An Old Marine's
Story:
I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to
Smokey's. 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 it to Smokey's in
time.
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 2" small pot gut and half a limp, in
marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty
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 flowers 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
painfull
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 gatepost.. 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 ove rseas. 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!
If we ever forget that we're
one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone
under
Story:
I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to
Smokey's. 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 it to Smokey's in
time.
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 2" small pot gut and half a limp, in
marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty
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 flowers 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
painfull
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 gatepost.. 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 ove rseas. 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!
If we ever forget that we're
one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone
under
