I
left the high school before the service ended.
I traveled back through that open stretch. On an impulse, I grabbed the camera and got
this photo as I passed without stopping.
I had
driven past this flag several times and its stark assertion caught my attention
each time. From the way it was fastened
I think it is a permanent display and not placed there just for the funeral. There was nothing else around – just the
spacious plains of
When
I reached Westville, just south of
Catholics
are often good soldiers and always good patriots.
Another
high school turned out for Ken.
All
the Westville schools were out at street-side.
And many other folks, too.
I
found my place on a bridge. My plan was
to show the flag, take some pictures and then follow the procession to the
cemetery.
Soon,
a sailor joined me.
Linda
Martin was on her way to pick-up a friend from the hospital. She stopped when she saw us and brought the
only flag she had. It is one made by
another parishioner at
As
Linda approached the two of us, pleased and proud she said, “They don’t know
how many of us there are.”
Linda’s
father and uncle served. The three of us
waited together a long time. The
procession never traveled at highway speeds – they moved at 15 MPH the whole
way – so I was earlier to my bridge than I realized.
When
I first crossed the bridge I saw flashing lights approaching so I hurried to
get into position. It turned out to be
the LEO escort for the army detail. They
had finished at the high school and were moving to the cemetery. That is how I came to be on that bridge
without securing my flag and without gloves.
It was windy and cold. I had to
hold the bottom corner of the flag to keep it from sliding up the pole. The flag was 5 by 8 and pulled
forcefully. I thought about risking a
run to my car.
Linda
was thinking about her friend waiting at the hospital. She said, “I hate to quit. Sergeant Nichols didn’t.”
So
that was that – I would hold my place.
Soon they appeared. And then the miracle.
Well,
okay, not a miracle. Still, when I saw
traffic stopping on the other side of
Interstate Highway 74, all I could saw was, “Look at that!”
My
two partners said nothing. I glanced
over at them – they had tears in their eyes.
Nothing more was said.
I
didn’t photograph the many cars in procession, but there were miles of
them. The cars and trucks on the far
side of the highway remained stationary for them all to pass.
And then
I was made aware of how quiet it had been as the engines all started to pull
again.
I
trailed the procession by a few cars.
By
the time I got to the cemetery, everyone else was in place.
First
came the military honors.
And
then the PGR honors.
Ken
3: You don’t have to be a soldier. But your father and his father expect you to
be a good citizen. 234 years of American
history are behind us and
Your
father and his father are examples for us all.
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