It's Memorial Day Weekend in Palm Coast. We're off to Publix, Albertson's, Winn Dixie or Food Lion for ribs, chicken, hot dogs, corn, charcoal, chips, beer and soda. All the good movies are long-gone from Blockbuster's. Cars are loaded with chairs, blankets, radios, umbrellas, coolers, and SPF 30 for the trip to Flagler Beach. La Bella's will sell a ton of pizza. School is out and spirits are high. Summer is here, and in spite of this pesky real estate "correction," life is good. That is unless you are in the Armed Forces... on leave... and waiting for your second deployment to Iraq. No political statements here (although I promise to re-visit this later, so you can see into my heart on this matter)... just a heart-felt "Thank you" to those who put it all on the line... for you and me. To the Army, the Marines, the Air Force, and the Navy, who go in harm's way. And to the Coast Guard who help at home. A salute to you on this Memorial Day, 2007. (The following is from a blog post, by U.S.Army LTC Bob Bateman, on 05/11/07, from The Pentagon. I got it from my good friend, Bill "Toz" Tozer, a retired Army artillery officer, now living in Moscow... No, not that Moscow... the one in Idaho):
"It is 110 yards from the "E" ring to the "A" ring of the Pentagon. This section of the Pentagon is newly renovated; the floors shine, the hallway is broad, and the lighting is bright. At this instant the entire length of the corridor is packed with officers, a few sergeants and some civilians, all crammed tightly three and four deep against the walls. There are thousands here. This hallway, more than any other, is the "Army" hallway. The G3 offices line one side, G2 the other, G8 is around the corner. All Army.
Moderate conversations flow in a low buzz. Friends who may not have seen each other for a few weeks, or a few years, spot each other, cross the way and renew. Everyone shifts to ensure an open path remains down the center. The air conditioning system was not designed for this press of bodies in this area. The temperature is rising already. Nobody cares.
10:36 hours (local EST): The clapping starts at the E-Ring. That is the outermost of the five rings of the Pentagon and it is closest to the entrance to the building. This clapping is low, sustained, hearty. It is an applause with a deep emotion behind it as it moves forward in a wave down the length of the hallway. A steady rolling wave of sound it is, moving at the pace of the soldier in the wheelchair who marks the forward edge with his presence. He is the first. He is missing the greater part of one leg, and some of his wounds are still suppurating. By his age I expect that he is a private, or perhaps a private first class.
Captains, majors, lieutenant colonels and colonels meet his gaze and nod as they applaud, soldier to soldier. Three years ago when I described one of these events, those lining the hallways were somewhat different. The applause a little wilder, perhaps in private guilt for not having shared in the burden yet. Now almost everyone lining the hallway is, like the man in the wheelchair, also a combat veteran. This steadies the applause, but I think deepens the sentiment. We have all been there now. The soldier's chair is pushed by, I believe, a full colonel. Behind him, and stretching the length from E to A, come more of his peers, each private, corporal or sergeant assisted as need be by a field grade officer.
10:50 hours (local EST): Twenty-four minutes of steady applause. My hands hurt, and I laugh to myself at how stupid that sounds in my own head. "My hands hurt." For crying out loud. Shut up and clap. For twenty-four minutes, soldier after soldier has come down this hallway - 20, 25, 30. Fifty-three legs come with them, and perhaps only 52 hands or arms, but down this hall came 30 solid hearts. They pass down this corridor of officers and applause, and then meet for a private lunch, at which they are the guests of honor, hosted by the generals. Some are wheeled along. Some insist upon getting out of their chairs, to march as best they can with their chin held up, down this hallway, through this most unique audience. Some are catching handshakes and smiling like a politician at a Fourth of July parade. More than a couple of them seem amazed and are smiling shyly.
There are families with them as well: the 18-year-old war-bride pushing her 19-year-old husband's wheelchair and not quite understanding why her husband is so affected by this, the boy she grew up with, now a man, who had never shed a tear is crying; the older immigrant Latino parents who have, perhaps more than their wounded mid-20s son, an appreciation for the emotion given on their son's behalf. No man in that hallway, walking or clapping, is ashamed by the silent tears on more than a few cheeks. An Airborne Ranger wipes his eyes only to better see. A couple of the officers in this crowd have themselves been a part of this parade in the past. These are our men, broken in body they may be, but they are our brothers, and we welcome them home. This parade has gone on, every single Friday, all year long, for more than four years."
(I spent three years of my life working on the "E-Ring" at the Pentagon... off Corridor Four... just one hallway down from the scene described above. That was from 1980 - 1983... eighteen years before the plane exploded through those walls on 09/11/01) All I can say to our men and women in uniform today, is: Thank you... Thank you so very much."
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