The Conservative Son

This is another one of those stories that I don’t share with just anybody. If you care to go with me on this, another emotionally fraught journey, you are welcome to tag along.




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One regret I have from my trip to D.C. is, although I spent better than two days in Arlington Cemetery, I never once saw a funeral. I know that they were taking place. There are upwards of sixty a day, to my understanding. Although I saw the Lee mansion flag at half-mast repeatedly, I never actually observed a funeral procession. The closest I came was what took place while I was looking for the grave of Lance Corporal Patrick Nixon, USMC.



LCP Nixon was the first Tennessean to die under fire in the war on terror. He was killed in action at a bridge on the outskirts of An Nasiriyah in Iraq. He gained a certain amount of fame when Trace Atkins released the video version of his hit song "Arlington." In the video, you not only see the gravestone for Corporal Nixon, but the image of his face billowing in the background.



I visited many graves while in Arlington: Halsey, Marshall, the Unknowns, Audie Murphy, "Black Jack” Pershing, "Pappy" Boyington, Jimmy Dolittle, Todd Lincoln and others. Each was a thrill. Each was humbling. Yet, Corporal Nixon’s was the hardest to locate.



My information on his internment was scanty, at best. Still, I searched arduously with my family over several acres of markers in the vicinity where I thought he was buried. Yet, to no avail. I seriously considered giving up the search, but realized that I would regret it if I didn't persevere.



I pondered leaving my family there while I rushed back to the reception center. I had taken note of a computer in the museum designed specifically for doing grave searches. It was a blistering hot day and my family didn't really seem too keen on the suggestion of being marooned in the hot sun while I hurried off for who knows how long. I can't say that I blame them for that. So, I decided to take them back to where they could wait in an air-conditioned building and then I could continue my quest. There I searched the listings, quickly discovering the coordinates for LCP Nixon’s place of burial. I assured my wife and child that I would hurry every chance I got and rushed at near double-time in pursuit of my objective.



I finally arrived in the correct section and began to count off rows of stones. Presently, I found LCP Nixon. I had hopes of conferring some small amount of honor that a feeble man such as myself could. I stood there, looking down at this young man’s final resting place, thinking about his sacrifice, that of so many others in our nation's past, those of today and those who will suffer loss in the future.



Though I had been concentrating intensely on my search, I noticed some very clean-cut young men, grouped together not many rows over. They seemed to be, like myself, searching for someone among the markers. I didn't want to be nosey or disturb them, but I found myself drawn to them and persistently kept turning my eyes in their direction. I must say, when it dawned on me that they were nothing less than military men dressed in civvies, I was taken aback. I didn't want to bother them, so I only observed from a distance while they talked among themselves and walked among the stones.



After a short while, they departed the premises. As I recall, cars were waiting for them, which they gathered into, disappearing down the avenue.



Curiosity got the better of me, so, I meandered over to the place where the servicemen had been wandering. Here I discovered several unfinished graves. Lose dirt covered many of them and it was obvious that the grounds crew had some work yet to do. One was even covered by a slab in preparation, I suppose, for an ensuing graveside ceremony.



To say the least, I was enthralled and mesmerized by what I chanced upon there. Yet, my astonishment was to grow in a way I could not have anticipated.



I walked along, reading the names and dates on several gravestones, when I raised my eyes and was dumbfounded to see line after line of graves of so many who were killed in action in the war on terror. I found myself surrounded by the dead of battle in Iraq and Afghanistan. I myself was buried, so to speak, deep among the honored dead.



I stood with my mouth open reading the names of soldiers, sailors and marines surrounding me who had given the "last full measure of devotion." Name after name, after name, after name, after name, after name, after name! I was astonished, perplexed, mortified and broken. It appeared to me as a sea of stones rolling in like a tide.



Then, for some reason, it occurred to me that I should call my wife and let her know that I had made it safely to my destination. Perhaps, I wished to share with her and my child what I was seeing there. I heard her answer her cell phone, but suddenly found myself barely able to speak. I stood there among those brave souls, completely overwhelmed with the gravity and emotion of it all. I began to choke up and tried to spit out a few words in my weak attempt to tell her what I was witnessing. I think the only halfway coherent sentence that came out of me was, "There are just so many!" Then, of course, I broke down and boo-hood. Yes, I found myself crying a lot in D.C.



