During the briefing, there
is typically a show of hands to identify any first-time participants. There were a few hands this morning. My first thought was to write to them that
this was not a typical mission.
My better thought was to realize
that really, it was typical.
This was a biker funeral
so it had some unique qualities, but each mission is unique. And each mission has moments when we make our
presence felt. Our only purpose was to
show respect, and in that we shared a common purpose with all those attending.
The several motorcycle
clubs had held a private service at the funeral home and the casket was then
moved to the church next-door where we were assembled and waiting. On command, everyone in the flag line either
saluted or covered his heart. Our fallen
hero and all the mourners then filed past us into the church.
We waited outside through
the service, as we always do. A few of
the club members waited with us, including the trio at the top of this
page. At the end of the service the
Patriot Guard was formed-up again as Al Hajduk was
loaded into a hearse for his last ride.
We had to hustle to stow
our flags and mount our bikes. The club
members would lead the way to the cemetery and we would fall-in directly behind
them. The hearse and family would follow
us.
At the cemetery, we formed
a single line from the hearse to the gravesite.
The club members and family formed another line (several ranks deep)
facing us. The Pallbearers began their
work.
“Attention!”
The Patriot Guard Riders
straightened-up and stood still. The two
lines watched each other through sunglasses and in silence. The pallbearers began to move between us.
“Present arms!”
Briefed in the church
parking lot and rehearsed at the church door, in unison we rendered our gesture
of respect. I remember one fellow
directly across from me who expressed a slight smile and nodded his head
continuously as the pallbearers passed.
In that moment, our common purpose was realized.
His term of military
service spanned the last six years of Vietnam War. He was a Russian Linguist. At the height of the Cold War, he was on the
front line, applying his intelligence and his will to help his country – our
country – at a difficult time. We were
there for the Sergeant.
Others were there for
daddy. But most were there for Weasel.