Monday started with a Gold
Star breakfast.
September 11, 2001 may
have been the date we awakened, but they have been at war with us since the
Carter Administration. Remember the
More recently, remember
the al Queda attack on the USS Cole in
She served us breakfast.
Most of us would stage at
the church but our breakfast group went back to the funeral home. We would escort Derek from the funeral home
to the church. The army was there to
handle the casket.
Two of the officers were
Rangers, just like Derek.
We would ride two-by-two
instead of the more usual (and safer but less impressive) staggered
columns. I would head the right column
with my big flag and Jeff would head the left column. The spot directly behind me would be left
open – the motorcycle version of the “missing man formation”.
The funeral director was
first, then our nine bikes, then the hearse, the family, the honor guard. It was about one mile. The main entrance to the church was located
in the middle of a curved drive. PGRiders lined both sides of the drive on both sides of the
door. Two-by-two, we passed between
their flags and then stopped.
Engines off, there was a
dominating silence. Our flags rustled
softly in the breeze. I remember a frog
chirping rhythmically. Hundreds of
people stood silently except for the sergeant who instructed his detail in the
movement of Derek from the hearse into the church.
The family followed him
inside, as did the first guests. There
would be a 2-hour visitation before the service began, so we gathered for a
short briefing before we would again line the drive. Jeff made a few points about flagline discipline.
We said the Pledge. He again
honored me by asking for a prayer.
I had told him at the
visitation that if he called on me again I would be better prepared. My last thoughts before I fell asleep at the
Comfort Inn were of what I would say. When
I awakened, the very first thing I did was rehearse the prayer I had
conceived. That is why I delivered it
without notes and can reproduce it here:
Father,
your Patriot Guard has assembled again, this time to honor your servant Derek Dobogai, who died a United States Army Captain in a strange
land far from home.
We
pray for his family and his many friends, asking that you ease their suffering
and aid their understanding of your will.
For
ourselves, we ask that you see us through this mission and then through the
Labor Day traffic home. And if we should
be called on to interpose ourselves, we ask that you give us the strength to do
that with dignity and restraint.
And
lastly, we pray for our fallen hero and ask that you receive him into your
kingdom; his reward for having done your most difficult work here on Earth.
Amen
I was glad to see Henry
Lange, former Wisconsin State Captain and good guy.
Our platoon sergeant went
with Pink Floyd today.
And there were others.
The portraits took me just
a few minutes – I had good light. I then
joined Henry, Jeff and the rest of my fellow patriots in the flagline. I went
where it seemed I was needed which, happily, was in the shade facing away from
the sun.
That gave me a good view
of this guy, standing in the sun and facing it.
He is an American Legion
rider and his name patch said “Jim”. He
was the only one of us wearing a tie. He
stood motionless with perfect posture as beads of perspiration rolled down his
forehead.
After a while I went over
to him and said, “Howdy, Jim. I wondered
if you would trade places with me so I could work on my tan.”
He hesitated just a
second. Then he stepped away from his
flag which was held in place by a rebar stake.
He turned back toward it. He
saluted it. Then he moved across the
drive without a word.
He made me want to be
better PGRider.
I remember the early days
when the press called us counter-protestors and law enforcement looked at us
askance. The PGR has many fine members
like Jim. That, our
sacred mission and our track record have earned for us a special status. Here, our Ride Captain confers with the Fond
du Lac Chief of Police:
But don’t confuse the
cause and effect. We don’t do these
things to get the status. Rather, we get
the status because we do these things.
You see, it’s not about the status.
It’s not about feeling good. It’s
not about us.
The woman below wearing
the brace was standing on a recently broken leg. You see, it’s not about holding the flag – a rebar
stake can do that. It’s about standing
next to your flag and making a personal endorsement with your body.
These two are among the reliables. I have enjoyed
their company before.
I haven’t met this
couple. She is wearing a PGR-branded
shirt. He (as the current State Captain
always does) is wearing a long-sleeve, white, button-down shirt.
This couple is not one of ours
except in spirit. They biked to the
church, parked across the street and stood their own vigil.
This is the building just
beyond them. Notice anything? I didn’t until it was pointed-out to me.
Well said.
The two-hour visitation
and the one-hour service had finished.
We stood silently as the Army Honor Guard moved our fallen hero back
into the hearse for transport to the cemetery.
Again we rode two-by-two. We
parked and gathered. Jeff addressed us
for the last time.
Then he led us over the
hill for our final tribute at graveside.
I took the 5 by 8 flag down
for the return trip. High
speed from
Derek died at hay bale’n time.
funeral album ONE
funeral album TWO
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