I took this picture of Todd in October of ’06.  The Lopez mission was the first we have in common.  He was the Ride Captain and he addressed us in the church parking lot.  Then he formed us in a column and marched us around to the front of the church where we stood with our flags.  After a time, he marched our column back around to the parking lot.

 

I didn’t speak to him on that occasion but I did study him.  He was soft-spoken but firm.  I remember wondering what kind of childhood produced this clear-eyed patriot.  I thought about my father, an army doctor, who died when I was twelve years old.

 

We who have been privileged to know the Bowman family have witnessed this type of inter-generational influence.  The Bowman boys reflect their parents.  Likewise, Robert LeClair was a Marine before Todd LeClair was.  No doubt, the Illinois PGR can largely thank Robert for our fine State Captain.

 

As I write this, the visitation for Todd’s father is taking place 100 miles to the south.  Tomorrow I will rise early enough to allow for the Chicago morning rush.  I will stand with a flag at the Schreffler Funeral Home for a few hours.  And then I will return.

 

~~~

 

Tornadoes.

 

A scene on Court Street two miles east of the funeral home two hours before the funeral.

 

 

The visitation and the funeral were separated by 14 hours during which time severe weather struck Kankakee and all points of the compass around Kankakee.  It was summertime and only 100 miles – a combination that makes the bike an almost certain choice.  I took the car.

 

And glad of it.  As I was southbound through Will County I was rained upon; and not the light sprinkling for which you set the wiper to flip…flip…flip.  Wipers needed to flopflopflopflopflop....

 

I turned from I-57 onto Court Street and saw this:

 

 

But I was in the minority.  Among the PGR, there would be four bikes for each car.  Just as we are resolute about standing in the rain with our flags, so are we dogged about riding to the funeral site.

 

 

But it was over.  The rain had stopped and the sun would come out.  Adjacent to the staging area, the soybeans would be dried by, and then bask, in the sun.

 

 

But it wouldn’t have made any difference.  Those of us who could make the trip were not going to turn back once we set out.  A tornado that lifts bike & rider off the road and sets them down in Kansas only delays their arrival.  It doesn’t stop them.

 

 

The Assistant State Captain was the Ride Captain.  This is his air cleaner.

 

 

And this is his back patch.  Greg Bowman gave it to him but Greg would never see it on Gary’s back.

 

 

Ro had the good foresight to bring a condolence card for all of us to sign.

 

 

I was reminded of the DeVries mission and another PGRider whose father we celebrated.  That was a memorial mission conducted 14 years after death, so it was rescheduled when it conflicted with the Greg Bowman mission.  I have been thinking about my father more since that experience.

 

Since my father died young, my Uncle Richard was a father-figure for me.  At his funeral in early April, I tried to eulogize him.  I came away from the experience convinced that funerals are too emotional to be handled by those invested.  It is best to leave them to the professionals:  the church, the funeral home, the Casualty Assistance Officer, the Patriot Guard.

 

 

I took family pics at the family gatherings related to my uncle’s funeral.  I usually process the memory cards in the first few days following the event photographed.  Only now as I write this do I realize that my Uncle’s funeral was four months ago and the memory card continues to rest on the corner of my desk.

 

 

I met the cousins Brumley at the Clifton mission and I liked them both right away.  I was on my way to Kansas so I didn’t have much time with either of them, but sometimes I get a strong sense, you know?  Anyway, my sense was confirmed when Gary called on Ken to offer a prayer.  Without the benefit of preparation he began, “We thank you for this unfortunate opportunity…”

 

 

So many wonderful people…I feel a kinship with those I haven’t even met.  Perhaps it stems from a confidence in shared values.

 

 

There is also something in our behavior: wisdom, confidence, serenity.  For the few hours of the mission, we are not just on our best behavior – we actually are better than we are.  The demands and worries of the temporal world are set aside.  If I knew I were going to die in 30 minutes, I would happily spend it in a PGR flagline.

 

 

The best Ride Captains know they cannot give us this experience.  They know that the best they can do is allow us to find it on our own by staying mission-focused.  If they tell us we can eat in the flagline, they make us think about how much mustard we want on the hot dog.

 

But if they tell us to keep the flagstaff vertical and to remain silent, the mission is fulfilling, satisfying, rewarding.

 

 

I missed my aim for the pic below.  Normally it would be one I delete and no one else would every see.  I can’t even tell you why I like it.  The website currently reports 148 thousand registrations.  Of course we know the number of reliables is smaller.

 

 

We had one new guy and I am sure he too will be a regular.

 

 

I remember Ed Mueller last Fall taking a phone call as people were gathering at a staging area.  I heard him impatiently say, “Well, like bikers.  Jeans and jackets.”

 

Whoever was calling was concerned about the way he was dressed.  Your flag should not be faded, but nobody gives a damn if your clothes are.  I’ll bet the caller never showed-up.

 

 

We dress a little differently, but we are among the funeral professionals.

 

 

So we lined-up,

 

 

and we did our job.

 

 

We weren’t thinking about hot dogs and mustard; we were thinking about Robert & Todd, father & son, Marines.

 

 

I was standing in my flagline trance next to the new guy when he alerted me, “Look – three jy-reens.”

 

Later I would try unsuccessfully to get their portraits inside but without a flash.  I anticipated that that would be my only other chance before they were gone.  So I did something I very rarely do:  I used the camera while holding a flag.

 

You can see their disapproval:  The two Corporals lower their eyes; the Sergeant stares a hole through my lens.

 

All eyes were on them as they walked past the American Legion and then past us.  As far as they knew, they were simply performing a modest honor for a Marine whose active service ended before they were born.

 

These jarheads had no idea how central their role was in the view of many of us.

 

 

We usually fall out for the duration of the service.  Not today.  We stood against three walls of the room while the service was conducted, careful to keep our 7-foot flagstaffs from hitting the chandeliers.  We listened.

 

A soloist sang.  When she finished there was the incongruent silence that follows a church choir after a really good rendition.  Well one young gentleman, perhaps three years old, probably Todd’s older son, cheered.  And good for him.

 

During the eulogies, a nephew recalled going to Robert’s house to fix the furnace.  He had to enter the crawl space and his uncle followed.  There was one area under the house where he didn’t think he needed to go and didn’t want to go.  “Follow me” said the old Marine as he pushed through the cobwebs.

 

At the end, we were first to file past the open casket.  Two at a time, still holding our flags, we paused and saluted.  Then we re-formed outside so that we would be in place as the rest of the mourners left the building.

 

 

“Sheep are stupid.  They benefit from the guidance of the shepherd.”

 

In that metaphor, you and I are the sheep.  I gained an insight on the 23rd psalm of David from listening to the service.  That is the one that some Marines misquote, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil because I am the meanest young gentleman in the valley.”

 

More accurately:

 

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.


He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:  he leadeth me beside the still waters.


He restoreth my soul:  he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.


Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.


Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:  thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.


Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:  and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

 

 

I pulled my brim down to avoid eye contact with the PGRiders in the opposite flagline and the guests emerging from the service.  So I wasn’t watching as a photographer should.  I abruptly realized that smiling Todd was before me.  He was shaking hands down the line, as he would.  After he continued, I handed-off my flag and tried to capture his gesture of appreciation.

 

 

His father was a Deputy Sheriff for 22 years but there were no deputies in sight.  The terrible storm the night before had them all busy this morning.  As it was first explained to us during the service, “They are all out working.”

 

And as it was then corrected, “They are all out serving.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

        photography…album one

        photography…album two

 

 

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