The map below is square and about 2.8 miles on each side.

 

 

So it is about 8 square miles.  That is also the area of Sadr City.

 

 

The population of Canton is 15 thousand.  The population of Sadr City is 2 million.

 

Sadr City has the highest population density of the nine administrative districts within Baghdad.  It was built in 1959 to ease the suffering of urban poor and became the stronghold of the Iraqi Communist Party.  The people of Revolution City (as it was then called) fiercely resisted the Baathist coup of 1963 that brought Saddam to power and resulted in a name change to Saddam City.  40 years later, in 2003, it was unofficially renamed Sadr City in memory of a Shia leader.  (Saddam and the Baathists were Sunnis.)  So it has always been a place of turmoil.

 

Sadr City is where PFC Christopher Bartkiewicz died after being shot by insurgents while on dismounted patrol.  The PGR was invited to his funeral.

 

 

The location was at the limit of my non-overnight range.  I set my alarm to awaken me at the time I often go to bed.  After breakfast in Canton, I was the first to reach the staging area.

 

 

 

Terry was the boss and the Iowa State Chaplain offered a fine prayer.

 

 

We learned that we would stand with our flags at the funeral home for the visitation, and then we would travel with the hearse and family to the cemetery for a short service and for the military ceremony.

 

 

We moved as a group the few blocks to a street where we parked and where flags were waiting.

 

For each of us to dismount, stow gear and retrieve a flag, we would walk to the flagline site individually.  At the briefing we welcomed a half-dozen first-timers.  There had been much talking as familiar faces were recognized and unfamiliar ones were greeted. Now, there was no more talking.  Each PGRider would carry his flag the half-block, moving in silence.

 

Each of us would take a flag and walk up the side street past the bikes to the corner where he would turn up the block to the funeral home.  I recognized they would all pass around that corner one at a time and could be viewed from a small rise where my back would be to the sun.  I positioned myself and expected to get dozens of good pictures.

 

 

A small group of women walked toward our group.  They came from the direction of the funeral home.  As they reached us, the first of us were just rounding that corner.  Then they rounded the corner going in the opposite direction.

 

That was when they saw our number and they reacted physically.  They stopped and watched our solemn ad hoc procession.  They stood in their small group as black leather and Old Glory marched past again and again and again.

 

And again and again and again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was the fallen hero’s mother and sisters, just arrived from North Carolina.  His small nephew was there too.  That important moment was not in the briefing – how could it be?  No matter.  We simply did what we were there to do.

 

And we were witnessed by the people we were there to do it for.

 

I’ve said it before – a prayer offered from home or a moment of silence at work serves a different purpose from ours.  Those of us who traveled and stood with an eight-foot flagstaff must be seen to serve our purpose.  Yes, we wish to show respect, but it is not shown unless it is seen.

 

 

It was a great bunch of guys and fine leadership.  We don’t need Westboro to motivate us.

 

 

After a couple of hours, we leaned our flags against the porch railing and filed past the open casket.  Usually we stay outside, but not this time.  I was (no doubt, we all were) grateful for that chance to mourn our common loss.  The family stood in their own line:  Mother and sisters; then wife and daughters; then Chris.

 

 

It is not supposed to be fun.  Most of us are men, acting singly.  Sometimes our wives are with us.

 

Rarely our daughters,

 

 

or sons or grandsons.

 

 

Of course, the army is always there.  We would not have been invited if the army had not been invited.  It is the infantry – much of the army and most of the Marines – who live with death most closely.

 

 

If a 25-year old civilian dies while sitting at his desk in central Illinois, we look for someone to blame.  If he is required to work some overtime, well, that is just part of the job.

 

But when a 25-year-old soldier dies on the job there is no one to blame.  That is just part of it, like required overtime.

 

The soldiers may talk about a steady paycheck or a college subsidy, but they know what they have promised to do.  And when a soldier finds himself on the ground exchanging rifle fire with the enemy, the only thing he is thinking about is living up to that promise.

 

If a civilian in central Illinois dies at work when a filing cabinet falls on him, that is sad but we wouldn’t stand in a flagline for him.  But when it was time for Chris to be carried to the hearse, we formed-up again.

 

 

In Illinois, there is always someone designated to call us to attention when the casket movement is about to begin.  There are commands to “present” when the casket first emerges at the door of the funeral home and “order” when the casket recedes into the hearse.  Those are the commands to begin and end our joint salute.

 

We escorted the hearse through town.  Just before we reached the cemetery, we passed between twin ladder trucks across the street from each other that created a giant portal with a flag at their apex.  My big flag got me a place near the front of the procession so I was able to see that the firemen all snapped a salute just as the first flag bike passed them.  They saluted at the same instant and in the same way.  Then they held their salute.  It was stirring.

