The
church was 14 miles north of my home and the cemetery was 9 miles south of my
home. And that was okay because it is
mid-December, after all. I’ll ride
hundreds of miles, but if this one happened to be in my neighborhood, I’ll take
it.
I
got to the staging area early but I was not the first bike. This gentleman Scott,
had already arrived from
He
had taken a day off from work. What does
“I Support Our Troops” mean to you?
This
gentleman, also Scott, is not holding a flag.
We
held flags as mourners entered the church and we held flags as the family
gathered at graveside. In between, there
was waiting time. In the photo above, he
is simply waiting.
The
church had outdoor speakers that broadcast the service to us. He is listening to the description of the
heroic efforts that saved Jack Valentine’s shipmates but cost Jack Valentine
his life. The Scott in the photo
directly above told me that he had had a good breakfast at Cracker Barrel an
hour earlier, so he “wouldn’t have to eat again until halftime of the evening
game.” He wasn’t able to listen to the
first game at home because he was listening to those outdoor speakers with us.
Most
of us are
He
was also a sailor during the Korean War.
And now he is a Patriot Guard.
As
the family and other guests walked down our corridor of flags to enter the
church, many of them made some expression of appreciation. On my earliest missions, I was uncomfortable
soaking-up gratitude but now I understand that that reflects the most valuable
contribution we make: We give them something
to be thankful for. There were no leaves
on the trees. If there were no flags at
the door, they would be sitting in the pews still waiting to be told how the
death of this young man was anything but a waste. Instead, they knew he died in a worthy cause
before the got to their pews.
I
think it is the volunteer nature of our contribution that gives them that
reassurance. If we are a ragged* bunch,
that underscores that nature. A cold day
makes it even better.
When
I am individually confronted, I make eye contact and try to say and do the
right thing. Generally, I leave it to my
fellow Patriot Guard to make any acknowledgements. I was fourth from the church door on one side
of the walkway. One of the first to
arrive, a lone woman, stopped in front of me and thanked the eight of us. All three guys to my left and others from
across the walk said softly but simultaneously, “It is our honor.”
I
try not to smile in the flag line, but sometimes it can’t be helped.
We
managed to avoid the inadvertent appearance of orchestration after that, but probably
more than half of the groups passing us this morning contained a member who
said something kind to us. Later, as I
was at my bike preparing to leave for the cemetery a well-dressed
thirty-something woman appeared. She
said, “I’m a vet and I want to thank you for what you do.”
I
think I said “Yes, ma’am” and then she returned to her husband. I thought about photographing her so this
comment would have more meaning, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment.
And what about this girl?
Were
she not in uniform, would you imagine that she might walk up to seven sailors
with rifles and order “Ready! Aim!
Fire! Fire! Fire!” thereby issuing 21 rounds in rapid
salute?
She
did.
I
don’t know why it is at all surprising when this young woman or Jack Valentine
or any other sailor of such youth should be able to take charge and act
decisively. I suppose it may be that
most people of that age who are not in the military have neither opportunity
nor encouragement to demonstrate those qualities. I’m not so sure those rifles should be on the
ground like that, though.
When
the bugler walked past us he said, “Thanks for doing this, guys.”
I
might be twice his age but I was glad he called us “guys” because it pleases me
to think of myself as a familiar to him.
That is the essence of esprit de
corps – two people, each honored to have the association with the
other. Like these two:
The
Patriot Guard is nearly entirely made of people with whom I am proud to be
associated. It is perhaps because they are
all comfortable giving orders that they are all also comfortable taking
orders. Ego is set aside and we all
serve a higher purpose. Still, your
writer is pleased to report that he served as a Ride Captain for the first
time. No, not the Ride Captain – more of an adjunct,
deputy-assistant ad hoc Ride Captain.
I got the appointment because I knew how to get to the cemetery.
THE
Ride Captain was Big Joe.
Like
the rest of the leadership, Joe is extremely conscientious. He is willing to work harder and longer just
to be sure that everything will be right.
He is employed by a trucking company that has a conspicuous trailer I
see rolling through the area regularly.
On its 40-foot side, printed in large clear letters, it says “In memory
of Lance Cpl. Jonathan Collins.” There
must be a story there, but I don’t know it.
Joe
divided us into two groups: All the
cages, two other bikes and I would go to the cemetery in advance of the
procession so that the family would see us welcoming Jack to his final resting
place. At the cemetery, we again divided
in two. A long lane removes the cemetery
from Sheridan Road. Half would stay near
the gravesite with Rick and our supply of flags.
I
would take the other half out to the street.
The
procession would make a left-turn into the lane, so we had two flag bearers on
the inside of that turn, and four on the outside. The four would stretch into the street,
blocking
Patriot
Guard bikes immediately followed the hearse, led by Big Joe. When I saw his game face break into a smile
as he rounded our turn, I knew we had succeeded.
Here
is Joe with three of his troops who would follow him anywhere.
Years
ago, my wife suggested she and I be buried there.
*Excepting the always dapper