* * *
Late Thursday morning, Joe Dobrzanski peeked out his dining room window. It was time. The black stretch limo that would take him and his family to the Congregation Schaarai Zedek synagogue for Scott's funeral had just pulled up to the curb.
It wasn't supposed to end this way, he said.
Joe, an engineer at Raytheon in St. Petersburg, and Leda, a former elementary school teacher, had always tried to steer their son away from harm. And their biggest fear was war.
But Scott's grandfather had served in World War II and Korea. And Joe had done two tours of duty in Vietnam. And Scott's older brother, Joe Jr., had served in the Persian Gulf War.
"I didn't want him in the military," Joe said. "I didn't want any more of my sons going to war.
"But Scott was always trying to make me proud of him. We talked about it, and I said, "Well Scott, it's your decision."'
So he joined Charlie Company, 2nd Battalion, 124th Infantry Regiment, late in his senior year at Durant High School. It was the spring of 2001.
A member of the Florida National Guard, Dobrzanski was sent to Jordan a month before the start of the invasion, and quickly found himself in Iraq once the war started, a combat infantryman attached to a Special Forces unit. He sent a constant stream of letters and e-mails home to his parents, to his two sisters, and to his brother. But his communication slowed to a trickle as the fighting intensified.
In the meantime, his family gobbled up any information they could from TV and newspapers, and tried not to worry too much.
Over the next year, two of his closest buddies were killed, and he would later confide to his father that he had killed an insurgent after he and another soldier had come under enemy fire on a rooftop.
He swam in one of Saddam Hussein's swimming pools, and voluntarily made 40 trips to and from the Baghdad airport, along one of the most dangerous roads in the country, simply to pick up his unit's mail. He thought it was important.
Then it was over. When his family met his plane at Fort Stewart, Ga., everyone sensed he was the same sensitive, outgoing, fidgety Scott who had left. Except bigger. He now carried 165 pounds on his 6-foot-2 frame.
Before he left, he didn't fully understand why his father was uncomfortable when he heard a helicopter overhead, why he preferred to stay indoors on the Fourth of July. After Scott came home from the war, he knew why.
Joe encouraged his son to talk about what happened in Iraq. "I didn't push him," his father said. "But I let him know that I knew what he had been through."
Joe began to look through a pile of photos assembled on the dining table. Scott in the living room on the night of his senior prom. In the sand at Clearwater Beach. In front of a gun truck in Iraq.
Black Hawk Down was his favorite movie. But after he came back from Iraq, he didn't watch it again. He loved shrimp, cars, and spaghetti, and hated bullies, bigots, schoolwork and soda, except his mother's Orange Crush. If he could, he would buy new clothes rather than wash his old ones. He wasn't much of a football or baseball fan. But he liked boxing and PlayStation II and flying model airplanes.
"I flew his favorite plane into a tree," his father said softly.
"I didn't think Scott was the soldier type," he added after a moment. "He wasn't aggressive. I didn't think he'd get through advanced training.
"But he made all of us very proud of him."
Scott lived at home until about two weeks ago, when he rented a room from a friend. About the same time, he went shopping at Barney's Motorcycles on Adamo Drive. He had always wanted a motorcycle, but his father had resisted. "Too dangerous," he said. "Especially the kind he wanted."
Last Sunday, Scott went to lunch with his father, mother, brother and sister-in-law at the Olive Garden in Brandon. He drove his Nissan 350 Z, and went back to his parents' house to hang out. When it was time for him to go, his father walked him to his car.
Joe told his son that he could come back home to live anytime. That maybe that was best. Scott thanked him and said no. He had life lessons to learn, and the best way he could do that was by living on his own.
The two men usually exchanged a handshake. But this time, Scott gave his dad a hug.
"I've been asking his friends where he was headed that night," Joe said. "No one knows. He might have just been out cruising."
Four days after the accident, Scott's cell phone rang. It was a young man Scott had recently befriended who was an experienced motorcycle rider. The two had planned to take a ride this weekend so Scott could become more familiar with his bike.
Joe had to tell the young man about the accident.
* * *
As they entered the synagogue, Leda Dobrzanski leaned on her husband. When it was time, Rabbi Richard Birnholz addressed the nearly 200 people who filled the seats. He spoke of irony, freedom of choice, and parents losing a child. But mostly, he told stories about Scott. About his buddies who had died and the mail run in Baghdad. And about the dog tags.
