OTP Cemetery Escort Duty

>> 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"
>

>>> Cemetery Escort Duty

>> "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."

Brought a tear to my eye... Semper Fi!

Bud

That was a "two tissue" read. Just beautiful.

Ann