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Adam Servais, R.I.P.

 

 

 

 

Pulled out of my garage at 0200.  Pushed back in at 1930.  570 miles elapsed.  This is how I spent a recent Saturday.

 

I tried to go to bed early Friday.  The bike has a new rear tire.  My clothes and flags were laid-out.  The alarm was set for 0100 a.m. in the morning.  There was expected only a 10 percent chance of rain all along my route and I anticipated a pleasant ride.

 

The alarm began my day.  No coffee this morning – the shower was enough to get me going.  I drink a lot of coffee, but that would wait a few hours until I was halfway there.  For now, I just wanted to get rolling.

 

I awakened Robin to kiss her good-bye.  We had done this many times this summer and she knew the drill.  In her groggy state, the only thing she said to me was, “Go take care of him.”

 

John is 8 months into his second tour with the 4th Division and Jim left last week with the 82nd Division.  So we don’t talk about my PGR stuff but she is entirely supportive.  She just got her 20-year letter and changed her status to Ready Reserve.

 

~

 

Interstate 90 runs from my neighborhood to Adam’s neighborhood.  So does US 12.  It was dark and there was fog so I decided to save the scenic route for my return.  There was light traffic through the small hours so the cruise control carried me up IS 90 the whole way.  I stopped at an IHOP near Madison at 0400.

 

My mission as defined by the PGR is displayed on my computer screen with just a couple of mouse clicks.  It is less clear how I might know my mission as defined by God, but it is clear He wanted me in that pancake house at that hour.

 

Just after I was seated, a family was seated at the table next to me.  There was a father, a mother, two daughters and two sons.  The older boy was in his ACUs.  (BDUs)  Now, there just aren’t many reasons why a family like that would gather at that hour in a restaurant.  It was plain what was happening.

 

They were all very animated and the soldier was the center of everyone’s attention.  At one point, the mother got up and walked around to sit next to him for a few seconds and then returned to her seat.  I didn’t want to invade their private moment so I kept to myself and don’t know what that was all about.  I did see the kid squirm a little and I noticed his sheepish smile.  It probably felt like he did at his 10th birthday party.

 

Considering the small number of customers, the cook seemed slow getting our breakfasts.  There was no point in studying the map – my route was easy and the view limited – so I spent the time thinking about how I could break-in to their private family event to acknowledge him.  I thought of different approaches and rehearsed different opening lines.  In the end, I decided that it wouldn’t be organic and I should just leave them alone.  I ate quickly and rose to leave.

 

And so did they.  Just as I was donning my heavy black leather jacket, the soldier arose four feet in front of me.  Maybe it was matter of restaurant courtesy or maybe this modest son-and-brother was self-conscious from all the attention of his family, but he did not glance at me.  I said softly, “Morning, Sergeant Gross.”

 

In an instant, he straightened-up and looked me straight in the eye.  “Morning, sir.”

 

I took a step toward him offering my hand.  As he took it, I thanked him for his service.  He gave me a single quick head-bob and I turned away.  As I headed for the cashier I became aware that the family had fallen silent for the first time since their arrival.

 

Now, someone who just doesn’t understand might think that I spoiled their party.  Not so.  They were there to celebrate not only their boy, but also what their boy was doing.  I’ll bet the parents and siblings will often think about that moment and the important work this young soldier is doing.  I hope it will help to sustain them through their separation.  I’m sure the soldier was glad to have them witness that quick exchange.

 

Naturally, I wanted to quickly depart before I spoiled the feeling, but I was delayed at the cash register.  The father appeared next to me and I couldn’t ignore him, so after I settled I said, “Mr. Gross?”

 

He nodded.  “Thank you, too.”  We exchanged smiles and I saw that the single, quick head-bob was a family trait.

 

I started the bike and looked around before I started to move.  SGT Gross was halfway across the lot walking away from me flanked by his two sisters.  He turned his head back to me, flipped a thumb-up, and it was my turn to shoot a head-bob.

 

~

 

I got to the Harley dealer in the dim light of 0730, fixed the flash on the camera and began.  Photos of people arriving, photos during the briefing.  Then we moved as a unit to the middle of town and parked for the day.

