This would be the second mission with the 5 by 8. The Black Hawk helicopter crash that killed Phillip Brodnick, whose funeral I attended and for which the 5 by 8 was flown the first time, was yesterday. Today I would stand for Derek Dobogai, another dead from that crash. The other 12 who died in that UH-60 are too far away for me, though not beyond the reach of the PGR.

Fond du Lac is a few hours’ trip for me so I decided not to try the early-morning-the-day-of-the-funeral tactic. Instead, I would make the trip the morning of the preceding day and stand through the visitation, too. And there is a story in that.

The PGR forum for this mission included a very complete itinerary with a paragraph reading:

If you are looking for an overnight stay in Fond du Lac, the following facility will give you a special bereavement rate of $50.00 per night for a room with 2 beds.  If you would like a Suite, there would be an additional $5.00 charge which includes a King size bed and a sofa hide-a-bed.  A continental breakfast is included with your rate.  Your reservations must be made by Saturday.  Call the Comfort Inn directly, request a room that will meet your needs, and ask for the “Dobogai Block” to receive the rate.

The posting concluded, “Thank you for all your thoughts and prayers. We love you all. David & Lisa”

David and Lisa are the fallen hero’s parents. Think about that. They learn of their son’s death and as soon as they can control their emotions, they are on the phone negotiating hotel rates for their guests. That sounds like “selfless service” to me. Derek was a scholar, an athlete and a patriot but those things alone did not send him out into the night with Task Force Lightning.

Derek embraced the Seven Army Values including the fourth one: Selfless Service. It is apparent he learned that value from his parents.

I had asked for the “Dobogai Block” days before, so I rode directly to the funeral home. I would check-in to the hotel later. No sooner had I parked and unpacked the camera before the boss rode in.

Jeff DeVries would be the Ride Captain. He had not slept the night before because there were too many details he wanted to address to be sure this mission would go smoothly. I was one of those details. I had sent him an email introducing myself and promising not to feature the grieving family or casket in my pictures, consistent with PGR policy. He had sent me a cordial reply and now he would immediately introduce himself to me and welcome me. It is a good thing we don’t try to pay these guys because we could never pay them enough.

Based on my conversation later with Jeff, and consistent with a certain event later this day that I will describe later in this document, and without showing their faces, I publish four hugs. Derek’s aunt and three of his cousins crossed the street from the funeral home to the parking lot where eight bikes had so far arrived. Without preamble or self-consciousness they were among us and then around us.

The aunt was Derek’s godmother.

And that is a good way to start a long visitation. Our mood changed slightly: Less somber; more purposeful. Less grim; more resolved. And strangely, happier.

We set our flags. They would be held by rebar stakes and we would simply stand next to them. The briefing was minimal. I was honored that Jeff called on me for the prayer. Then we moved across the street.

Brig. Gen. McGhee visited with a few of us. Here he is with John Lemke.

The 121^st Army National Guard Field Artillery Regiment consists of a single battalion, the 1^st. The 1/121 recently returned from Iraq having lost one soldier, SPC Stephen L. Castner, to an IED.

John is a platoon sergeant for the 1/121. Their assignment was convoy escort. Of his 16 vehicles, 14 were damaged by IEDs during his 12 month deployment. At the same time, his platoon prevented 21 hijackings.

John joined the PGR right after he returned to Wisconsin because, he told me, he would want us standing for him if he had fallen.

The visitation would continue until 2100 so I told Jeff I would check into the hotel and then return to finish-out the day. When I got to my bike, I found a young lady trying it on for size.

I stopped by the church and found the grass being cut in preparation for the funeral the next morning. A motorcycle with a big flag rolling into the parking lot did not trigger any interest this day.

Across the street from the church a large plywood princess proclaimed the 6^th birthday of Elise. Both lawnmower and princess would be gone before the morning.

When I returned I found our number slightly diminished but I was now ready to stay till the end. My 2-hour break had included a shower. I took my place in our line.

Of course the PVC flagstaff is held by an 18-inch rebar that had been pounded into the ground. I didn’t want to look like I was just standing around, so I grasped the staff with my left hand and placed my right hand behind my back – in the pocket is too casual and on the hip is too stern. The sun was lower and a posture of “parade rest” was one I could maintain for hours.

A VFW gentleman, probably WWII, was working his way down our line. We stood at the curb facing the street so he walked on the grass behind us, stopping at each one of us. When he touched me on my left shoulder I released the flagstaff with my left hand and turned around. The flag rocked toward the street on its rebar stake.

Well. My octogenarian visitor nearly dove into the street after it. A little embarrassed, I said, “Its okay. I just pretend to hold it.”

Maybe he didn’t understand me, or maybe he just didn’t care what I was saying. As we shook hands he never took his eyes off my flag. I could do worse than to become just like him.

Mostly the remaining hours were uneventful. There was a classic car show in town and many 30 and 40 year-old cars would cruise past our flags. One fellow revved his engine a block away and approached our end of the block with some speed. A plainclothes Fond du Lac police officer was having a quiet conversation behind me. He ran past me into the street intercepting the vehicle. “SLOW DOWN!”

The car did slow but continued to move away. I hope the officer saw my approving smile as he walked past me back to his conversation. Before he returned to it, I heard him on his radio calling for a marked car to “make a presence” down our block.

He said something about “a high rate of speed” but it wasn’t about speeding. It was about respect: Respect for the flags, respect for the flagholders and respect for the guy inside for whom we were holding the flags.

As a matter of respect, we don’t drink in the flagline – we hydrate. And we hydrate only for the purpose of continuing to stand. And we never eat in the flagline. The exception that proves the rule comes when the grieving family walks down our line with bags of cookies and trays of sandwiches.

I photographed the godmother and her daughter in their role as “PGR Support” and reconsidered publishing their hugs that had begun our vigil.

visitation photo album ONE

visitation photo album TWO

go on to FUNERAL