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No one asked Michael White to count the dead soldiers in Iraq.
He is not a military man, and he has no friends or relatives who serve. He is a guy with a Honda Civic, a mortgage and a job in a suburban office park. A guy with a wife and a 7-year-old daughter who has soccer games to go to.
But for almost 3 1/2 years -- for no pay and no glory -- White has kept a meticulous tally of every U.S. and coalition military fatality, posting the names and the numbers on his website, http://www.icasualties.org .
It started as a hobby -- the work of a war critic who wanted to help keep the facts straight. Today, the Los Angeles Times, Washington Post and New York Times use White's numbers to show the extent of the nation's collective sacrifice. Bloggers use his numbers to quell conspiracy theories, and soldiers' parents call up the site to make sure their children are not listed on it. Job seekers have sent him resumes, unaware that the operation is little more than a guy and his laptop.
White is a former post-punk guitar player who, at age 50, favors khakis and sensible shoes. He is proud of his work, and pleased that people are paying attention. But like many Americans, he doesn't know when the war will end -- and he wonders how long the site will dominate his life.
He has been particularly busy of late. His own statistics show that October was the deadliest month for U.S. forces in Iraq since January 2005, with 105 fatalities. This month, as of Tuesday, 35 more troops have died. The total number of American military fatalities stands at 2,853. It will surpass the 3,000 mark in a few months if current trends hold.
"I work on the site every morning, every lunch, every evening," White said. "I'm sure my wife resents it, as well she should…. There's housework that doesn't get done. There's yardwork that doesn't get done."
His wife, Ashley, admits that his obsession can be frustrating. "When I want to do something fun on the weekends, it competes with his work on the site," she said. "On the other hand, I'm very proud of him for his commitment."
Like most Americans with scant ties to the war effort, White could have kept its grisly rhythms at a distance. Instead, those rhythms now define him. And yet Iraq can still seem worlds from his tidy suburban cul-de-sac, and the breakfast nook where he does most of his work on a round wooden table. A window behind him offers a view of the train tracks where, about year ago, he remembers seeing a train loaded with Humvees -- a rare reminder of life during wartime.
And even now, White can seem unsure about his motivation for assuming his peculiar burden.
"Why do I do it? If you ask my mother or my sister, they'd say, 'That's Michael: obsessive,' " he said. "It's like when I was 14 years old and locked myself in my bedroom to memorize every word to [Bob Dylan's] 'Like A Rolling Stone.' "
White is of average height, with an open, sanguine face and a measured voice that is both soft and firm. He is a Southern liberal who never considered himself an activist, but he has long had an interest in politics and current events. He traces it to his upbringing in South Carolina, where he lived through the tension of desegregation.
His most reliable passion, however, has always been music. When George W. Bush was elected president in 2000, he retreated into the "Anthology of American Folk Music," the Harry Smith-compiled landmark
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