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Cemetery Escort Duty
I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's for a few cold ones. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 1655. Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day. Full dress was hot in the August sun. Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever -- the heat and humidity at the same level -- both too high. I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new. It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace. An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed. She had a cane and a sheaf of flowers, about four or five bunches as best I could tell. I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: 'She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier my hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right now!' But for this day my duty was to assist anyone coming in. Kevin would lock the 'In' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along , we might make the last half of happy hour at Smokey's. I broke Post Attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch. I must have made a real military sight; middle-aged man with a small pot-gut and half a limp, in Marine Full Dress Uniform, which had lost its razor crease about 30 minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery. I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman's squint. 'Ma'am may I assist you in any way?' She took long enough to answer. 'Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days.' 'My pleasure Ma'am.' Well, it wasn't too much of a lie. She looked again. 'Marine, where were you stationed?' ' Vietnam , Ma'am. Ground-pounder. '69 to '71.' She looked at me closer. 'Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine I'll be as quick as I can.' I lied a little bigger 'No hurry, Ma'am.' She smiled, and winked at me. 'Son, I'm 85-years old and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name's Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time.' 'Yes, Ma'am. At your service.' She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured something I couldn't quite make out. The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC, France 1918. She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek. She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943. She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman USMC , 1944. She paused for a second, 'Two more, son, and we'll be done' I almost didn't say anything, but, 'Yes, Ma'am. Take your time.' She looked confused. 'Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way.' I pointed with my chin. 'That way, Ma'am.' 'Oh!' she chuckled quietly. 'Son, me and old age ain't too friendly.' She headed down the walk I'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman USMC, 1970. She stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn't make out. 'OK, son , I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home.' 'Yes, Ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk ?' She paused. 'Yes, Donald Davidson was my father; Stephen was my uncle; Stanley was my husband; Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed in action, all Marines.' She stopped, whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know. She made her way to her car, slowly, and painfully. I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin waiting by the car. 'Get to the 'Out'-gate quick. I have something I've got to do.' Kevin started to say something but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us there down the service road. We beat her. She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet. 'Kevin, stand to attention next to the gate post. Follow my lead.' I humped it across the drive to the other post. When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice: 'TehenHut! Present Haaaarms!' I have to hand it to Kevin, he never blinked an eye; full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud. She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing Duty, Honor and Sacrifice. I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac. Instead of 'The End'.... just think of 'Taps'. As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer: 'Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at home or over seas. Hold them in Your loving hands and protect them as they protect us.' Let's all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before, in our thoughts. They are the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy. 'In God We Trust' Sorry about your monitor, it made mine blurry too! ************************************************************************************************* Following submitted by Pat Hanifan, WV RC from Beckley, WV: THE FINAL The Marine stood and faced God, Which must always come to pass. He hoped his shoes were shining, Just as brightly as his brass. "Step forward now, Marine, How shall I deal with you? Have you always turned the other cheek? To My Church have you been true?" The soldier squared his shoulders and said, "No, Lord, I guess I ain't. Because those of us who carry guns, Can't always be a saint. I've had to work most Sundays, And at times my talk was tough. And sometimes I've been violent, Because the world is awfully rough. But, I never took a penny, That wasn't mine to keep... Though I worked a lot of overtime, When the bills got just too steep. And I never passed a cry for help, Though at times I shook with fear. And sometimes, God, forgive me, I've wept unmanly tears. I know I don't deserve a place, Among the people here. They never wanted me around, Except to calm their fears If you've a place for me here, Lord, It needn't be so grand. I never expected or had too much, But if you don't, I'll understand. There was a silence all around the throne, Where the saints had often trod. As the Marine waited quietly, For the judgment of his God. "Step forward now, you Marine, You've borne your burdens well. Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets, You've done your time in Hell." ~Author Unknown~ It's the Soldier, not the reporter It's the Soldier, not the poet, It's the Soldier, not the politicians It's the Soldier who salutes the flag, The following was penned by Terri "Gumby" Monnin, PGR Member and Ohio HOTH Director, from Dayton, OH. It is posted here with her permission and my sincere gratitude. Read the words carefully and you'll find yourself feeling you are with her every step of the way. Feel free to contact her at pgrgumby@yahoo.com. WHERE DO WE GET SUCH MEN? Recounting My Journey to Honor and to Remember Dedicated with love and appreciation to my hero: Cpl Virgel Hamilton 11/10/62 – 10/23/83 USMC He gave all
I never knew Cpl Virgel Hamilton. We went to the same high school though several years apart. We lived in the same area, but he was on the other side of the neighborhood. I probably would’ve never known who he was except that I heard people saying, “Virgel was killed in action!” He was in the barracks which housed American troops when a terrorist drove a truck of explosives into it at 6:21am Beirut, Lebanon time and killed 241 American heroes. I’m too young to remember Vietnam, so it was on 23 October, 1983 that I first learned and comprehended the concept of being killed in action. For the first time it wasn’t something of the past to me, something read in a history book, something that happened before I was born. It was my first realization of the cost men and women in the military are willing to pay for my safety and freedom every day. And that the cost may be paid at any time, any place. I was able to grasp that last night, he was alive and today he is dead because he’s a United States Marine. At some point during my reflection, his name was branded on my heart, a little piece that’s all his, a piece I could never forget. His death changed me. It’s because of him that I am the person I am today. This year marked the 25th anniversary of our heroes in Beirut , Lebanon : 220 Marines, 18 Sailors, 3 Soldiers perished. I wanted to do something special to honor them. I hope I succeeded. Saturday, 18 October: Graveside Memorial for Cpl Hamilton. Patriot Guard Riders were already assembling at the cemetery when I arrived for the graveside remembrance service to honor Cpl Hamilton. My eyes swelled with tears at the entrance. There were 3x5 American flags posted on each side of the drive. I could already see the bikes at the top of the hill. There were people there waiting to honor the sacrifice of an American hero. My hero. I removed the Marine Corps flag and American flag which I’d left there a few weeks earlier and replaced them with new, brightly colored, beautiful flags. I placed a sign at his grave which read: “Blue Star Mothers of America Miami Valley Chapter #3, Marines, in memory of LCpl Virgel Hamilton”. I wanted to be sure his place of rest was peaceful and beautiful for our service of remembrance. Rory served as Chaplain for our service. Seemed right, he’s also a veteran and a Marine Dad. I was honored that Gold Star Father John Prazynski (LCpl Taylor Prazynski KIA at Karmah, Iraq on 9 May, 2005) was there. There were 22 Patriot Guard Riders, not counting Rory and John. Very appropriately, there were 25 of us surrounding his resting place with love and Old Glory furling proudly. It was as if each of us represented one year since he’d fallen. We all laid a carnation on his grave. There were 12 yellow and 12 red – the red and yellow symbolizing the Marine Corps. I laid a single white flower to symbolize the motto of the Beirut Marines: They came in peace. After most people had left, I had the opportunity to witness a beautiful blessing. With some privacy now, my friend, John Guinn, brought his young son, Bret, who is only months old, out of the car. Bundled tightly against him, he brought Bret over to where Virgel rests and knelt. He explained quietly who Virgel is and how he is a hero. Even now just thinking about it the tears sting my eyes. I have hope that another generation will remember what our heroes sacrificed that day on the other side of the world in the name of peace. Before leaving, I watched as a Patriot Guard Rider pinned a small “Mission Accomplished” pin to Virgel’s KIA Flag. These are pins we display with pride and give to other members upon completion of their first time with PGR. It was an honorable service to remember an honorable man, American, Marine. To view some pictures taken by PGR ride captain and Vietnam Veteran, CJ Spencer: http://good- times.webshots. com/album/ 568133508cOFeTL
Monday, 20 October: Quantico, VA.