"No matter what else he did," Birnholz said, "his decision made him a hero in my eyes."
Then he looked down and spoke directly to Joe and Leda.
"Scott survived what you feared most," he told them, "only to succumb to what you expected least."
And then a line of cars more than two blocks long made its way slowly to the Schaarai Zedek Cemetery a few miles away. The immediate family sat in front of the flag-draped casket, surrounded by dozens of mourners.
Joe and Leda stared straight ahead as the flag was folded and presented to her. And they both flinched just a little when the five members of a Florida National Guard honor guard, standing under an oak a few dozen yards away, turned and fired the first of three salutes.
Carved on top of the simple oak casket was a Star of David.
After it was lowered into the plot, family members slowly and carefully let handfuls of dirt fall into the grave.
Nestled against Joe's chest, underneath his shirt and tie, were his son's dog tags.
A Guardsman who survived the war and its aftermath in Iraq dies in Tampa.
By TOM ZUCCO, Times Staff WriterPublished May 2, 2005
[Times photo: Thomas M. Goethe]
Scott Dobrzanski's family, from left, his brother Joe Jr., mother, Leda, with the flag that draped the coffin, father, Joe, and grandmother Sylvia mourn at Schaarai Zedel Cemetery in Tampa. Scott Dobrzanski (photo right), who survived dozens of trips on the road to the Baghdad airport, died April 24 at age 22 from injuries in a motorcycle accident.VALRICO - Scott Dobrzanski had a decision to make.
He had heard the horror stories about what Iraqi insurgents might do to captured American soldiers. And he knew that his fate could be even worse if they took a close look at his dog tags.
The Army could stamp something else in the space reserved for religious preference. Or, as his father suggested, he could simply leave the space blank and get a second set of dog tags to wear after he came home. No one, he was assured, would blame him.
Instead, below his name, Social Security number and blood type, he had them add the word.
Jewish.
He was one of the first soldiers in Iraq when the war began. He lost two friends in battle, killed a man, and made a series of mail runs through Baghdad streets that few others would try.
And in February 2004, he made it home.
He brought back several things he didn't have before - 25 pounds of added muscle, a pair of dirty desert boots, and a new sense of confidence and wisdom. He enrolled in Hillsborough Community College, started dating, and after trying to land modeling jobs, found something that came natural to him: selling cars for Ferman Chevrolet in Brandon.
But Scott Dobrzanski also had a secret.
It was a new Kawasaki ZX-636 Ninja. The motorcycle he bought for $10,124.40 on April 16. The one that no one in his family knew about.
And the one he was riding about 8 p.m. April 24 when he lost control on a downtown Tampa exit of Interstate 275 and crashed into a guardrail. He was thrown from the motorcycle and landed on a concrete wall. He died a short time later at Tampa General Hospital.
It was, a friend said later, one of the rare occasions that he didn't wear his helmet.
He was 22.
* * *
Late Thursday morning, Joe Dobrzanski peeked out his dining room window. It was time. The black stretch limo that would take him and his family to the Congregation Schaarai Zedek synagogue for Scott's funeral had just pulled up to the curb.
It wasn't supposed to end this way, he said.
Joe, an engineer at Raytheon in St. Petersburg, and Leda, a former elementary school teacher, had always tried to steer their son away from harm. And their biggest fear was war.
But Scott's grandfather had served in World War II and Korea. And Joe had done two tours of duty in Vietnam. And Scott's older brother, Joe Jr., had served in the Persian Gulf War.
"I didn't want him in the military," Joe said. "I didn't want any more of my sons going to war.
"But Scott was always trying to make me proud of him. We talked about it, and I said, "Well Scott, it's your decision."'
So he joined Charlie Company, 2nd Battalion, 124th Infantry Regiment, late in his senior year at Durant High School. It was the spring of 2001.
A member of the Florida National Guard, Dobrzanski was sent to Jordan a month before the start of the invasion, and quickly found himself in Iraq once the war started, a combat infantryman attached to a Special Forces unit. He sent a constant stream of letters and e-mails home to his parents, to his two sisters, and to his brother. But his communication slowed to a trickle as the fighting intensified.
In the meantime, his family gobbled up any information they could from TV and newspapers, and tried not to worry too much.
