[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 153 (2007), Part 18]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages 24679-24682]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                               FINAL POST

                                 ______
                                 

                           HON. CORRINE BROWN

                               of florida

                    in the house of representatives

                      Tuesday, September 18, 2007

  Ms. CORRINE BROWN of Florida. Madam Speaker, I rise today to bring to 
the attention of the Members of the House of Representatives and the 
American public an article written by Chris Raymond for the The 
Director magazine. The article is a great description of what goes on 
at The Port Mortuary at Delaware's Dover Air Force Base, the first stop 
on the final journey for those who have given their life in defense of 
this Nation.

                     [From The Director, July 2007]

                               Final Post

                           (By Chris Raymond)

       The Port Mortuary at Delaware's Dover Air Force Base 
     exemplifies this nation's highest ideals and those underlying 
     the funeral service profession as it cares for the men and 
     women that sacrifice their lives in defense of our country--
     Chris Raymond.
       Show me the manner in which a nation cares for its dead, 
     and I will measure with mathematical exactness the tender 
     mercies of its people, their respect for the laws of the land 
     and their loyalty to high ideals--William Gladstone, British 
     Prime Minister.
       On this night, the bodies wait quietly in the darkness, 
     their caskets in a long line, positioned with military 
     precision before a large steel garage door. A massive U.S. 
     flag, perhaps 30 by 20 feet, hangs silently above them. In 
     the morning, this flag will offer one final salute to each 
     fallen soldier as the staff of the Dover Air Force Base Port 
     Mortuary drapes each casket with a smaller American flag, a 
     stack of which hang ready on a rack near the exit for this 
     purpose, before carefully wheeling each outside onto a broad 
     cement landing. From there, vehicles will transport each of 
     these meticulously, lovingly prepared men and women to the 
     planes that will fly them home to their grieving families and 
     the military honors each has earned.
       On March 23, 2007, U.S. Army Sergeant First Class Cedric 
     Thomas kneeled before the simple urn containing the cremated 
     remains of U.S. Army Specialist Ross McGinnis during his 
     funeral at Arlington National Cemetery. Resting his hand atop 
     the urn, Thomas, wearing his full uniform, hung his head for 
     a few moments, saying his silent goodbyes, lost in his 
     thoughts. Rising, Thomas offered one final salute to the 19-
     year-old who sacrificed his life so he could live.
       A few months earlier, on December 4, 2006, McGinnis manned 
     a machine gun atop a

[[Page 24680]]

