Cemetery Escort Duty

(I had to pass this along)

 

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".

And remember this................all of the military persons

serving in Iraq are volunteers. Have you volunteered for anything

lately?

(A photograph I took of a returning serviceman for the front page

of local newspapers. Lou)

 

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 overseas. 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.