Taps
The weather for Col Butler's Arlington ceremony was appropriately gray and surprisingly cool for mid-summer. It reminded me of the weather at my wedding, another event people were glad it wasn't blazing hot.
I drove right onto the grounds of the cemetery, able to bypass tourist parking, and found the administration building where family and friends had gathered prior to the ceremony (one of at least a half dozen being held today); a television showed a live feed of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns. I recognized a few senior officers from my time in Turkey, but didn't think they'd remember me from six years ago, plus they were deep in their own conversations. There were several general officers, colonels, and chief master sergeants scattered around, as well as some young lieutenants -- perhaps friends of one of his sons, himself a new AF officer.
We were directed back upstairs to follow the hearse as we drove over close to the burial site, where a caisson awaited behind six white horses. Col Butler's family stood directly behind -- wife, two sons, grandson. The wife sobbed quietly, arm draped inside a two-star general's and extremely close friend of the family -- our wing commander in Turkey my first five or six months of my tour.
As a fourteen-piece brass band played a solemn hymn, a six-member honor guard team slowly lifted the flag-draped casket out of the hearse and onto the caisson, while we all stood with hands on hearts or etched in salutes. A huge honor guard contingent stood guard behind the band; maybe twenty or so riflemen. The lead cavalryman, in his sharpest looking Army blues, kept his horse steady, saluting all the while. The honor guard took its time, straightening, folding, tugging the flag like a well-made bed, white gloved-hands moving slowly, robotically, in unison. It was the most glorious and dignified thing I've ever seen.
A four-man color guard led the way to the burial tent, a lone drummer tapping a beat in the band that marched behind. The horses stepped off, and we followed last, as ladies dabbed at their faces with tissues, leaning on their husbands.
I was surprised at the number of cameramen covering the event, taking stills, recording video. A few tourists watched us walk by, hats in hand, curious but respectful. I also noticed a dozen or so people already stationed at the burial site, which seemed to be a stone's throw away from the Pentagon.
The casket was taken off the caisson as another hymn played, then we all followed it onto the hallowed grounds, walking among headstones from servicemen who had died in the past year (though most I glanced at were veterans of WWII and Korea and had lived long lives). The family was seated in green velvet-covered seats in front of the casket, as the rest of us gathered close to listen to the rather soft-spoken AF Major/Chaplain give her eulogy. I was expecting someone of higher rank and stature for the event, but she did her best. Unfortunately, the grandson started crying and could not be placated, and the mother just stayed there, shooshing and bouncing the lad (maybe 14 months old).
Seven guns shot three times, and a bugler played "Taps" crisp and clear from thirty yards away. Finally, during the folding of the flag, the family friend/general's wife came up and was able to take the baby away. The general was presented the flag, who then offered it to Col Butler's wife -- imagine presenting one of your best friend's casket flag to his wife on behalf of a grateful nation. A heartbreaking moment.
The ceremony was concluded and we were dismissed, but no one moved for a while. It didn't feel right to leave. An impromptu receiving line began as friends started to pay their condolences; I stepped to the side and just watched; women's faces red and swollen, hugs, tears, handshakes. I stared at the casket, strangely common without the flag adorning it, amazed there was a person I knew inside of it.
As the crowd thinned, I noticed that one of the group who had been stationed at the burial site as we approached was none other than the Air Force Chief of Staff. One wonders how many of these things he's been to.
I made my way to exit, taking one more glance back at the coffin, only then realizing a solitary member of the honor guard was standing watch at its foot. Yet another simple, small gesture that touched me. I didn't say a word to anyone, as I walked past more white headstones to my car, the new Air Force Memorial looming in the distance, stretching towards the sky.
I drove right onto the grounds of the cemetery, able to bypass tourist parking, and found the administration building where family and friends had gathered prior to the ceremony (one of at least a half dozen being held today); a television showed a live feed of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns. I recognized a few senior officers from my time in Turkey, but didn't think they'd remember me from six years ago, plus they were deep in their own conversations. There were several general officers, colonels, and chief master sergeants scattered around, as well as some young lieutenants -- perhaps friends of one of his sons, himself a new AF officer.
We were directed back upstairs to follow the hearse as we drove over close to the burial site, where a caisson awaited behind six white horses. Col Butler's family stood directly behind -- wife, two sons, grandson. The wife sobbed quietly, arm draped inside a two-star general's and extremely close friend of the family -- our wing commander in Turkey my first five or six months of my tour.
As a fourteen-piece brass band played a solemn hymn, a six-member honor guard team slowly lifted the flag-draped casket out of the hearse and onto the caisson, while we all stood with hands on hearts or etched in salutes. A huge honor guard contingent stood guard behind the band; maybe twenty or so riflemen. The lead cavalryman, in his sharpest looking Army blues, kept his horse steady, saluting all the while. The honor guard took its time, straightening, folding, tugging the flag like a well-made bed, white gloved-hands moving slowly, robotically, in unison. It was the most glorious and dignified thing I've ever seen.
A four-man color guard led the way to the burial tent, a lone drummer tapping a beat in the band that marched behind. The horses stepped off, and we followed last, as ladies dabbed at their faces with tissues, leaning on their husbands.
I was surprised at the number of cameramen covering the event, taking stills, recording video. A few tourists watched us walk by, hats in hand, curious but respectful. I also noticed a dozen or so people already stationed at the burial site, which seemed to be a stone's throw away from the Pentagon.
The casket was taken off the caisson as another hymn played, then we all followed it onto the hallowed grounds, walking among headstones from servicemen who had died in the past year (though most I glanced at were veterans of WWII and Korea and had lived long lives). The family was seated in green velvet-covered seats in front of the casket, as the rest of us gathered close to listen to the rather soft-spoken AF Major/Chaplain give her eulogy. I was expecting someone of higher rank and stature for the event, but she did her best. Unfortunately, the grandson started crying and could not be placated, and the mother just stayed there, shooshing and bouncing the lad (maybe 14 months old).
Seven guns shot three times, and a bugler played "Taps" crisp and clear from thirty yards away. Finally, during the folding of the flag, the family friend/general's wife came up and was able to take the baby away. The general was presented the flag, who then offered it to Col Butler's wife -- imagine presenting one of your best friend's casket flag to his wife on behalf of a grateful nation. A heartbreaking moment.
The ceremony was concluded and we were dismissed, but no one moved for a while. It didn't feel right to leave. An impromptu receiving line began as friends started to pay their condolences; I stepped to the side and just watched; women's faces red and swollen, hugs, tears, handshakes. I stared at the casket, strangely common without the flag adorning it, amazed there was a person I knew inside of it.
As the crowd thinned, I noticed that one of the group who had been stationed at the burial site as we approached was none other than the Air Force Chief of Staff. One wonders how many of these things he's been to.
I made my way to exit, taking one more glance back at the coffin, only then realizing a solitary member of the honor guard was standing watch at its foot. Yet another simple, small gesture that touched me. I didn't say a word to anyone, as I walked past more white headstones to my car, the new Air Force Memorial looming in the distance, stretching towards the sky.
posted by Dan at 8:10 PM
1 Comments:
You have mastered a truly incredible writing skill. Relating sensitive observations particularly the " simple, small gestures ", touched me deeply. I saw, I heard, I felt, as if I were there. Thank you
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