     Humvee as he, Thomas and three other soldiers patrolled the 
     streets of Adhamiyah, Iraq. From a rooftop, an enemy 
     insurgent tossed a grenade at their truck. Whizzing past 
     McGinnis, the grenade fell through the Humvee's hatch and 
     lodged next to a radio. According to a later account written 
     by Rodney Sherman and published in The Clarion News, Thomas 
     recalls McGinnis shouting to his four comrades: ``Grenade! 
     It's in the truck!''
       Thomas also told the newspaper, ``[McGinnis] had time to 
     jump out of the truck.''
       McGinnis did not desert his comrades, however. Instead, he 
     jumped through the hatch and threw his body atop the grenade. 
     Upon detonation, McGinnis died instantly. While wounded, the 
     four other soldiers survived, thanks entirely to the heroic 
     action of a teenager from Knox, Pennsylvania.
       U.S. Army Specialist Ross McGinnis has been posthumously 
     nominated for receipt of the Medal of Honor, the nation's 
     highest military award and an honor bestowed upon only 3,460 
     other members of the U.S. armed services since its inception 
     shortly before the Civil War. During his funeral at 
     Arlington, McGinnis received full military honors as three of 
     the four people he saved in the Humvee that day paid their 
     respects, after receiving special permission to attend the 
     funeral before returning to the war zone.
       Undoubtedly, the staff of the Dover Port Mortuary prepared 
     the remains of U.S. Army Specialist Ross McGinnis during his 
     journey home and before his ultimate interment at Arlington 
     because Dover processes all of our deceased soldiers. Yet, 
     despite his heroism, not one of the roughly 1,200 other 
     military dead that Dover handles each year receive any less 
     care, respect and honor than McGinnis did--regardless of rank 
     and regardless of chosen method or location of interment.
       That is simply how the Dover Port Mortuary operates, every 
     day.
       A long bus ride from Washington, DC, to Dover, Delaware, 
     eventually delivers me at a security checkpoint just within 
     the fenced-in, razor-wired confines of Dover Air Force Base. 
     After spending more than two hours chatting with the entire 
     NFDA Executive Board, staff members Christine Pepper, John 
     Fitch and Lesley Witter, and former NFDA At-large Rep. 
     Charlie Hastings, who organized this private tour in his home 
     state, the onboard appearance of a military official 
     demanding we surrender our drivers licenses suddenly sobers 
     me.
       ``Oh yeah,'' I recall. ``Several months ago, I had to 
     provide my Social Security number so Dover could conduct 
     whatever background checks it requires.''
       Suddenly, the serious nature of an entirely different way 
     of life floods my thoughts. This is no tour-bus lark to visit 
     the sights of Niagara Falls or the Grand Canyon, a feeling 
     reinforced when I see a massive steel barrier descend into 
     the ground so the bus can pass after receiving clearance.
       Stepping off the bus, I enter a modern, recently built 
     facility. As the group gathers within the lobby, I gaze at a 
     massive, curved display just inside, constructed of polished 
     gray stone and inscribed across the top with the words 
     ``Dignity, Honor and Respect.'' The sound of falling water 
     fills my ears from somewhere nearby as I read the many panels 
     beneath these words, each listing an ``incident'' and the 
     number of dead the Dover Port Mortuary handled each time, 
     dating back to the 1960s. The astronauts of space shuttle 
     Challenger; the victims of the Jim Jones tragedy in Guyana in 
     the late 1970s, when I was a kid; many soldiers from Desert 
     Shield/Desert Storm; the remains of Lt. Michael Blassie, the 
     unidentified Air Force pilot representing the Vietnam War at 
     the Tomb of the Unknowns for 14 years until his 
     identification in 1998 and reinterment; the soldiers that 
     died during the failed attempt to rescue the hostages in Iran 
     during the Carter administration; and countless other members 
     of the U.S. armed services.
       A guy my age, dressed in a brown polo and multi-pocket 
     khakis, begins addressing our group, welcoming us to Dover. 
     Although William Zwicharowski--``Zig'' as we would come to 
     address him--is a licensed funeral director, I can 
     immediately tell he is also military; he stands ramrod 
     straight even when he's being ``casual.'' Noting that the 
     tour we are about to receive is extremely rare given the 
     sensitive nature of Dover's operations, Zig proceeds to 
     explain that the present facility was built about three years 
     ago. While Dover's mortuary operations date back decades, 
     some authorities felt the former facility looked like a 
     ``warehouse'' after the attention given by the nation to 
     victims of the 9/11 terrorist attack on the Pentagon. Even if 
     only one grieving family visits the Dover facility each year, 
     these powers realized that this family deserves to know that 
     their son or daughter received the highest level of care and 
     respect, something the ad hoc nature of the former facility 
     did not convey.
       Subsequently, Congress authorized the appropriation of $30 
     million for design and construction of the present Dover Port 
     Mortuary installation. No other mortuary ``model'' to emulate 
     existing anywhere else on earth, Zig and his staff helped 
     shape the ultimate design and function of the current 
     facility--the Charles C. Carson Center for Mortuary Affairs. 