I made my way slowly through their ranks, taking time to have one last long look across this army of fallen heroes. My desire to tarry among these brave immortals there was not one that swiftly passed.



I soon returned to my family where they, of course, greeted this weepy old man with hugs and kisses and “I love you”s. The awe I felt at the gravesite was fresh in my mind and heart. Curious thing about it, years later, that sentiment is with me still.

Labels: Arlington National Cemetery, funerals, Marines, Patrick Nixon, Tennessee

Introduction:

When this event first occurred, I shared it with everyone who would shut up long enough for me to tell it. From this, I learned a valuable lesson: Not everyone is worthy of this story.

Too many, regretably, didn't appreciate or understand it. Too many couldn't relate to it. Too many just really didn't pay that much attention to, what I believe is, a magnificent story.

Today, I only share this with people whom, I believe, will truly comprehend the magnitude of what was a singular and salient event in my life and that of my family. If you reach the end of this tale, you must certainly be part of this group.

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My family had talked about going to Washington, D.C. for several years. My daughter had heard the story of my trip to Arlington Cemetery during my service years more times than her young mind, or my old one, could remember.

So, at last, the time for vacation arrived and we headed northeast in a rented car with little more than vague plans to see the main attractions of D.C. that any patriotic American would want to visit. These of course included, Arlington, the Washington Mall, the George Washington Masonic Memorial and, of course, Mount Vernon.

The first day was the Masonic Memorial. The second was Arlington and the Mall. The third was, best of all, Mount Vernon.

We made the drive to Washington's home on the Potomac River. It was, seemingly, off the beaten path. Of course, there were easy access roads and we found plenty of parking where still many trees were growing, giving it a very forested look.

For whatever reason, we decided to check out the gift shop first. That went well, since we found some useful information there, plus we purchased our daughter, Natalie, an awesome three-cornered hat.

We moved on to the admission booth, paid our fees and entered the plantation. We passed through new construction and I was pleased to see that the old place was receiving a renovation. There were paths and flowers and a road ascending a small rise making for a nice little walk. Suddenly, we found ourselves standing at gates opening before a long carriage path leading to the residence, which seemed to tower before our eyes, about a hundred yards from where we stood.

Soon, we saw signs pointing the way to various points of interest and I took quick note of one giving direction to the family tomb. I, of course, quickly made a bee-line, with family in tow, for that portion of the tour.

We meandered down a short hill on the pea-gravel road following further markers which pointed our way. We walked past fields and a barn with a mule, turned left and quickly found the red brick sepulchre. There, we approached a wrought iron gate that kept the public at barely more than arm's length from the two sarcophagi holding General Washington and his dearly beloved, Martha.

It was a heady experience just standing there at those gates. I repeatedly pointed out to my precious child that we were ever so close to greatness. I told her that we were standing ever so close to the greatest American of all. To say that I was in awe, would definitely understate my feelings at that moment.

I found myself almost transfixed. I couldn't pull myself away from this, might I call it, presence. I was thoroughly basking in the moment.

After some time, I noticed a guide talking to a group of tourists, sharing fascinating facts and anecdotes about the farm, the General's life there and the tomb itself. My family and I paused listening intently to his commentaries. Before very long, I had virtually joined them, standing at almost the very back of the crowd. Next, something happened that will affect myself and my family for as long as we live.

The man continued by asking the group if there were any veterans present. I thought, as often happens at public events, he merely wished to recognize the veterans in attendance that day. No one quickly answered, so, after a quick look around, I raised my hand and stated, "I'm a veteran." He made some positive remarks regarding that and continued with his discourse. Soon thereafter, he asked if their were any school children present. This time, I boldly spoke up and said, "My daughter's in school; she's home schooled."

Next thing I knew, I got what might've been the shock of my life. The guide asked us if we would be interested in helping with the daily wreath-laying ceremony inside the President's tomb. I was so completely aghast that I couldn't even speak. I'm quite sure I looked brainless to the man as I stood, gasping for air like a landed fish.

He obviously didn't know how to interpret my response since he told me that I didn't have to participate. I managed to cough out words to the effect that I really wanted to, but didn't feel worthy. He spoke reassuringly and invited my daughter and I to accompany him to the crypt, explaining to us what would be required during the ensuing ritual.

