Story of the visitation:

Mark was one of the first to arrive. Eric was waiting.

The young Marines moved in, wearing their shiny medals.

The Sergeant Major who is holding Christopher’s final decorations has himself accumulated too many to wear. He wears his ribbons instead.

So it was a special honor when he chose to go down our flagline.

The honor was mutual when he got to Mark.

As Christopher lay inside, we stood outside. A casket flag flew at half-staff in the 90 degree wind.

I was in my place in line when I heard something about “Westboro” from around the corner. The Marine League was having their briefing. I put my flag away and listened-in.

“…but if they do show up, the Patriot Guard is here to take care of that.”

Damn right.

Brice is one of the Marines serving with the Marine Special Ops Battalion. His mom attended Christopher’s visitation. It was a special pleasure to have her acknowledge us.

She is a wonderful person. Brice must be a fine warrior.

I so very much hope we were reassuring to her.

Imagine a boy who born into a sheltered life. As a baby, he is rushed to the doctor for every sniffle. As a child, he has so many toys, he can’t play with them all. As a teen, there is no trouble he can get into that his parents can’t get him out of. And as a young man, he is steered away from military service.

Is that the American Dream? It probably is – for his parents. What is the chance that such a man, as he walks past an American flag, would pull the corner of it to his lips and kiss it? Not a snowball’s chance. He has no perspective. He is as likely to kiss the draperies.

I was standing in the flagline at 7:30 pm. I had started at 2:00 and I had lost some of my enthusiasm. I struggled to keep my body language from expressing my frame of mind. This was my view:

Then something happened that made me smile. It is midnight now and I haven’t stopped smiling yet. Tomorrow I am going to a Marine operator’s funeral and an army Ranger’s wake and I bet I will be smiling all through both.

A blue Chevy pickup parked near the funeral home door where I was standing, but not in the handicapped spaces which would have been closer. A gentleman slowly got out and then reached back for his cane. He made his way toward that pathway between the columns directly in front of me.

There were still a dozen flagholders. The one whose flag was blown toward the path is shown above. You can see that the flag does not extend into the path.

The gentleman walked along the edge of the path moving his cane with each step. As he passed the flag, he reached with his other hand to pull the corner of its fabric to his face. He didn’t stop; he didn’t look around. He just kept moving his cane and working his way toward the door.

After a while he came out again and made his way back to his truck. I handed-off my flag and caught up with him. After introductions I asked, “Did you kiss the flag on your way in?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He was very matter-of-fact about it so I didn’t ask why. We talked about his shirt and I took his picture. He said, “It’s been 40 years – I’m a Vietnam vet – and I have never gone to one of these things. One of these funerals.”

I didn’t say anything. Then he continued, “But I have now.”

I gave him a card with this website address. He said his daughter could help him find this page.

Hello, sir. God bless you.

From: Boyd, William

Sent: Tuesday, July 20, 2010 10:49 AM
To: Russ, Don
Subject: Flag kissing.

Don,

I first wanted to thank you for all that you do in chronicling the PGR missions with your camera and your words.  I was at the Christopher Antonik wake Sunday night with you.  I did not see the man kiss the flag because I was facing you but I did see your reaction.  I wanted to share with you a similar experience that I had while standing the flag line at Gunnar Hotchkin’s wake. 

Tricia and I were standing the flag line in silent thought with many other PGR members at Gunners wake in Hinsdale.  I know the impact that the PGR organization has on the families of our soldier’s especially the RC’s and members like you who do more than just stand and hold a flag.  I often think if I were not here someone else would be and that my singular presence does not have a big impact.  This must have been the last night of the wake because at the end of the evening all PGR members where invited in to pay their respects and witness the presentation.  For personal reasons I usually choose not to go in to the visitation and I also believe that someone should still be standing the flag line outside so myself and another woman stayed outside flanking the doors to the funeral home.  After a few moments an elderly woman came out muttering and sobbing in a heavy accent “31 so young, so young, how terrible”.  She engaged in a conversation with the two of us explaining she did not know the family but lived in the neighborhood and upon seeing the flags had to inquire about what was going on.  She then went home changed into nicer clothes and came back to pay her respects.  She went on to tell us that she was a young girl living in Eastern Europe during WWII and was able to escape to America to avoid the German persecution.  She continued to express her concern for the world and how terrible war and the consequences of war have on these families.  Before she turned to walk away back to her home still muttering “31 so young, so young, how terrible” she came over to each of us grabbing the flag and gave it a kiss.  I then knew it was important for me to be there that night holding that flag.  A little girl from Eastern Europe had taught a middle aged man from Bolingbrook how privileged we are to be an American.

Thanks again for all that you do.

See you down the road,

Bill Boyd

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