The next day I would make the 100-mile trip on the bike. Several people would ask me about Kevin, which was nice, but he would not be with me this day. Like a basketball tip-off I made Kevin available to my two sisters and set the alarm for 0530. I arrived at the beautiful campus of the Lutheran Preparatory school three hours later, which was still early. Early or not, there were already five dozen bikes waiting.

I have heard Ride Captains say, on more than one occasion, “Even if nobody else shows up, I’ll be there the whole time.” I think that betrays a deep fear. A Ride Captain who feels a great responsibility naturally fears every risk. He realizes that he did not feel that weight on missions when he did not have an administrative role and he forgets that he was eager to attend anyway. Within a 300 mile radius of Watertown there are five thousand PGRiders who check their computers daily looking for opportunities. More than one percent of them would be able to schedule a trip to Watertown on this sunny Friday and arrive early.

Milwaukee Journal Sentinel embedded a reporter. Her story story reflected that enthusiasm.

She would write, “On Friday, more than 60 motorcyclists, mostly from Wisconsin but some from Iowa, Minnesota, Illinois, Indiana and Kansas, showed up in the school's parking lot at 8:30 a.m. to prepare for the arrival of Zindars' body at 9:40.”

(She was wrong about Kansas, though. My bike bears the Kansas banner that I earned from the Maize mission for a “battalion brother” of my step-son, Jim.)

We would maintain our lines until the 1100 service began. The Westboro people had announced on their website that they would arrive at 1015 but they didn’t arrive at all.

A family of three lives across the street from the entrance to the school where we stood.

I took a photograph and waved. They waved back. I remember thinking that it would be a good picture because it would help tell the story, but I barely read their sign. I knew I could study it later and I had too many more pictures to take. Like this great one of beautiful Cyndi.

Cyndi is married to Mark. Mark works with Cory.

I was taking a picture of Cory as Mark was taking a picture of me.

Gee whiz. He took my picture without asking me or anything. What about my privacy? How invasive.

Anyway, I got over it. And in that spirit of fairness, I post two self-portraits below. I’m the guy in the reflection.

And while I am still of that spirit, may it be known that Bernie and Shirley will be married.

I met Bernie at the Ryan Jopek mission in Merrill, Wisconsin. That was my first serious photographic mission and the first time I stayed overnight to facilitate my efforts. I still have my Ryan Jopek tribute on my windshield, right above the Kansas Patriot Guard banner. Ten of us stayed in the same hotel. Bernie and I had breakfast together. I am pleased to see that he used my photo of him from that mission for his avatar. I am happy for both of them and their life together that begins on September 8^th.

September 11^th is Patriot Day. Andrew will have his annual Patriot Day barbeque in Watertown again this year. It drew 250 last year. Apparently Andrew is not Muslim since it will be an all-pork affair.

So I took many photos and talked to many people but never found time to hold a flag at the Lutheran school. Just then, Mike (Ride Captain from Shiocton) put a document in my hand. It was paper, 5.5 inches by 8.5 inches, folded in half to form a small, thin booklet. The front cover had a picture of Corporal Matthew Ross Zindars. The inside left recited his confirmation verse, taken from Revelation 2:10, “Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you the crown of life.”

I may return to Watertown on 911 but today was not a pig roast. Today was for Matthew. He died in Ramadi, Iraq at the age of 21 years, 10 months and 12 days. It was past eleven o’clock and our flagline had disbanded. I had not held a flag for even part of the time. I believe there is some benefit in my self-assigned photographic efforts but I was having too much fun. I went inside.

The gymnasium of Lutheran Prep. had chairs arranged in ranks and files. Hundreds of mourners were sitting and listening. I stood in the door near the front where the casket was standing, a casket flag draped over it. A dozen Marines sat in the front row. I saw their 24 shiny black shoes but I did not take a picture. I went back outside. The PGRiders were sitting about, waiting.

We would lead the hearse through town to the Lutheran cemetery. I took a few last images and made a mental note to shine my boots before the next mission.

By the luck of the draw I was near the front of the procession, so I fell out to block an intersection. That made me late for the Circle of Comfort. Running, I pulled a flag off a rebar and Mike directed me into position. I was facing the sun, out of breath, trying to maintain respectful motionlessness. Seeing Mike again, my thoughts turned to the quotation on the back of that booklet that he had given me earlier. SFC Jack Robison:

Sometimes I think God must be creating an elite unit in heaven, because He only seems to select the very best soldiers to bring home early.

Curiously, this is a point that Mike had made to me in the back of the Bowden van as we returned from the cemetery from the burial of another fallen hero named Matthew. I covered my ears for the rifle salute, came to attention for Taps and held my post until dismissed. Then I replaced the flag on its rebar, jogged back to the bike and immediately rode out of town.

It is a strange thing, this Patriot Guard business. There are many aspects of it that make us feel good, but we feel guilty if we feel too good. And what we do is intended to make other people feel good, which we know we have done when we make them weep. About a year ago, a PGRider told me that he felt terrible as he went home from his first mission and thought he would never go on another, but he kept checking the website and when he heard the call, he couldn’t not go.

I always ride to the funerals with my flags in my saddlebags, but I always ride back home with them flying. On the way home , about halfway back, I saw Eric painting fenceposts – an idyllic Wisconsin image.

Life goes on.

pictures of the funeral Friday are in three albums:

one of three

two of three

three of three

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