     As the tour progressed, I would grow to appreciate the 
     government's wisdom of listening to the practitioner's point 
     of view because every detail in the new facility--from the 
     choice of equipment to the layout of the building itself--
     reflects the expertise and experience of people that know how 
     to care for the dead while also serving the living.
       After fielding our many initial questions, Zig beckons the 
     group to walk around behind the incident display in the 
     lobby. While certainly not hidden in any way, I am amazed to 
     discover a large, comfortably appointed atrium just beyond. A 
     soaring glass canopy overarches many ornamental trees and 
     colorful flowers and plants surrounding a central bubbling 
     water pond. The effect is soothing, even comforting, and 
     again reflects the practitioner's insight: serving the 
     living. Along the perimeter of the atrium, I notice numerous 
     offices, some labeled ``Counseling,'' ``Chaplain'' or 
     ``Meditation.''
       Zig leads us to the Escort Briefing room. Inside, set up 
     for the next morning, nine chairs at one end of the room hold 
     green folders and clear-plastic bags. On each folder, the 
     name of a deceased soldier. Within each bag, their personal 
     effects. Suddenly, the body count in Iraq I hear each morning 
     on my local news becomes personal. Those are more than just 
     numbers; each represents someone's child, spouse, sibling, 
     friend. And nine more of them or their representatives will 
     sit in these chairs tomorrow with the pain of loss numbing 
     their senses and try to follow the details about a far-away 
     incident that took their loved ones as they view information 
     projected from a laptop computer onto a screen at the front 
     of the room. Some will find comfort in such knowledge. Others 
     will caress perhaps the odd personal effect found in one of 
     the plastic bags. A comb. A calling card. A tattered photo. 
     Still others will hear or see nothing, numb from the 
     immediacy of forever-loss.
       The roughly 12 people working full-time at Dover understand 
     this, however. For them, the true essence of what funeral 
     directing is all about reigns paramount, which has nothing to 
     do with ``efficiency'' or ``volume'' or getting one family 
     ``out'' because another is scheduled to arrive in 15 
     minutes--the buzzwords too often filling The Director and 
     your other trade publications. No, the mantra of these 
     dedicated men and women is consistency; the belief that every 
     deceased armed services member passing through their facility 
     deserves complete, unwavering adherence to the words 
     inscribed atop the incident display in the foyer: Dignity, 
     Honor and Respect. Zig and his staff hold zero tolerance for 
     even one ``mishap.'' As he would later convey during the tour 
     about Dover's meticulous handling of every soldier's personal 
     effects: ``It is not okay for us to say we `only lost one 
     item last year.' You try telling that to a family.''
       Thus, whatever transpires within the Escort Briefing room 
     the next morning, I know that these dedicated professionals 
     will do whatever is necessary to afford every survivor with 
     whatever comfort they require, for however long it takes.
       The new Port Mortuary at Dover Air Force Base was designed 
     for both war- and peacetime. Given the U.S. military presence 
     in Iraq, the facility obviously now operates on a wartime 
     status, and Zig and roughly a dozen others work at the 
     mortuary full-time. When the volume of deceased military 
     personnel threatens to grow greater than this crew can 
     handle--which they can generally anticipate courtesy of CNN 
     within 48 hours--Dover activates other professionals from 
     within the military, as well as civilians, to assist.
       The process of caring for a fallen soldier is extremely 
     complex, but the Port Mortuary has an amazing system in place 
     and continually strives to handle each case more effectively. 
     Medical examiners want each body returned from the field of 
     battle almost exactly as each man or woman fell, without any 
     live ammunition or grenades, in order to determine if gear 
     improvements are possible to save future lives. This possibly 
     overlooked attention to detail recently resulted in an 
     advancement in each soldier's body armor when Dover's 
     personnel noticed a growing number of deaths due to neck 
     wounds. Insurgent snipers had identified a vulnerability in 
     American military armor--the exposed neck--and consciously 
     aimed their rifles at this spot. Because the staff at Dover 
     recognized this, however, American forces now wear a neck 
     collar, saving an untold number of lives.
       The grim fact remains, however, that the Port Mortuary at 
     Dover exists primarily to process those that die defending 
     our country. This begins with the transportation of each body 
     from overseas to another large cement area at the rear of the 
     facility. Transported within aluminum transfer cases, the 
     remains arrive encased in ice and in great condition, usually 
     within 48 hours of death. Again, I feel impressed and oddly 
     proud when Zig relates the solemnity with which Dover's staff 
     receives each case. These are no mere factory workers 
     handling anonymous, insignificant packages along some 
     conveyor belt, I think.
       Moreover, despite helping to design and build a state-of-
     the-art facility, Zig acknowledges that there is always room 
     for improvement in the care he and his staff provides.