 

In Illinois, PGRiders are not uniform in the way we salute.  One argument holds that a flagbearer is “under arms” and therefore (according to military etiquette) does not salute.  The problem with that is that since we are all holding flags, no one would react to the command, “Present arms!”

 

A military salute (fingertip to the eyebrow) or a civilian salute (hand over the heart) must be done with the right hand.  But the flag must be held in the right hand too.  That is why a special flagbearer’s salute was defined:  Left forearm moved to horizontal in front of the diaphragm, palm down.  President Ash of the Canton American Legion Riders demonstrates:

 

 

I’d like to see our salute standardized this way and instruction in its execution at every briefing, just before the prayer.

 

We held our (various) salutes as Chris was loaded into the hearse at the funeral home and again as he was unloaded at the cemetery.

 

And we held our salute a third time during Taps.

 

 

As I stood in my place in our Circle of Comfort, I thought about amazon-dot-com.  They have a feature that allows you to designate various items for a “wish list” so that you may purchase them later, or so that someone else may buy them for you, like a wedding registry.  Chris had identified four video games:

 

        Grand Theft Auto Liberty City Stories (Rockstar Games)

        Medal of Honor:  Heroes (Electronic Arts)

        Star Wars Battlefront II (Lucas Arts Entertainment)

        Sega Genesis Collection (Sega of America)

 

 

Larry Wyche became a general officer of our army on September 19th, less than a month ago.  I met him a week after his promotion in Carol Stream at the funeral of Lenny Gulczynski.  We spoke of my soldier-wife and the push-ups the army makes her do.  On the way home, Kevin told me that he too had a conversation with the general who came to him in the flagline.

 

Two weeks after the funeral for Lenny came the funeral for Chris and I would witness General Wyche kneel with folded flags again.  I was glad to have the chance to thank him for giving Kevin encouragement and pride.

 

 

This was too far for Kevin to make the trip.  Another boy close to his age acquitted himself just as well.

 

 

PFC Eric Williams has a blog.  He is the medic who treated Chris immediately after the sniper struck.  He was also his friend.

 

 

I found another corner where the direction of the light was favorable.  I took some more pictures of the bikes leaving.  Then I left.

 

 

Twelve hours earlier I had passed through Elmwood.  This time, I stopped for lunch.  I was their last customer before the Saturday closing time.

 

 

I had visited Elmwood for the funeral of a 21 year-old Marine named Ben Desilets on June 1, 2007, more than 16 months ago.  That was a 2-day mission and I stayed overnight.  I had time to visit the town square where the war memorial commemorates the names of local servicemen under a row of flagpoles.

 

I had watched those flags from my lunch table.  Then I crossed the street to photograph them.

 

 

That is when Kevin came over to me.  He lives in town but had to work so he couldn’t join us in Canton.  You can see at a glance that he would fit right in.

 

 

I pushed on.  When I saw a sign that indicated the turn for “Ronald Reagan’s birthplace” I turned instantly.  It was just the day for it.  After all, he won the Cold War.

 

 

I found a mural on the side of the building that had been the general store where his father worked.

 

 

It was across the street from the bank building where the Reagan family lived upstairs.  The 40th President was born just behind the window that is the right one of the three, just left of the green plaque.

 

 

Another biker was in town.  She would stop in various places, drape a t-shirt over her bike and take a picture of it with the local background in her image.  It was some kind of contest for her HOG chapter.

 

Michelle and I had the benefit of a local man (shown below) enjoying the fair Saturday afternoon.  Ken had lobbied for Ronal Reagan to visit Tampico.  On May 10, 1992 he did.  That was three years after his term in office, but his bodyguards still kept close control.  Ken was the point-of-contact for the Secret Service.

 

 

At one point, the president asked, “Where is the rock with my face on it?”

 

Ken took him to it.

 

 

86 miles farther down the road I stopped for drinks and gas.  Mike came over to me.  He says that the flag should be shown more and that he is a proud Vietnam veteran.  I called my wife to tell her that I would be late returning.

 

So it is not clear whether it is Mike’s fault or Robin’s fault that I got drinks but forgot the gas…

 

 

I got another 25 miles.  So with failing light I raised my arm at the first bikers to reach me.  I got a transfusion and reached the Casey’s in Paw Paw where I filled my tank.  By then it was fully dark so I took I-39.

 

 

We each take our own memories from that Saturday when Chris was buried.  His widow is now back in Dunfermline with his two daughters.  His mother is now back in North Carolina with his three sisters.

 

I ran out of gas, but now I am back home too, satisfied that his passing did not go without notice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

        first album staging & flagline portraits

 

        second album cemetery

 

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