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CEMETERY ESCORT DUTY
CHEVELLE427
Member Posts: 6,750
GOT THIS EMAIL THOUGHT I WOULD PASS IT ALONG
Subject: CEMETERY ESCORT DUTY
PLEASE READ AND PASS THIS ON. WE ALL NEED TO REMEMBER WHY THEY SERVE,,,
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 De Ville,
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 at 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: "Tehen, Hut! 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"
Subject: CEMETERY ESCORT DUTY
PLEASE READ AND PASS THIS ON. WE ALL NEED TO REMEMBER WHY THEY SERVE,,,
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 De Ville,
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 at 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: "Tehen, Hut! 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"