First, I must apologize to everyone I talked to in Urbana and Danville for making little sense. I wasn’t myself. It would be 170 miles down, 36 miles across (from Urbana to Danville) and then 170 miles back up and I really, really needed sleep before I left for this mission. I was able to control the motorcycle and camera, but not always my mind or mouth.

Plus, it rained all the way down. It was all right once I got there – one of those days when the sky was full of dark clouds and still you could find yourself standing in bright, direct sun. It did sprinkle (that is just the word) as we stood in our line around the perimeter of the church property but no one moved.

Our friends from Westboro were there. Had they not been, we might have taken position nearer the entrance to the church building. Instead we stood as a fence that wrapped around the corner of the property, our backsides to the intersection. Some of the mourners had to drive past their signs and within hearing of their taunts, but once they arrived in the parking lot they were shielded by our bodies and our flags.

Every time I run into the Westboro people I have to wonder what they think. A half dozen of them visit for 20 minutes. Eighty of us stand for an hour and then move to the cemetery to stand again. We don’t fight them; we don’t debate them; we don’t even look at them. They say they just want us to hear their message. So I wonder: What do they think of our message to them?

Every member embraces our national mission statement. That and our clear-thinking, level-headed local leadership guaranteed our forceful yet dignified presentation.

I met Ken at Karen Clifton’s funeral. So many people work so hard to make sure everything goes smoothly without ever treading on the solemnity of the event nor the wishes of the surviving family. And no one is paid one cent to do it.

And we are ready to do it all over again. No one needs to encourage us. We will wait for the family’s invitation, but that is all. A handshake is pure gravy.

I went over to these guys to give them the address of this website. They were receptive, so I asked if I might take their picture. The SFC turned to the others and said, “So, should we get our pictures posted with the Patriot Riders?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

“Sure.”

“You bet.”

That runs both ways, guys. We are pleased to be associated with you.

In addition to the PGR and the USA, there was a third organization of soldiers standing for our fallen hero. In 1993, the National Guard founded a number of “challenge” schools. The flagship is located in Rantoul is named Lincoln’s Challenge Academy. They graduate two classes per year. On December 15^th, Class 29 will include their 10,000^th graduate.

Justin Penrod attended LCA. Following a stint in the National Guard he returned to LCA as an instructor. The PGR guarded the perimeter of the church property. The USA was inside the church. The LCA stood at the church door. Here are six of us and six of them.

Justin met Christina in the summer of 2004 and married her four months later. Two months after that, he was off for his first tour in Iraq. His son Colin was born shortly before he re-enlisted and left for his second tour. He and a few others were chasing a sniper in Baghdad when a bomb killed this new father.

The Westboro people left and the service began. I went inside to listen. The words will resonate with many of us when I post them in a week or so, after I receive a DVD of the service. A third of us left for the cemetery and the truck shown below carried their flags. On the side of the truck a red, white and blue sign proclaims, “Today a Soldier I Didn’t Know Died so I Could Have My Freedom”

Since the Karen Clifton mission, I have been noting the height of the corn. Justin died when the corn was taller than this truck.

A short time after that, we left too. No more photos.

And that is a shame. I wish I had documented the procession from Urbana to Danville. There were people standing in groups and people standing alone. Some saluting, some holding flags. There was a pair of ladder trucks that suspended a giant flag over the road and a crane rental company used their equipment to make a similar display, both in Urbana. In Danville there would be another pair of ladder trucks with another giant flag over the road.

I think the thing that made the biggest impression on me was the many overpasses that crossed the interstate highway as we traveled from Urbana to Danville. On every one there was a firetruck parked directly above the lane where the hearse passed. There were flags displayed and firemen standing at attention.

Every darn bridge the whole long way.

All pictures were taken at the church on Saturday. They are divided among three albums. One, two and three.