 

The location of the funeral service and the location of the burial site were just two blocks apart.  The service was preceded by an hour of visitation so we would show the colors from 1000 to 1100.  We lined both sides of the street and waited as mourners arrived intermittently.  I held my flag in front of the bank.

 

There were many of us; traffic moved between our two columns; there was no coordinated event.  Sometimes it is like that.  We shifted restlessly; we talked to each other; a few of us fell out early.  I remember wishing we looked a little smarter.  Then, during the service, we took a break and I took more pictures.

 

We formed-up again about noon, shortly before the service was to end.  I had left my flag at my bike so I simply swung my camera around to the small of my back, found a hole and stood with my gaze fixed beyond my counterpart across the street.  Then I found myself surprised by something I really should have anticipated.

 

The cops had stopped traffic for our two blocks.  Our feet and our flagstaffs became still.  The hundreds of us became silent and somber.  All the bystanders followed our example.  The mourners would walk down our corridor.

 

A few hours later, Tuxedo61 would post, “Each mission brings a new memory that I will hold forever, and I know I will never forget the emotions that swept over me as family, friends and community members solemnly walked from the church to the cemetery amidst our sea of flags, and the grief stricken and sad folks who so quietly whispered ‘Thank You’ through their tears. I hardly feel deserving of their thanks.”

 

~

 

Along with my PGR duties and my self-assigned photography duties, I petitioned and appealed to the highest levels of the Minnesota organization for a patch that so many of them wear.  (What do you call them, anyway?  I know that Packers fans are Cheeseheads, so “Lumberheads”, I suppose.)  Merrill was my first Wisconsin mission and the first time I got serious about photographing our efforts.  Happily, it turns-out that Cheeseheads are a very photogenic bunch which is the reason I wanted to photograph Onalaska too.

 

And I wanted that distinctive PGR patch that a number of the locals wore.  It seems that Minnesota and Wisconsin have done the paperwork to make it okay, but Illinois hasn’t.  Onalaska would be my chance to press the matter.  Well, Twister will be happy to know that his Lumberheads were faithful to his rules – there is no way a PGR member with an Illinois address can buy that patch through official channels.

 

~

 

On another, unrelated matter, if there is any PRG member with a Minnesota or Wisconsin address who would be willing to do a favor for me, please send me an email.

 

~

 

And since I’m not walking on eggshells, I feel free to offer one other comment:  The Minnesota PGR has a Chaplain and that is very cool.  And the head Lumberhead is the very guy the word “hellova” was invented for – as in “hellova nice guy”.  But he was extremely deferential to any atheists, agnostics or Muslims before the Christian prayer (“…in Jesus’ name we pray…”) was made.  I mean, he was bend-over-backward obsequious.  I’m sure he thought he was doing the right thing.

 

In Illinois, we offer a Christian prayer before every mission and we don’t apologize for it.  Just an observation.

 

~

 

I took a couple dozen pictures at the Crabtree funeral (in Ohio) and all were posted to the PGR website.  I took 240 in Merrill and have sent in half of them, but they have not yet appeared on the PGR website.  I will select a hundred or so (of the 440) from Onalaska for posting on the PRG website.  For bandwidth considerations, the photos I send to the PGR website are of a reduced resolution.

 

I have posted all 700 pictures in full resolution to another website.  They are grouped in albums with links supplied below.  You may play the slideshow for any album by clicking on that choice at the top of the album page (I suggest you select 2 seconds per slide) and a series of medium-size pictures will display in sequence for you.

 

Alternatively, you may click through the pages of an album.  Each page displays “thumbnails” (small pictures) and you may click on any one to produce the medium-size image.  Once you have done that, you can then click on “full size” which will open the full resolution image.  You can then right-click on the full-res image to save it to your own computer, from which you can email it to a photoprinter if you choose.

 

I like to think that many of them will be printed 8 by 10 and hang on the walls of log cabins across the frozen tundra.  –Don

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brian Crabtree

(Ohio)

 

 

Ryan Jopek

(Wisconsin)

 

 

Adam Servais

(Wisconsin)

One 547 619

Two 620 692

Three 693 765

Four 766 838

Five 839 911

Six 912 984

 

 

Timothy Mackenzie

(Illinois)

 

 

Shaun Novak (forthcoming)

(Wisconsin)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Donald E. Russ

deruss@msn.com