PGRiders have a peculiar way of greeting each other.
Nice to
see you.
No, not really.
It is not a secret
protocol – it simply reflects the mixed feelings we have about trying to do good at an event that is fundamentally unhappy. At the visitation yesterday and again at the
funeral today I saw several people sad beyond self-control. It is a peculiarity of such events that many
of the mourners also found reasons to be loudly cheerful. I find it reassuring when they can.
We wear our game faces in
the flagline – anything else would be
disrespectful. But among ourselves, away
from the flagline, we are encouraged by each-other’s
presence. You wouldn’t know it from the
way we part, though:
See you next time.
Hope not.
In fact, once I used the
wrong tone when talking to my wife about an approaching mission.
Wait a minute.
Remember that we are not in favor of these funerals.
That is the subtlety that
escapes so many who think that a single American killed proves that the whole
war effort is mistaken. Still, even that
is an improvement from the
So I think we share a
sense of noble purpose and that is why we are happy to see each other.
Josh Maginn
was a Marine. He fought in
They
set-up and we set-up.
Kevin was with me. My grandson has been to enough to know what
to do and how to do it. And most
importantly he understands that his hunger or thirst or boredom cannot compare
with the job he must do. We don’t talk
about these things using these terms, but he does have a good appreciation for
“mission first”. He also some grasp of
“sacrifice” and “respect”. And he has
more insight than most five year-olds to the idea of “honor”.
The woman walking away
from Kevin has just given him a few dollars.
She and he will probably never see each other again, but they will both
probably remember their brief encounter for the rest of their lives. I will make sure that Kevin does.
The flag-bearer next to
Kevin, behind the woman, is Mark.
Mark gave Kevin a PGR
challenge coin for his good efforts. To
help him understand what it was, I reminded him of the wooden display I made
for my wife’s coins. Kevin correctly
observed that I must now make a wooden display for his.
Jim, Ride Captain, gave
Kevin a ride sticker. Some of us put
those on our helmets, some on our windshields.
Kevin knows all about stickers.
He promptly put his on his jacket.
And so we stood, Kevin
among those to the left of the doors.
Others stood to the right
of the doors.
Others stood on the grass
nearby visible from the parking lots and the street.
With Kevin holding my
place in line, I took extra time looking for photographic interest. At the nearby gas station, the woman below
asked me about our display at the funeral home.
In our absence, Josh would have gone unnoticed by her and others like
her. She knows what funeral homes are
for. When there are many cars in the
parking lot of a funeral home, human nature is to look in another direction and
think about something else. Our flags
brought Josh to her attention.
After the service began,
we returned to the procession staging area in the parking lot where Jim briefed
us further. Kevin paid attention. He has been riding with me on the motorcycle
since he was two, but we took the truck today.
…which
has its own advantages.
At the end of the service,
people slowly moved into the parking lot around us. It would be a while before the casket emerged
from the building. The comfortable
weather allowed small groups to form among the many cars. People talked.
Josh played football
well. So, in addition to family and
Marines, people connected to Josh through football were in that parking lot on
that beautiful day waiting, as were we, to escort him less than two miles to
his final resting place.
The hearse was parked near
the side door of the building. The quiet
talking ceased when these five guys formed a line near that door.
And then they were quietly
called to attention.
And that is the end of the
pictures if not quite the end of the funeral.
Josh was moved into the hearse.
The Patriot Guard and the Marines led the hearse to the cemetery,
followed by the many cars. We wound
through the lanes of the cemetery, finally reaching this one, which I can
publish from a shot Kevin and I made earlier that morning.
The PGRiders
quickly dismounted and picked-up their preassembled flags. We established our Circle of Comfort before
the bugler could lick his lips. Because
we were in the truck, Kevin and I were the last two to retrieve our flags and
find our positions.
I had Kevin carry his own
flag for several reasons. He understands
that the flagpole must always be vertical and that was a challenge with the
unfurled flag in the wind at the end of an eight-foot pole. When I realized that he was not keeping up
with me, I looked back to see him holding the pole with both hands and tilting
the pole slightly into the wind. A group
of Marines were standing on the lane watching his struggle. I did not help him.
Kevin and I covered our
ears when they fired the three volleys and then we listened to a fine rendition
of Taps. Jim had us hold our position
until most of the mourners had left, which was the only time that tested Kevin’s
patience. I told him that we would skip
the shopping and go directly to swimming.
That was good enough for him.
When we were dismissed,
the bugler was nearby so I went to him to congratulate him on the good job he
did. He returned the complement saying
that he appreciated Kevin’s “
