pgr.pxxq.com
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
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
And
I wanted that distinctive PGR patch that a number of the locals wore. It seems that
~
On
another, unrelated matter, if there is any PRG member with a
~
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
~
I
took a couple dozen pictures at the Crabtree funeral (in
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
(
(
Adam Servais
(
(
Shaun Novak (forthcoming)
(
Donald E. Russ