The United States Marine Corps Museum at Quantico, VA just added an exhibit to honor our Beirut heroes. It’s titled, “Where Do We Get Such Men?” The title was taken from a speech which was given by Marine Corps Commandant General Kelley when the survivors arrived back at Camp Lejeune, NC. “When I met the first flight of your fallen comrades as they arrived at Dover, Delaware, after the mass murder of 23 October, I asked the question, ‘Lord, where do we get such men?’ As you stand here today I ask the same question. Where do we get such men of courage -- such men of dedication -- such men of patriotism -- such men of pride? The simple answer is that we get them from every clime and place, from every race, from every creed, and from every color.” The exhibit affected me more than I ever thought it would. It was so well done with photographs and information. I wanted to just reach out and touch it and I did. I rested my damp check against it. I wanted to leave something there so that others would see the face of my hero who perished in that foreign land. My friend, Cpl Brian Griffith, was with me and suggested that we go speak to the Marines at the information desk about leaving a picture of Virgel with the exhibit. The Marines at information made some calls. They consulted with people. People consulted with other people. A short time later, the curator of the museum came and talked to me. We wrote Virgel’s name and a few things on the back of the picture and I put it into the exhibit. I looked back once more as I walked away and saw him looking back at me from within the exhibit and knew it was just as it should be. I asked the same question General Kelley asked, “Lord, where do we get such men?”
Tuesday, 21 October: Washington, DC.
I went to the Iwo Jima Memorial. I stood there for a little while just pondering things. Still asking the question, “Where do we get such men?” All those men since 1775. They’ve fought around the world, From the Halls of Montezuma to the Shores of Tripoli. They’ve fought in every clime and place where they could take a gun. They’ve fought in the snow of far-off northern lands From Iwo, I went on a picnic. It was a very special picnic with a very special hero. My lunch date for the afternoon was SPC James (Jamie) Lockwood 24 March, 1984 – 21 September, 2007. He is interred at Arlington National Cemetery, Section 7-FF, Row Number 2, Site 2. I took some Chinese food and a can of Pepsi with me. The Chinese was for me, the Pepsi was Jamie’s. It was his preferred soda. I took my laptop with me and played some songs while I spent time there enjoying the peace and quiet and trying to comprehend the magnitude of my surroundings… nothing but heroes. Quietly I played one last song, which happens to be from his favorite band, O.A.R. “James”. Then I gathered up my trash. After debating it for a minute, I decided to leave behind the can of Pepsi. It seemed like the right thing to do and I was sure he’d like that better than if I left him flowers. While at Arlington, I stopped at section 60. Section 60 is where our heroes killed in the War on Terror rest. I remembered pretty much where I was going when I got there, though it had been a while and sadly so many more graves are there now. I found it easily. The peaceful, honorable resting place of LCpl Taylor Prazynski. I placed a Marine Corps flag at his grave. It was a special flag. It was the flag I had removed from Virgel’s grave a few days before. It seemed right since his dad was at Virgel’s remembrance that I bring Virgel’s flag to him and complete the circle. I wondered for a moment if Virgel and Taylor were together then, guarding the streets of Heaven. I’m very sure they were. While I was at LCpl Prazynski’s grave, a man quietly came to me. He asked, “How did you know Taylor?” I explained that I never knew Taylor but that I’m proud to call his parents my friends. He introduced himself as Eric Herzberg. His son, LCpl Eric Herzberg (KIA 21 October, 2006 at Al Anbar province in Iraq) rests two rows over from Taylor. He allowed me to share a little piece of their family time so that I could go and rest my hand gently against his marble stone and silently thank God for our men and women who are willing to pay the ultimate sacrifice for our nation. I was honored to remember his sacrifice with his family on the two year anniversary. As I left Arlington, I asked myself again, “Where do we get such men?”
Wednesday, 22 October: Camp Lejeune, North Carolina.