Over the next year, two of his closest buddies were killed, and he would later confide to his father that he had killed an insurgent after he and another soldier had come under enemy fire on a rooftop.
He swam in one of Saddam Hussein's swimming pools, and voluntarily made 40 trips to and from the Baghdad airport, along one of the most dangerous roads in the country, simply to pick up his unit's mail. He thought it was important.
Then it was over. When his family met his plane at Fort Stewart, Ga., everyone sensed he was the same sensitive, outgoing, fidgety Scott who had left. Except bigger. He now carried 165 pounds on his 6-foot-2 frame.
Before he left, he didn't fully understand why his father was uncomfortable when he heard a helicopter overhead, why he preferred to stay indoors on the Fourth of July. After Scott came home from the war, he knew why.
Joe encouraged his son to talk about what happened in Iraq. "I didn't push him," his father said. "But I let him know that I knew what he had been through."
Joe began to look through a pile of photos assembled on the dining table. Scott in the living room on the night of his senior prom. In the sand at Clearwater Beach. In front of a gun truck in Iraq.
Black Hawk Down was his favorite movie. But after he came back from Iraq, he didn't watch it again. He loved shrimp, cars, and spaghetti, and hated bullies, bigots, schoolwork and soda, except his mother's Orange Crush. If he could, he would buy new clothes rather than wash his old ones. He wasn't much of a football or baseball fan. But he liked boxing and PlayStation II and flying model airplanes.
"I flew his favorite plane into a tree," his father said softly.
"I didn't think Scott was the soldier type," he added after a moment. "He wasn't aggressive. I didn't think he'd get through advanced training.
"But he made all of us very proud of him."
Scott lived at home until about two weeks ago, when he rented a room from a friend. About the same time, he went shopping at Barney's Motorcycles on Adamo Drive. He had always wanted a motorcycle, but his father had resisted. "Too dangerous," he said. "Especially the kind he wanted."
Last Sunday, Scott went to lunch with his father, mother, brother and sister-in-law at the Olive Garden in Brandon. He drove his Nissan 350 Z, and went back to his parents' house to hang out. When it was time for him to go, his father walked him to his car.
Joe told his son that he could come back home to live anytime. That maybe that was best. Scott thanked him and said no. He had life lessons to learn, and the best way he could do that was by living on his own.
The two men usually exchanged a handshake. But this time, Scott gave his dad a hug.
"I've been asking his friends where he was headed that night," Joe said. "No one knows. He might have just been out cruising."
Four days after the accident, Scott's cell phone rang. It was a young man Scott had recently befriended who was an experienced motorcycle rider. The two had planned to take a ride this weekend so Scott could become more familiar with his bike.
Joe had to tell the young man about the accident.
* * *
As they entered the synagogue, Leda Dobrzanski leaned on her husband. When it was time, Rabbi Richard Birnholz addressed the nearly 200 people who filled the seats. He spoke of irony, freedom of choice, and parents losing a child. But mostly, he told stories about Scott. About his buddies who had died and the mail run in Baghdad. And about the dog tags.
"No matter what else he did," Birnholz said, "his decision made him a hero in my eyes."
Then he looked down and spoke directly to Joe and Leda.
"Scott survived what you feared most," he told them, "only to succumb to what you expected least."
And then a line of cars more than two blocks long made its way slowly to the Schaarai Zedek Cemetery a few miles away. The immediate family sat in front of the flag-draped casket, surrounded by dozens of mourners.
Joe and Leda stared straight ahead as the flag was folded and presented to her. And they both flinched just a little when the five members of a Florida National Guard honor guard, standing under an oak a few dozen yards away, turned and fired the first of three salutes.
Carved on top of the simple oak casket was a Star of David.
After it was lowered into the plot, family members slowly and carefully let handfuls of dirt fall into the grave.
Nestled against Joe's chest, underneath his shirt and tie, were his son's dog tags.
__________________
http://www.woundedwarriorproject.org
http://www.woundedwarriorproject.org
One of the consequences of such notions as "entitlements" is that people who have contributed nothing to society feel that society owes them something, apparently just for being nice enough to grace us with their presence.”
Thomas Sowell (American Writer and Economist, b.1930)
Thomas Sowell (American Writer and Economist, b.1930)
