No One Travels Alone

     The air was cool and the breeze almost had a wintry bite to it even though the calendar said late September. The sky was a steel gray, the kind where if you're at the shore you can't tell where the ocean ends and the sky begins. To be perfectly honest, as I was standing in a cemetery, it felt all the more ominous, if not perfectly natural...given the reason we were all gathered.  

    We were gathered, not long ago, at the Washington Crossing National Cemetery here in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. I had the privilege of attending an unclaimed veterans remains service. The service is held on the last Thursday afternoon of every month (except November and December) to honor the unclaimed remains of veterans. The vast majority of these remains come from funeral homes in Bucks and Montgomery Counties. However, others have been left by family or friends who, for reasons unknown, did not want to arrange or attend a burial. As one person said who is involved in these monthly services, "It's hard to think that a person served in the United States of America and wore the cloth of the nation, and they had no family, or had no family who wanted, to say goodbye to them."

    The national cemetery here has been holding these monthly services in honor of unattended veterans for a while now. I remember hearing about it a number of years ago, but to be honest, I think I assumed it was for veterans only...which I am not. Recently, in talking to someone, I was told how moving these services were and that they were open to the public. In fact, the public is encouraged to attend. 

    As I drove into this huge and beautifully kept cemetery, I found the spot where they were holding the service. I parked my car and made my way to a small, almost tabernacle-like setting where there were veterans holding various flags off to one side, and 7 other veterans lined up 50 or 60 yards away holding rifles. Underneath the roof were a few people milling about - some in full-dress uniforms (one gentleman had more medals and ribbons on his chest and stripes on his sleeves than I had ever seen before), and some were dressed like me...casual, but seemingly appropriate to the occasion.

    Last but not least, all by himself and just far enough away where he was quietly and just mildly conspicuous, stood a veteran with bagpipes. While he did not have a uniform (like a number of the other veterans) he had the dark blue baseball cap with the appropriate nomenclature of his troop and where he served. Like a lot of the men and women in uniform that day he looked somewhat sad, as if he had done this many times before.

    Since I had never been to one of these, I was a little unsure of what to do. Because I was a civilian I tried to keep a respectable distance. As I said before, I had assumed this was for veterans only and that thought process was still in my head. But as the time came for the service to begin there was a group of Marines (pictured below) who gently waved at all of us to get closer and, I can only assume, to feel a part of the service. That was a hallmark of the entire service; the feeling of family...the feeling of togetherness. The sad bagpipes then began to play. 

    A small box holding the cremated remains of this brave soul was carried ever so gently from a car that had pulled up behind all of us and placed upon a table at the front of the structure. A representative of the cemetery spoke for a few minutes describing what the organization and the cemetery did, and what this particular service was all about. He was followed by a minister (the gentleman with all the medals, ribbons, and stripes) who spoke very eloquently about war, service and sacrifice. He then read some appropriate passages from the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament, and talked about that journey to what Hamlet called "The Undiscovered Country." I have heard these words a million times ever since I was a child, but they still move me. And in this atmosphere of war, service, and the ultimate sacrifice, I found myself wiping away the tears and doing my best to silence the choking sounds trying to escape my throat (as I am doing right now while typing this)...all the while surrounded by these incredibly brave men and women. 

    An American Flag was folded ever so gently and with the utmost respect by two men in uniform, and given to a woman sitting up front who sat in for the family of the deceased. I was told that the flag was then returned to the cemetery for remembrance. The riflemen that had been standing off to the side this whole time then fired a salute of three shots into that steel-gray sky. We all have our "callings" as it were, but there is something about being in the company of veterans that can make one feel a little smaller, a little more humble...and very, very proud. The pastor said a final benediction and we were dismissed with heartfelt words of gratitude from the cemetery representative.    

    And that was it...twenty minutes. A life that I knew absolutely nothing about, except that he had served his country with honor and distinction, was now vaulted away with his comrades-in-arms in a military cemetery in a small town in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. I also realized that this service had, again, fulfilled its core mission: No veteran should make that last journey alone.

    As people gathered around after the service, I felt the need to reach out to those Marines who had made sure that we civilians moved up and were part of the service. As you can see, they were all older and very distinguished in their red marine jackets. As I reached out my hand to each of them and said, "Thank you so much for your service," they smiled and said, "No…thank you." I then realized that I better take a picture or I'd never forgive myself! These guys were great, asking if I had a wide enough lens to fit them in! Marines...humor...go figure!!

    Thinking the day at the cemetery was over, I got back to the car and opened the door. Just then, a veteran who happened to be standing next to his truck parked in front of me, started talking to me right out of the blue, and started telling stories. I listened intently and with more than a touch of sadness. I got the sense that he didn't get to talk to many civilians like this and the whole atmosphere was cathartic for him in more ways than one. He told me of his service in Viet Nam, Laos, and Cambodia. He told me of friends dying right next to him, and of cheating death himself on more than one occasion. As the tears returned and the boulder-sized lump in my throat returned, he smiled and told me that it's okay and that he didn't mean to upset me. "Really? You didn't mean to upset me??" We both laughed a loud cathartic laugh that filled the cemetery. 

    He finished with a story that will stay with me for as long as my mind is intact to remember. Upon returning home from Viet Nam after his second tour of duty, the plane (Which had the military guys who were traveling that day sit in the very back of the plane next to the bathrooms...really? The airline couldn't spring for first-class?) landed in San Francisco and he was walking through the airport for a connecting flight to the East Coast. On his way to the gate he was jeered, heckled, mocked, cursed at, and spit upon by young people. As best as he can remember, he stoically kept walking from point A to point B, trying to hold back the tears amidst this volley of hate. I stood there in that cemetery, in the midst of hundreds of military gravestones, staring into his eyes as they seemed to look right through me - into a different time and place. I wasn't sure what to do or say. I mean, how does one respond to that? After what seemed like forever, he refocused and talked a little about his flight home that day and the kindness he received from an older woman who sat next to him. He told me that is one of the reasons he comes to all of these services. To honor his fellow veterans and to remind himself that not everyone are like those people in the airport. It then dawned on me why those Marines earlier said "Thank you" to me.

    As the veteran with his bagpipes softly played a haunting melody while gatherers ended their conversations and got into their cars to resume their everyday lives, I was reminded of Homer and his epics the Iliad and the Odyssey. All these thousands of years later and I still don't think anyone has captured war and its aftermath like he did. In some of the most famous lines of the Iliad, Glaucus reflects on the meaning of life and death. 

As the generation of leaves, so too is the generation of men.

And as for leaves, the winds scatter some on the earth,

But the new wood puts forth others, and spring comes again.

So it is with men: as one generation dies, another is born.

    

    I know only a few veterans (and you know who you are), but I'm not going to call out any specific names for fear of neglecting to mention a high school or college friend, or neighbor who served and I just didn't know it. However, I will mention my 92-year-old step-father, Preston Duane Phillips, who still gets a little misty at the opening scene to Saving Private Ryan, and say "Thank You, Duane, for your service." To the rest of you reading this who served, dear friends and acquaintances alike...a heartfelt "Thank You" as well. 

    And to those 6 Marines..."Semper Fi."

write to Peter: magtour@icloud.com