I arrived at Camp Lejeune early in the morning. I obtained my visitor pass and located my hotel. Then I went to the Beirut Memorial Wall. Like it has some kind of magic power, it draws me. It beckons and I’ve no choice but to obey. Again and again. There was a lot of activity. I’ve never had to share the Memorial with others so it was much different having other people there trying not to trespass on my space as I tried not to encroach on their grief. Still, I felt at home and much love and peace. I placed my tribute to Cpl Hamilton out at the Wall. His was the first there. I felt such pride when people would take the time to look at his picture, to lean down and touch it, to salute it or to take a picture. I stayed for a while just watching people come. Some cried, some reunited with other Marines, some just stood silently touching their hero’s name, but everyone being deeply affected just the same. I left the Memorial to go back to the hotel and shower and change clothes. I had something important to do. That important something was that I had the honor of welcoming home the heroes of Charlie Company as they returned from Iraq. It was important to me to be there. It was important to those Marines who were returning. It was important to those who had fallen that their brothers and sisters in arms receive the welcome home they were never able to receive. I needed to be there. I had the honor of welcoming home some Marines who had no other family waiting for them. I was able to hug LCpl Drinkwine for his dad who couldn’t be there to do it himself. It was a joyous occasion and I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. It renewed my soul. I returned to the Memorial later at night. There weren’t so many people there any more. Just me, some of the survivors and a few family members. I will never forget where I was, what I was doing at exactly 11:21pm on 22 October, 2008. I was standing with my hands and forehead pressed against the name: Virgel Hamilton, USMC. Why is that precise moment so important? Because that’s the exact moment that it was 6:21am in Beirut, Lebanon. It was 25 years ago to the minute that the truck exploded inside the barracks. My hand was like a bridge between the past and the present. It was like electricity flowing into me, through me. It felt as though I had 241 hands reaching out to mine from behind the names. I had never had such a feeling of closeness and understanding with Virgel as I did at that very moment. I could feel his hand pressing against mine from the other side. I pressed harder. He pressed harder. My tears flowed dampening his name. I’m not sure how long I was there that night. It seemed like no time at all passed. Finally I had to go back to my hotel room and sleep. I knew the next day held something big for me but didn’t know what it was. Thursday, 23 October: Beirut Memorial, Camp Lejeune. There was already a large group gathering at the memorial for the Remembrance Service. I was wearing my shirt with Virgel’s basic training picture printed on it and carrying the sign from the Blue Star Mothers. When I first arrived, I felt a little like I didn’t belong. I mean, here I was amidst all these veterans and families of the fallen and I almost felt like I had no right to be there intruding on their grief and memories. But then someone pointed to my shirt. “Your brother?” I thought for a minute how to answer and then said, “No. I just love him.” His response was, “That’s why we’re all here.” I realized he was right. We were all there for the same reason: gratitude and love for our troops. At that moment, I knew I did belong there. We were all there because we love someone who died in Beirut. I was sitting in my seat taking this in when gospel musician and patriot Eric Horner came to me. He knew I would be there for Virgel. His wife Debby was widowed when her husband, SGT Richard Blankship, perished in Beirut. Eric and Debby are active in keeping the memory of those men alive and honoring their sacrifice. He took me to meet Debby. It was an honor to meet them. They are beautiful people with hearts of gold. I also had the opportunity to speak for a few minutes with the family of Cpl John Buckmaster, another Dayton, Ohio native who was killed in Beirut. They recognized Virgel’s name on the sign and knew we must be neighbors. I wanted a moment to touch Virgel’s name before the memorial started. As I was wiping the tears and returning to my seat, a lady stopped me. She said, “I want to go down but I can’t make it on my own. I saw your tears and knew you’d understand mine. Will you go with me?” So I held her hand and together we walked to the Memorial. She touched a name: Michael H. Johnson, USN. Without thinking, my hand followed hers onto his name. Through the tears she could only manage to say, “My Sailor.” Then she began to touch other names. She looked at me and said, “They came to our home. They were our friends.” Then we held each other and cried. She cried for the loss of her soul-mate, husband and father of her daughter. I cried because I knew HM2 Johnson paid the cost of freedom with his life and I was grateful. Then it was time for the memorial service. Just after it started, something happened. It was my something big. Something huge. More than I could’ve ever imagined. A man approached me and whispered into my ear, “I’m SSGT Long. I was Hamilton’s Sergeant.” I couldn’t stop the tears… they poured now. I was looking