We proceeded to the tomb where he removed a barrier rope, unlocked the gates and opened them widely. He further explained to the audience that this ceremony had been performed by many heads of state, including Churchill, I noted. (I actually saw George W. Bush perform this ceremony on television later that year.) He explained that a type of green plant growing there on the plantation, (I forget the name,) was used for the ceremony and that it took place once a day in the winter and twice a day in the summer, as I recall.

After he completed his remarks, we joined together in patriotic song. (For the life of me, I can't remember which one.) Per his orders, Natalie and I picked up the wreath, which was on a prepared stand, stepped into the tomb, placed it between the saints reposing there and pivoted with big smiles on our faces. Before our exit he encouraged my darling wife, Roberta, to take pictures and video of the moment.

Just before this, the moment after we turned from placing the wreath, I had an epiphany, I suppose. As I stood there beside the remains of the father of our country, a thousand thoughts and feelings rushed through my already soaring mind. Almost without thinking, yet, still knowing exactly what I was doing, I reached my hand down and, ever so lightly, stroked the edge of Washington's sarcophagus. Had I thought more about it, I would likely not have done so.

Now, this is, sadly, the point where I've seen far too many eyes glaze over and lost more than one listener. To try to explain to the profane and ignorant why I would do such a thing, I have found to be completely impossible. I have discovered that if I have to try to explain this one seminal event to you, I simply cannot! Yet, it was the most moving and affective part of the entire ceremony for me. If you are numbered among the mind-numbed who think it strange that I made it a point to do such a thing, I would only want to ask you, "Wouldn't you have done the same?" If you answer, "No," then you are not among those who have made it thus far in this discourse.

I thanked this unnamed park guide profusely and tried explaining to him what an honor this was for my daughter and I. I conveyed that it was a double honor since I was currently serving as Worshipful Master of my Lodge and that, of course, Washington had held the same office in his own. He asked me to sign a simple notebook with mine and my daughter's names and explained that these would be added to the archives of the home, along with the names of others who had performed the same ceremony as a perpetual memorial, so to speak, that we had been participants in this most honorable event. We lingered there, of course, for some minutes, and finally made our way from the grave site.

Needless to say, I was overwhelmed and overjoyed. A feeling overcame me that was not unexpected, but tremendously more emotionaly powerful than for which I was prepared. We walked for a minute or so and I tried to discuss the swarm of emotions that were presently coursing through me, but found that there were no words. My wife and child smiled and the former remarked how I had really, in so many words, had a fine day. To this, I agreed.

I'll freely admit that I'm not a man who is above crying. I've cried at births and funerals and even at the right moment in just the right movie. I've cried when I've felt the Spirit of God sweep over me in a way that only He can do. No, I don't cry at the drop of a hat. Still, I do sometimes cry.

Well, I'm not ashamed to say that this is one time when I did cry. I broke down and cried like a baby! I don't mean dainty little tears that barely reached half-way down my cheeks. I cried the tears of a man who had been broken and humbled in a way that he will experience not even a handful of times in his life. I cried, I cried and then, I cried some more. I cried great heaving, uncontrollable sobs. I blubbered! I wept!

Now if I have to explain to you what it meant to stand at this grave and take part in this ceremony along with my darling daughter, I can't. If I have to explain to you why I was so swept up in the moment, being at the tomb of the man who did more for me than any other American, I can't. If I have to explain to you why it affected me so to be allowed to pay this tribute to the man without whom there would be no United States of America, I cannot.

My father was a decorated combat veteran of WW II, but he held the same esteem for General Washington as I. My Savior is the God of the universe and no one has done more for me than He. Nothing I say is to diminish their sacrifice for my life and salvation. These men are more important to me and mine than I can ever articulate. They are the reason I am the man, if any man at all, I am today.

The honors confered upon me in my life are few and far between. I've proudly worn the uniform of my country, being honorably discharged and receiving the good conduct medal. I've been bestowed with at least one honor that is "emblematical of purity and all perfection." I was elected Worshipful Master of my Lodge and dubbed Sir Knight of the Templar Knights in my local Commandery. I've performed many Masonic funerals for brethren who have "sought admittance into the Celestial Lodge above." I'm honored to have a wife and child who love me dearly. I'm proud to be an American! Still, I can say with certainty, that this, along with those others in my life, was truly more honor than I deserve.