[[Page 24681]]

     Thus, their practitioner-practical suggestions have also 
     resulted in several innovations--most of them little things 
     with profound impact. The aluminum transfer cases, for 
     instance, once bore only two handles along each long side, 
     forcing several pallbearers to ``pretend'' to carry each case 
     and, frankly, forcing others to handle by themselves a heavy 
     load. Because Zig suggested adding a few more handles to each 
     case, these reused transfer cases (once sterilized) now sport 
     the necessary number of handles. Dover's staff also suggested 
     adding insulation to the inside of each transfer case to 
     improve the cooling power of the ice preserving the remains 
     during their journey to Dover.
       Once received, the staff at Dover initiates a comprehensive 
     system to track every aspect of a body's progress through the 
     facility. Nearly 200 computers, utilizing a proprietary 
     software program, gather and communicate with each other 
     every detail concerning each particular deceased soldier. 
     Each transfer case is logged in electronically using handheld 
     bar-coding units. (The reason for this will become clear 
     later in this article.)
       At this point, each body is scanned in the ``EOD Room,'' 
     which checks for the presence of live explosive ordnance. 
     Again, I begin to appreciate the serious nature of the work 
     these people perform as I glance at the construction of these 
     twin chambers. The doors and walls consist of one-foot-thick, 
     steel-reinforced concrete, which Zig tells me can withstand 
     the blast of one pound of C-4 explosive. Later, I ask him why 
     bodies aren't scanned for dangerous ordnance before transfer 
     to Dover.
       He smiles and says, ``I wish I had a dollar for every time 
     I hear that question... I don't know.''
       Next, each body enters the ``Photography/Bar-coding'' area. 
     Here every aspect of the deceased soldier whether consisting 
     of a full body or merely a body part--is digitally recorded, 
     assigned a unique bar code and tracked electronically. When/
     if a body's viscera are removed, Dover even tracks them to 
     ensure their eventual return to the proper body. Such is the 
     dedication Dover provides to ensure that our country's 
     military dead receive the mathematically exacting tender 
     mercies and loyalty to high ideals each has earned.
       Fingerprinting of the deceased occurs next, performed 
     entirely digitally in less than 10 minutes and again intended 
     to ensure that no mistakes occur while each deceased soldier 
     remains entrusted to the care of Dover's staff. Offering 
     another practitioner-practical suggestion, Zig notes that he 
     also recommends digital ``foot printing'' of each body. While 
     yet uncommon, he explains that the skin patterns on the 
     bottom of our feet are as unique as the pads on our 
     fingertips, and while the latter is too often subject to 
     damage, the boots issued to military personnel afford 
     excellent tissue preservation, even in cases involving fire, 
     which can later provide positive identification.
       The sophistication of the equipment is impressive, as is 
     the networking that enables an operator to access pertinent 
     information at any time. In fact, this system even helped Zig 
     identify from a small body part one of the terrorists that 
     hijacked the plane that hit the Pentagon on 9/11.
       Someone in the group asks what happened to the terrorist's 
     body part. Was it returned? Was it discarded?
       A shadow passes across Zig's face and his gaze grows 
     distant. ``We decided we are better than them,'' he says 
     quietly. ``We returned the body part in a casket to his 
     homeland.''
       He leads us toward the next station within the mortuary, 
     which focuses on dental records. As we walk down a hallway, I 
     noticed a framed document on a wall: ``Nerve Agent Symptoms 
     and Antidote.''
       ``Truly a different way of life,'' I think again, not for 
     the last time, before noticing 16 tan-plastic gurneys lined 
     neatly along a wall. I recall Zig mentioning earlier that at 
     the start of the Iraq War, Dover utilized almost everyone of 
     its 75 gurneys.
       Within the Dental Station, another impressive device takes 
     digital X-rays of each body. Again, because of the 
     sophisticated computer network at the Port Mortuary, 
     personnel can quickly match these post-mortem scans with 
     existing anti-mortem X-rays, making positive identification 
     possible if not already verified in some other way. It was 
     this device that helped the staff at Dover identify one of 
     the 9/11 victims from only three teeth and a piece of the 
     victim's jawbone.
       Another method that Dover uses to identify the remains in 
     its care involves a full-body X-ray. If a decedent remains 
     unidentified at this point, this X-ray enables medical 
     examiners to identify unique qualities within the body, such 
     as healed broken bones. By asking a family if ```Johnny' once 
     broke his arm as a teenager,'' Dover staff have another tool 
     that helps them make positive identification.
       It is important to remember, however, that too often, the 
     body is not intact. In such cases, a full-body X-ray allows 
     medical examiners to reassociate a severed limb with a torso 
     by matching the ends of bones, joints, etc.
       Finally, Zig shows us one more high-tech gizmo in this area 
     of the mortuary: a GE ``virtual autopsy'' machine. Similar in 
     appearance (to my untrained eye) to a CAT-scan device, this 
