Saddam's Skeet Range

The Abu Ghraib Palace Complex is a sprawling area the size of a small city. In it's heyday, it was the private club and resort of the elites of the Ba'ath Party. For Saddam Hussein, his sons Uday and Qusay, as well as other high-ranking party officials, it was a private retreat. They even staged canned hunting expeditions on the grounds.

One day, while cutting across a part of the base I rarely traverse, I came across this small underground structure, enclosed inside a little fence. Fences, of course, were made for hopping, and I did my best Huck Finn leap over it to get a better look at what I'd found.

One glance was all it took for this Native Texan and shooting enthusiast to realize what he had discovered. It was the palace's very own skeet range. Here, no doubt, Saddam and his insane followers likely shot a few clay pigeons while smoking cigars and discussing where the next palace would be built, how he would drain the southern marshlands to starve out the Marsh Arabs, or how much of the treasury would be robbed for caviar, champagne and private yachts. One is reminded of the scene of comedic tyranny in the movie "History of the World, Part I" where a perfumed and powdered Louis XVI, played by Mel Brooks, goes skeet shooting and calls "pull!" At that moment, rather than a clay pidgeon, a peasant shoots out, and the arrogant leader blasts him out of the sky.

Saddam's Iraq, of course, was no laughing matter. So this site, to me, was somewhat surreal. After hopping the fence, I took an inquisitive look inside. But rather than the hollowed out shell I had expected, I was surprised to find it relatively untouched, despite being in a relatively accessible area of the base.

In fact, as you can see, many of the bright orange sporting clays are still there. Stacked up and ready to use. Just as they would be arranged for a tournament.

The whole place, it seemed was frozen in time, probably ready for an Early March, 2003 outing by the Ba'athist bigwigs. A much-anticipated afternoon of fun and sun, which was cancelled at the last minute due to inclement weather. In that foreboding Springtime, Iraqi forecasters no doubt predicted heavy showers of cruise missiles and JDAMs, converging with billowing dust storms from the south, which followed a squall line of steadily-advancing M-1 Abrams Main Battle Tanks.

Looking through one of the open portals, at the massive - no doubt expensive - electric skeet tossing machines, I thought that my hunting buddies back in Frelsburg, Texas would kill to have something as cool. It would certainly be something they'd oogle at the Bass Pro Shop in Katy. In fact, it was probably even worth shorting your wife with a cubic zirconium anniversary ring just to stock up the needed cash.

This Ba'athist boondoggle was a small, but facinating glimpse into life at the top in Old Iraq. In America, such a facility would hardly be considered excessive. But in America, it would be open to all, not built with public funds for the sole benefit of an elite, single-party politburo. Nor would it be part of a palace compound of grandeur built in the heart of a land where most people starved.

At the risk of engaging in bad taste, I cannot help but recall the irony that it was just over one year ago this week that Saddam Hussein met his grisly end. As he finally faced the moment of truth for the incredible pain he caused these people over the course of three decades, standing atop the gallows' trap door, it is somewhat ghoulishly appropriate that among the last words he heard was a simple order from an ordinary Iraqi.

"Pull!"

This, should it survive a Trans-Atlantic journey,

will be one hell of a souvernir.