It was 170 miles to the
funeral home in
Others arrived.
Most of our group had met
before, but there were two first-timers.
With me, that made three new faces.
After some easy conversation, we moved from the rear of the funeral home
to the front. A member of the family
said to me that she “was glad to see the ‘Patriotic Guard’ arrive.”
And then we stood.
After some time I took a
break and met Matt. He left the army in
2005 after four years. He knew Robert Liggett and he wanted to stand in our flagline
for a while.
The Lieutenant Governor of
Illinois is Pat
Quinn. I have seen him several times
at other missions. He has been a good supporter
of the Patriot Guard, of service members and of military families.
Others went down our line
shaking hands. An army sergeant in
uniform with a stainless steel device in place of his right hand was one. He extended his prosthesis toward me. I grasped it as I would for anyone,
maintaining eye contact. Instead of the
flesh of a hand, I felt the curved metal rods.
He used his left hand to cover the back of my right hand. We smiled at each other. What was there to say? Then he moved on to the next PGRider.
The boss was Jim Storck. Like
everyone in the PGR, he is friendly and courteous. However, if limited to a glance, his presence
is serious.
And he has a license plate
that could not be more serious.
The big dope burned his
leg on his pipes, though.
Otherwise, we had good
mission leadership from Jim and from Bill Hay.
(I’m sure he doesn’t burn his leg on his exhaust.)
So the visitation and
funeral service unfolded. We were then
to escort the PFC seven miles to the cemetery.
Two of us had gone ahead to prepare with flags standing on rebar, but
most of us would ride in the procession just behind the family.
For the first half-mile,
the procession would be led by these three.
From Genghis Khan to
Abraham Lincoln to Robert Liggett, a horse
has had an important symbolic purpose in funeral parades. My left hand was hurting from riding the
clutch to maintain the horse’s pace, but it was worth it.
The procession moved a
little faster after the horse fell out.
The LEOs did a fine job of stopping traffic at
every intersection of the urban portion of our route. The locals were very respectful, too. As we moved down a four-lane road at 20 MPH,
the on-coming traffic pulled over and stopped.
Most pedestrians stood silently; some covered their hearts. Cops, firemen and a few people in civilian
dress held a salute.
I remember one fellow in
particular. He stood alone in the left-turn
lane in the middle of the highway facing our procession. Thin as a rail; straight as a rod. Civilian clothes; military salute. Confident; humble.
The fire department had
positioned two ladder trucks straddling the road so that a giant flag could be
suspended between their extended ladders.
I am glad always to see that because it is so stirring, but these
firemen had given the matter extra forethought.
The wind can blow the flag to a completely horizontal (and hence almost invisible)
aspect. They had fastened lines to the
two lower corners of the flag and had two men who would harden or ease those
lines as the wind required in order to maintain the dramatic effect.
My photography usually
ends when I reach the cemetery. It would
be disrespectful to use a camera while holding a flag for display. So usually, I lock the camera in the
saddlebag and take up a flag.
Usually, I would be among
this group. Here we are facing the
assembled mourners. Imagine it: A grieving family member looks at the casket
positioned above the grave and see us standing just beyond, our flags in the wind
and our hearts on our sleeves. And this
is exactly correct. Like the fellow in
the left-turn lane, if we are there to show respect, let us show it where it
can be seen.
I got that picture because
I wasn’t among them. I was among the
mourners. This day I had been given (indirectly)
a special photography assignment by the family to photograph the family for the
exclusive use of the family. Accordingly,
most of the pictures I captured from this point on are not posted here. Happily, I did have my camera for a few
interesting images that I can share.
Like this:
Just as the interment ceremony
was to begin, a tremendous roar dominated the cemetery. This Air Force jet seemed to be so low that we
could almost touch it. Like the use of
the horse, I wondered if this were some reference to the “missing man formation”
– which can be as emotional as a role call name that goes unanswered.
It turns out that a nearby
airport would send a small jet directly over the cemetery several times during
the service. Still, it seems it was the
will of God that the first should be a military jet – sent just as we were
about to begin.
And then we began. The army honor guard hits their marks
perfectly. But so could the local high
school thespians. The impact comes not from the ritual nor from the uniforms. It come from the
people in the uniforms.
Their bearing calmed
us. Their solemnity inspired us. Rob is dead.
The most we can hope for is that he died in a worthy cause.
Perhaps more than those of
any other American war, veterans of
For me, the most
significant moments were when the general got down on one knee before the
family.
As then did big Jim.
The ceremony ended with
the reading of a poem that the now deceased Robert Andrew Liggett
had written which ended, “I want to be free, free as the eagle on the wind.”
Like the horse, the eagle
is a metaphor for the values that
