I left the house a little after sunrise. It had been snowing all night – the first good blanket of snow for the season. We had had freezing rain in recent days, but that just means that you will either slip on the sidewalk or track salt into the house. Legitimate snow means the world is a uniform soft white and that there are opportunities to play in it that haven’t been available for three seasons.

Or rather, that is so after they clear the roads. The first hours of a heavy snowfall make the roads a slushy mess. I took the bike on the 16^th PSYOPS deployment and the faceshield quickly became coated with spray produced by the tires of other vehicles. The cold, dry air transforms it into a dry translucent material that I could not remove with my hand. My helmet didn’t have a washer fluid reservoir and tiny little windshield wipers, so I raised the shield and faired better with my glasses. The spray would now deposit salt and tiny bits of road grit directly on my eyeballs. It would be four days before the irritation subsided.

So I ride winter missions again, as I did last year, but not when the streets are slushy. That is the rule most of us use, though I am always especially glad to see one or two bikes represent the spirit of the PGR on each mission through the winter. Today there would be two bikes at the funeral of DeWayne White.

We live north of Chicago, so I was surprised to find that the snowfall had not yet reached Country Club Hills, located at the southwest corner of the I-294 box. There were missions in Addison and Barrington the same day, both farther north and in the snowfall, but the funeral site would be dry through the morning.

We gathered at the parking lot next to the funeral home, except for the two bikes which were parked where the head of the procession would stage hours later. Glen briefed us and I was honored to be called-on for a prayer. I prefaced it with a comment about my step-son who had left F.O.B. Summerall seven weeks ago when the 82^nd Division was relieved by the 101^st Division and Jim’s battalion was replaced by DeWayne’s battalion. Robin was home with Jim & Anna who were visiting us on their way to Texas for Christmas.

Joe produced a PGR flag and pens. He requested that we sign it for a paratrooper named Chad who was about to deploy to Afghanistan with the 82^nd Division. I signed it, “Don and Robin Russ, parents of SGT Jim Langdon, 1-505”

Later I would sign the guest book, “SGT Jim Langdon, Fort Bragg, 1-505”

Then we picked-up our flags and moved into position. Most of us were along the front of the building where we would be best seen by those passing on the road or parking in the big front lot. The main entrance was on the side of the building. Glen put me on one side of the door; Mark and Cyndi were on the other side. Joe stood at the door, ready to open it for those entering. An American Legion rifle squad formed opposite us. We waited.

Then someone said, “Two minutes ‘till the family arrives.”

The hearse and our two bikes were parked by Mark & Cyndi. Six stretch limos in a column of twos parked behind the hearse, the first pair directly in front of me. For two minutes we had been standing at attention but when I saw an Army uniform emerge I glanced down at his name tag. “White” it said. “DeShaun?” I said. He had moved past me but now looked back at me and nodded. I smiled and nodded back.

DeShaun was the younger brother of DeWayne. He happened to be home on leave when word of his brother was received. In fact, the family learned of DeWayne’ death during his second tour only hours before DeShaun was to board a plane for his second tour. The first reaction of his step-father was that the younger brother should not return to Iraq, as reported in a December 7^th newspaper story.

A December 9^th newspaper story said that DeShaun had been granted an extended leave to “help his family through the grief” but that “he’s already made up his mind to rejoin his unit in Iraq”.

So there were two heroes among the two brothers.

Later, Mark told me that he had a brief exchange with DeShaun at that time. I was glad to know that because Mark was sure to have said the right things. And I was glad to know that DeShaun knew that he was recognized by at least two PGRiders as he walked into the funeral service for his brother.

The passengers of the six limos were first in and then the passengers of the many cars followed. The flow through our doors slowed. We held our formation. The reliable Lieutenant Governor of Illinois, Pat Quinn, went down our line.

And then, the two-hour service began so we retreated to the spacious but dimly-lit basement of the building. The camera in my left hand, two flagpoles in my right hand and an updraft pushing the fabric in my face made this the fourth time I have sacrificed my body in a fall to save my camera: Stockton, IL; Rochester, IN; Wisconsin Rapids, WI

So the light was poor for photography which was unfortunate. Three thermoses (caf, decaf & hot chocolate) were available and were well-received. Donut holes and muffins took us through the two-hour service. We carefully folded the two flags the PGR would present to the family. We talked and waited.

A dozen of us, including the two bikers, would wait at the funeral home for the service to end so they could be standing at the cemetery entrance as the mourners emerged for the procession. Most of us, including me, would go in advance to the cemetery so that we would be standing as the procession arrived.

It started snowing. The snowfall quickly added inches at the cemetery and would continue for hours, extending the blanket that had earlier covered areas north to the entire Chicago area. The cemetery became pristine.

Dale works for Mount Hope Cemetery. He was expecting 22 funerals this Saturday. It is the nature of funerals that they would all arrive in the few mid-day hours. Most of them would not know exactly where to go and traffic jams on the one-lane roads were a concern. Plus, once or twice a month, a procession arrives with no prior arrangement which requires Dale to jump on his big yellow backhoe and dig a grave while the mourners wait in their cars.

Still, he took time away from his duties to tell me that he “didn’t go” because his lottery number was 316. It was a matter of honesty. If he had been called, he would have gone. He just wasn’t called. He is a good, patriotic American. I didn’t tell him that my lottery number was 355 and I never volunteered either. Now that we have an all-volunteer military, “not being called” is no longer much of an excuse for Dale and me. My wife and her two sons volunteered.

The Army detail arrived. I followed them to the gravesite. DeWayne would be buried at the top of the tallest hill in the cemetery. They did some careful recon so that they would know just where to stop the hearse. The icy conditions made it important that they carry the casket up the easiest grade. If I fall, the worse that can happen is a broken camera and a temporary injury. If they fall while carrying DeWayne in front of his family…well, they were just not going to fall.

I was standing at the top of the hill when SFC Powell said he heard the muffled sounds of a bugle. Then he smiled and told me the bugler was practicing inside his car. I worked my way down the hill as SPC Pinon was getting out of his car. I asked if he had been practicing. “Just keeping warm.” he said.

Maj Gen Radin took a place at the bottom of the hill. The other soldiers took their positions. Then I realized the procession was only a hundred feet down the lane. I took a few final pictures and jumped in my truck. Jim and Anna are visiting so I would not remain for the graveside ceremony. As I left, I saw other PGR trucks arriving and felt relieved that others would be standing with flags for the military honors in my absence.

DeWayne White mission photography is organized into two albums:

photo album one

photo album two

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