Labels: Arlington National Cemetery, D.C., Freemason, Geore Washington, graving, honor, Martha Washington, Mount Vernon, Potomic River, Templar Knights, three-cornered hat, vacation, Worshipful Master

I am sick at my stomach and thoroughly frosted over the sycophantic press coverage around the death of Saint Teddy the Devine. I suppose they were all trying to make sure they got an invitation to the most recent Kennedy funeral.

Mary Jo Kopechne did not get such favorable coverage. She didn't have the droves of grievers at her funeral. She did get a lot of very catty remarks made in the press about her and her relationship with the married junior-senator.

Somebody tell me, please, just what Teddy Kennedy ever, in his entire life, did for this nation! There is really no major legislation that bears his name. (Except, maybe "No Child Left Behind." Sheesh!) He was a boozer, a philander and a murderer. Not to mention, there was no pile of dead babies stacked high enough to constrain him to be true to his supposed Catholic upbringing and do even the very least to protect the unborn. No, he was more interested in the campaign money he was getting from N.O.W., Planned Parenthood, (there's an Orwellian name for you,) et al.

Teddy Kennedy, like so many in the political world today, was famous for being famous. He was famous, and admired, because he was a Kennedy. John was a war hero; Bobby was, well, he was John's brother too.

I've heard several quotes from the butt-kissing, unashamed liars on the boob-tube, trying to paint Teddy as a statesman who was above the fray. What a load of hog manure!

He was a bitter, jealous man who hated anything remotely attached to traditional family values or genuine Godliness. I've even heard them absurdly claim he never attacked his political adversaries but reached out to them on many occasions. Well, here's one of Teddy's more civil comments concerning George Bush and the war on terror. (Which was, incidently, a war which Teddy never supported.)

"There was no imminent threat. This was made up in Texas, announced in January to the Republican leadership that war was going to take place and was going to be good politically. This whole thing was a fraud."

Here, Teddy stooped so low as to accuse George Bush of manufacturing the war on terror, killing thousands of Iraqi soldiers and civilians, not to mention the thousands of Americans dead, just to advance his own political career. How would Teddy have felt if someone accused John of doing the same thing in Southeast Asia for his own political aggrandizement?

One interesting thing I heard a few years ago is that the Kennedy's are practicaly broke. (Yeah, pretty much down to their last millions. ha!)They've all lived off of Joe P. Kennedy's money for so long that there's almost none left. The rest of the clan has really done nothing productive. (John-John, I think, was the exception.) They're just a bunch of politicians living off trust funds and the tax-payer dollar. Exactly like the tics in my back yard, they're nothing but a bunch of parasites who refuse to get a real job.

Honestly, I would love to be able to just simply say a prayer for the family and forget about all the rest of the dumb stuff, but the over-the-top acclamation for a man who came nowhere near accomplishing anything truly meaningful in his life, is almost more than I can bare. John was a bone-fide war hero; Bobby did...well, not that much either; Teddy was good at getting himself reelected and that for no other reason than his family name. Nothing would please me more than to let this family grieve and say narry a negative word about the deceased senator. The fact is, the poop is being thrown so hard and so fast it's nearly impossible for me to keep from screaming.

Probably, the most nauseating part of this whole burlesque is that Teddy qualifies for burial at Arlington. As a vet myself, I've made it a point to keep up with the regulations for Arlington internment and I don't qualify. Yet, there is this loophole that allows him to slip in since he is a both a veteran and U.S. Senator. (These shiftless civil-servants always take care of one another.) Although I seriously would take nothing away from Senator Kennedy's honorable, yet, uneventful time in the service, the limitied space at Arlington, should be saved for veterans with more exalted service.

I'm only glad there are no more Kennedy brothers. One more Kennedy burial at Arlington and there won't be any space for the real heroes of our nation. Wouldn't it be perfect irony if they transported Teddy's remains to Chappaquiddick and buried him at sea?

Labels: Arlington National Cemetery, Chappaquiddick Island, funerals, John Kennedy, Jr., Mary Jo Kopechne, politics, Senate, Sr., Teddy Kennedy. John Kennedy, veterans

Our local newspaper, the Daily Post Athenian, was kind enough, or crazy enough to print another one of my letters to the editor. It even appeared in the weekend edition. Sheesh!

It seems to have had the intended affect. Most everyone I work with is upset with me. Oh, the fun never stops!

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To the Editor:

All right, it's time for someone to say it and it might as well be me. We have entirely too many people voting!