into the eyes of someone who knew Virgel and was with him when he died. It was something I’ve never had before. I was looking at the tangible link between Virgel and me. It was someone concrete I could touch who’d touched Virgel. Someone I could speak to who’d spoken to Virgel. Someone who had memories of him. I felt as though Virgel put us in that exact place at that exact time to meet. Maybe we were both looking for something. Whatever we were searching for, perhaps we each found our answer in the other. After the memorial, SSGT Long and I spent time talking. I know he’s still thinking about the things I said to him as I’m still thinking about the things he said to me. He told me about the man Virgel was, about the Marine Virgel was. He shared some of his memories with me. No matter how much thinking SSGT does, he will never understand what a gift he gave me that day. When we parted, I left with memories of Virgel. They were not my memories, but they were memories and that’s all that mattered. It was something I could hold on to. I will always be grateful to him for sharing so much of Virgel and of himself with me. I attended the remembrance dinner that night. I shared a table with the family of one of the fallen Marines. When the General asked who among us had been in Beirut when the bombing happened, I saw the hands. As I looked around at families who’d lost a hero and those who were survivors I really began to consider the company I was in that night. More important than the dignitaries, the brass, there were heroes who’d made sacrifices in their own ways for my safety and freedom. They’d all given up something for our nation… some had given loved ones, some had given limbs, some had given innocence, but all had paid dearly. Friday, 24 October: Leaving Camp Lejeune. I returned to the Memorial one more time before heading home. I talked to some people there. One was a veteran. He was a Sailor who’d just left Beirut a few days prior to 23 October. He left his buddies behind, his brothers, and then they were all gone. I hugged him and thanked him for serving and told him, “Welcome home.” Then he looked at me with the most pained expression and vacant eyes and said to me, “I’m one of the unlucky ones who came home. I wished I had died there with them.” Thinking back to that pin on Virgel’s KIA flag, I told him, “They accomplished their mission. It wasn’t your mission to accomplish.” He hugged me again and walked away wordlessly. It’s always difficult for me to leave there. I wish I could just curl up and stay there, safe and warm, in that sacred place. I feel peace there. I feel protected there. I feel loved there. I feel them there. Quietly I opened my laptop and cued what I call “Virgel’s songs”. Mike Corrado, USMC former, singing “My Watch Tonight” and Edwin McCain’s, “Prayer to St. Peter”. I stood once more against the memorial, my hands pressing hard against the rock searching for his and I sang to him. I sang to them all hoping that somehow my voice would reach them. Finally I started home. As I looked at the memorial in my rearview mirror, I asked the question aloud, “Where do we get such men?” Saturday 8 November: Virgel’s Resting Place. I couldn’t be there on Virgel’s birthday – 10 November – so I put some things out on his grave a few days early. The wind was blowing as I was tying off balloons to his vase and his flags were blowing straight out in the brisk air. I noticed that the Patriot Guard Riders Mission Accomplished pin was missing from his KIA Flag. There was just a hole in the flag and I figured I’d never find the pin. I looked around for it on my hands and knees. When I stopped looking and just sat down, there it was, next to me all the time. I picked it up and I held it to my heart. He was giving it back to me for taking this journey to honor and to remember. He was telling me I accomplished my mission. I whispered into the wind hoping it would carry my words upward to him. “Semper Fidelis, Cpl Virgel Hamilton.” Lord, where do we get such men?
For more information about the Marines in Beirut and to see the names of every hero who fell there: http://www.beirut- memorial. org/ http://en.wikipedia .org/wiki/ 1983_Beirut_ barracks_ bombing
On My Watch Tonight I come from an Island In the Carolina sand Where I was broke down, Built up and reborn a fighting man My blood runs red, white and blue I’ll brave the cold, the rain, the pain and the bullets so you don’t have to
Don’t worry about me; I’ll be all right Just care for your children and sleep tight I’ll keep you safe on my watch tonight
It’s a long, long way from that island And a long way from home With the thought of you standing behind me I could never be alone
There’s a promise I need you to make While I’m gone you take care of the love And I’ll deal with the hate
Don’t worry about me; I’ll be all right Just care for your children and sleep tight I’ll keep you safe on my watch tonight
Don’t worry about me; I’ll be all right Just care for your children and sleep tight I’ll keep you safe on my watch tonight
Prayer to St. Peter Let them in, Peter God knows how young they were ** Just a note, if you can't read the dogtag on my tattoo, it looks just like my dedication at the top **
Terri "Gumby" Monnin
Patriot Guard Riders, Help on the Homefront Ohio State Coordinator
Supporting the troops and their mission unconditionally wherever they are.
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