     unit records digital information about the decedent's 
     physiology in case it is needed.
       We enter the ``Autopsy Suite'' next, a room even larger 
     than the lobby we first visited. Late in the evening at this 
     point, the work finished, the dozen or so autopsy stations 
     along the perimeter sit clean, spotless, ready for whoever 
     will need one next.
       Gazing about the room, I feel my hair tussled as I step 
     into a breeze from overhead. Numerous vents pockmark the 
     ceiling, their louvers rattling, creating a state of constant 
     white noise. Zig smiles, explaining the importance of proper 
     ventilation in this room and that the goal is ``windy,'' that 
     the air is circulated numerous times each hour and that it is 
     ``obviously not returned [to the room].''
       The ``Embalming Suite'' is nearly identical to the previous 
     room in terms of setup. Each of the dozen or so stations sits 
     neatly ready for use. Three Portiboy Mark V machines sit near 
     each embalming table, as does a large spool of wire, used to 
     rewire skull fractures. Along one wall, shelves hold the 
     requisite practitioner equipment: body bags, coveralls, 
     pants, caps, personal protection equipment, all in a range of 
     sizes. Above Embalming Station #4, a large American flag 
     hangs on the wall. In a cupboard rests a broad selection of 
     embalming chemicals in a variety of strengths from numerous 
     manufacturers. The choice of fluid type is up to each 
     embalmer, but Dover generally uses a weaker solution in the 
     head and a strong mix in the body because, as Zig says, ``You 
     never know where a body is going.''
       This comment might sound odd given all that the staff at 
     Dover does to positively identify each body and/or body part, 
     but it stems from the electronic bar coding noted earlier, 
     revealing a second important reason for its use. Not only 
     does this method accurately track every item associated with 
     a deceased soldier, but it also reinforces the staffs 
     commitment to treating each case as if it is the single most-
     important one that each of these professionals will ever 
     handle. Stripped of name and rank, digital bar coding ensures 
     that every set of remains receives the highest level of 
     dignity, honor and respect.
       Before leaving this room, Zig further clarifies the Port 
     Mortuary's dedication to caring for the dead while serving 
     the living by noting that every bright-red medical-waste box 
     is X-rayed just in case some personal effect, such as a ring, 
     is overlooked. Each box is then properly stored for 60 days, 
     another precaution. This is also why each individual's 
     initial aluminum transfer case is bar coded upon receipt--in 
     case the need arises to locate a missing personal effect, 
     which might have gone overlooked.
       We visit the ``Personal Effects'' area next. In one room, 
     more than a dozen floor-to-ceiling wire shelving units, each 
     bearing five shelves, hold the electronically tracked 
     personal effects of each person while he or she is prepared. 
     Dover routinely cleans all personal effects before returning 
     them to families.
       As the group quietly files out of the room and toward the 
     dressing area, two shelves at the back of the room catch my 
     eye. Labeled ``Disassociated P.E.,'' I stand for a while, 
     alone, gazing at the small number of personal effects that 
     arrived at Dover at some point in the past that could not be 
     reassociated with someone in their care despite the 
     exhaustive efforts of its staff. A dime. Several long-
     distance calling cards. Two different photos of the same 
     infant girl wearing a bright yellow dress. The combination to 
     a Master Lock. Small stuff indeed, yet I sadly realize how 
     significant the slightest of these might prove to a grieving 
     family. Shaking myself from my reverie, I again feel proud of 
     the lengths these people go to in order to serve the living 
     before setting off to find the group.
       Entering the dressing area, I hear Zig explain the four 
     stages of viewing that Dover assigns to each case: a head 
     wrap, a full wrap, viewable for ID, and viewable. Deaths 
     involving mutilation of the entire body and deemed unviewable 
     receive a dignified full wrap, and Zig demonstrated this 
     process for the group (without the presence of remains). 
     First, Dover staff cocoon the body or body part(s) in 
     absorbent layers of cotton gauze before wrapping it in 
     plastic sheeting. Then a crisp white cotton sheet shrouds the 
     body before a green Army blanket is wrapped around that. 
     Finally, in such cases, the soldier's uniform is placed on 
     top of the fully wrapped body within a casket.
       As I watch this demonstration, I sense that death from a 
     bullet must prove easier to prepare, comparatively speaking, 
     versus death caused by a roadside bomb or some other form of 
     insurgent explosive device. I can neither imagine the horrors 
     these people must witness nor fathom how they can handle 
     such, but the respect I hold for their professionalism is 
     undeniable at this point.
       ``Uniform Prep'' is the next area we visit. Here, high 
     Plexiglas shelving units, like you might see in your local 
     department store, contain hundreds of uniform components--
     pants, shirts, ties, etc.--each in dozens of sizes and 
     representing every conceivable military branch, as well as 
     numerous American flags. On racks located along one wall, 
     freshly pressed uniform jackets hang.