I once firmly believed that as long as American citizens vote, the good old U.S. of A. would ultimately be just fine. Yet, as I approach a half-century of age, I've watched American citizens over and over again choose leaders who have anything but the best interests of our nation at heart. What most do have is a great desire to be elected and then re-elected and then retire with full pension and benefits. Most will tell any story, make any promise and then do just enough to keep themselves employed. Is that all their fault? Not really. Just look who put them in office.

Today, we have people balloting for someone to be inaugurated into the most powerful position in the world who have never so much as read the Declaration of Independence or the U.S. Constitution. They can't name their congressmen or senators. They couldn't pick the vice president, or perhaps even the president, out of a lineup. They haven't the slightest understanding of the Electoral College or, worse, don't even know it exists. They have no inkling of how a bill becomes a law or even a cursory knowledge of how our trinitarian federal government functions. They know nothing of our system of "checks and balances." They even think we're a democracy. (No, we're actually a republic.) Yet, these same voters can name all the contestants on "American Idol."

They've taken their children to Disney World four times, the ocean six times, but haven't yet found the time to take them to Arlington. They take their munchkins to every new movie that comes out, but have never watched an hour of the History Channel with them. They turn them over to the government and say, "Here, bring my child back educated." And, oh, what an education they get! They are taught all about birth control (at least the state's version). They're taught we're no better than apes, that there is no God and that the government is our "friend."

I recently asked several people if they visited any veterans' graves on Memorial Day. One 25-year-old replied, "Why would I wanna do that? They're dead." I responded, "What a typical 25-year-old answer." He only chuckled unknowingly. Oh, the apathy!

Do any thinking Americans really believe our country can survive forever with a citizenry that couldn't care less about the price that was paid to preserve our liberty? So many have no idea the blood, sweat, toil and tears required to bequeath us the daily blessings most take for granted. No, freedom did not come cheaply or easily and keeping it will require more of the same sacrifice.

There was a time in our nation when to vote you had to be a white, propertied male at least 21 years of age. Sometimes you had to pass a test and/or pay a fee, even at that. You were generally required to be literate and have some knowledge of your responsibility as a citizen. (On second thought, maybe it's not so much that "too many" people are voting as much as it is the "too many" know too little.)

I'm certainly not suggesting that we return to anything of that nature. Yet, if we believe that the uneducated, illiterate, woefully and willingly ignorant masses of today's electorate would have produced the republic we place our hand over our hearts and pledge our allegiance to today (well, most of us anyway), we are beyond deluded.

Naturalized citizens must pass a test to obtain the privilege of voting. Why not native citizens? What is it about being born on a certain piece of dirt (something over which we have no control) that qualifies us to make decisions that will affect us now and our posterity for generations?

Sadly, our nation is in a politically-correct stupor. We don't want to hurt anyone's feelings by telling them, "You don't qualify." Even if they actually don't qualify. We do our darnedest to recruit every potential voter, but never consider if that voter has any idea about, or interest in, the operation of our republic. We fear hurting someone's feelings more than the damage that clueless wonder may do to our country's waning integrity. Sheesh!

When I hear the opinions of the inane and enslaved proletariat, I say a silent prayer that they don't vote. When some confess they don't vote, I'm downright gleeful. Thank God for small miracles!

This is not elitism. Every law-abiding American adult, regardless of creed, religion, color or financial status, should be entitled to vote as protected in the Constitution. Yet, bear in mind, there is no guaranteed "right to vote" in our Constitution. (You don't believe me? Just try to find it.) There is only protection against our government restricting us, for the wrong reasons, from exercising that privilege. Yes, voting is a privilege.

Look, I seriously am not aiming to offend anyone. Frankly though, I am offended at the millions who when given, yes "given," the Godsend of choosing our national, state and local leaders shun the time and effort required to become informed citizens. I am offended at those who are "given" the prerogative to vote and yet, unappreciatively, don't love this great nation. It's heartrending that the American electorate is inexorably trapped in this downward spiral of lethargy and oblivion.

Sadly and lastly, if you cared enough to read this regrettably inadequate argument for excluding the heedless from involvement in our elections, you are likely one who, in my never to be humble opinion, qualifies. The rest? Well, they never got past the funny papers.

Labels: Arlington National Cemetery, Declaration of Independence, Disney World, election, Electoral College, ignorance, patriotism, politics, U.S. Constitution, voting