[[Page 24682]]

       Two walls of this area display every conceivable military 
     medal, insignia, patch, stripe, bar and decoration you can 
     name in plastic packages. John Fitch, a veteran of Vietnam, 
     tells me that each military branch, each division, each unit, 
     has its own special--often unique--insignias, explaining the 
     vast array before us. The Dover Port Mortuary strives in 
     every case to prepare meticulously, lovingly the remains of a 
     fallen soldier as completely and as accurately as possible 
     for the many grieving his or her death. While these walls 
     hold a tremendous number of items to help them ``get it 
     right,'' Zig later states that Dover continually adds such 
     items because it is nearly impossible to have all of them in 
     stock, just in case.
       Briefly, I find myself examining, fascinated, the many rows 
     of shiny decorations on these walls as if I'm some dopey 
     tourist in a souvenir shop debating which trinket to purchase 
     for the kids. Then the realization of where I am and the 
     horrible, sad purpose of these items breaks through my fog of 
     denial and I feel ashamed.
       Finally, we visit the areas where the staff prepares 
     caskets and urns and gets each case ready for transportation 
     back to his or her family. The Dover Port Mortuary is almost 
     entirely self-sufficient, further testament to its commitment 
     to caring for the dead. Zig explains that Dover even engraves 
     the name plates needed for urns, and will cremate a body at 
     its own facility if a family so desires, before summarizing 
     that Dover handles everything but ``sewing the stripes onto 
     uniforms.'' (I later discover that he isn't kidding. Sewing 
     duties required to meticulously prepare a burial uniform 
     remain the only duty that Dover still outsources.)
       A large area at the rear of the facility holds the numerous 
     caskets, urns and temporary containers Dover will need. The 
     mortuary stocks only one type of wood and one type of metal 
     casket, purchased from several manufacturers, as well as 
     Jewish caskets and even oversized caskets, testament again to 
     its dedication to meeting the needs of each unique case with 
     the dignity, honor and respect that each fallen soldier has 
     earned.
       The average age of the 1,200 cases Dover's Port Mortuary 
     staff handles each year is 25. Despite the horrors of war, 
     and thanks to the dedication, commitment and expertise of 
     this remarkable facility's full- and part-time employees, 
     Dover returns these young loved ones to their grieving 
     families in a state suitable for viewing 85 percent of the 
     time. (Again, it is crucial to understand that 
     ``viewability'' has a different meaning here versus that used 
     in a typical funeral home. Sadly, in some cases, only the 
     decedent's head is viewable but not the body, or vice versa.)
       As I take my seat aboard our chartered bus and settle in 
     for the two-hour return journey to Washington, D.C., I gaze 
     at the now-illuminated landscape of Delaware through my 
     window as the miles pass unnoticed, lost in thought, sensing 
     the night chill through my shirt. I do not feel like idly 
     chatting right now.
       I wish every funeral service professional, every citizen, 
     had the opportunity to experience firsthand the tour I still 
     struggle to assimilate. Learning how each set of remains that 
     arrives at the Charles C. Carson Center for Mortuary Affairs 
     is steadfastly treated as unique--as was each individual--and 
     receives from a small group of amazing people the requisite 
     time, attention and care their due moves me profoundly. Each 
     is special. Each is one of a kind. Each--as well as everyone 
     that grieves their death--is worthy of the mathematically 
     exacting tender mercies and loyalty to high ideals each 
     fallen soldier earned. Thanks to this facility and its staff, 
     we--as a nation--bestow such on friend or foe alike.
       I will never think of them as numbers again.

                          ____________________