Cemetery Escort Duty

I received this in an email today from an old friend, Bill S., whose son Adam just recently returned from his (second? Third?) tour of duty in Iraq.

I can claim nothing about the content. It looks like fiction. At best, it's apocryphal; unsubstantiated and the author is unknown.

But it reads good, and I admit I admire the emotional content.

So I include the entire text of the email, including the few statements at the end, which are not directly related and seem excessively jingoistic.



On the other hand, I prefer jingoism to its exact opposite, which we see far more these days than we need.

Cemetery Escort Duty

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 a 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 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 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 overseas. 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!




In the words of President Teddy Roosevelt, "We have room for but one flag, the American flag... We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language... and we have room for but one sole loyalty and that is a loyalty to the American people."


--
Remember, the government cannot give anything to anyone that they have not first taken away from someone else.

Welcome Home, Adam Sahlberg!

Friend and fellow USPSA competitor Bill has been keeping me appraised of this son Adam's tour of duty with the U.S. Army in Iraq.

Sgt. Adam served as a Combat Medic, but ...

they have used him in their new QFR (quick reactionary force) where they land a small quiet Chinook helo at night where they know al-Queda lives and kick down the doors trying to score some intel. Adam says these people are losing the will to fight and are rolling intel on other operations on their cohorts while being checked out by Adam as a medic.

Adam has to document any health issues, wounds, cuts, bruises, etc on each prisoner at the time of their capture. Adam also states that they are ready to give up so that they can stop worrying about being killed and get some much needed rest, food, and good medical treatment. None captured have tried to escape or blow themselves up, however, some have given false intel and directed troops to already booby trapped houses.

Sgt. Adam and his unit have recently rotated back to The States, and the Sahlberg family is quietly celebrating his return.

Bill describes it:

Below is a picture of Sgt Adam and his family after the "uncasing of the flag" ceremonies. Adam has the entire month of July off to be with his family and enjoy the freedoms that he has helped preserve.

57 soldiers paid the ultimate price from his unit and they will not be forgotten. This ceremony was an awesome sight seeing 5500 men lined up with their comrades in arms. After the ceremony, Adam was playing and chasing his girls on the lush green parade grounds while visiting and talking with his fellow soldiers, some with crutches, and some in wheelchairs.

Bill Sahlberg

(Please click on the image for the full size version of a very happy family)

Of every one-hundred men,
Ten shouldn't even be there.
Eighty are nothing but targets.
Nine are real fighters....
We are lucky to have them,
They make the battle. Ah, but one,
One of them is a Warrior....
He will bring the others home.

Hericletus 500BC

Welcome Back, Sgt. Adam!

And thank you for your service to your country.
We are so proud of you.

Adam - 20070913

Tonite we're starting a very special series. Letters from an American IPSC shooter, son and brother of American IPSC shooters, who is serving his country "Over There".

Adam S., son of Bill S., has been writing letters home for several months. Bill has shared many of his eldest son's letters with me during this period, and I have been unable to resist asking Bill for his permission to share these letters.

Bill wasn't shy about giving permission, so I'll include Adam's latest letter here and probably many of his earlier letters in the near future. I've saved them all, as I'm sure Adam's family has.

Most of these letters are very personal, but perhaps this is the most personal as Adam has recently come home to meet his newborn child and is here sharing his joy.

These aren't what we usually consider "Letters From The Front". These are "Letters To My Family, and as such are more important.

While you are reading Editorials from the New York Times and ads therein from leftist organizations, I hope you will have also read these letters from an American Soldier ... who we might consider a "Medic" .. and use the content to put a face to these brave men (and sometimes women) who are fighting for their country.

I couldn't believe it! There are endless little 'first-times' streaming around the [S] (2.0) household. Some I hear about formally, most happen to be 'oh by-the-way, Amaya can laugh and grab now', which have both a breaking and melting effect on my heart. I think what I miss most about my little girls is the teaching. I love teaching (to them).

Kristena told me how much fun she had while shooting. Her conclusion is that she wants a gun that is soft, quiet, and doesn't kick hard. I told her that is like dressing a lion as a sheep. Just because you disguise the signs of lethality does not mean it's no longer lethal. The bang and the snap help you to revere what it is you're playing with.

I am excited for Billie Jo's son, though I haven't shown that to [Billie Jo] enough. You always have more support than what is on the surface; I hope to show [Billie Jo] how much I care about her son. The last month has been a period of darkness with communication. I also hope to change that soon as well.

45 degrees at night? I did the math, that's about right for here too. 45C. Which is about 123 f. Glad we're experiencing the same weather! Actually, with today being an exception (115) it has been cooling off some. The nights are getting cooler and the day light is getting shorter. I look forward to the changes of seasons because those changes signify time; well, time elapsed.

I don't have any engraved crystal Beer Stein trophies! I fear that I've fallen quite behind on the trophy count in these past few years...

Life in the desert is lonely and lengthy, but alas it is disciplined and deliberate. For one-week I've had ample time off, but was drained and distracted long enough to not catch up on much correspondence. Today I was briefed on a very large mission which leaves me 3-days to prepare for it. I will obviously fill you in on the details of the mission after it's over. I should not be gone for more than 72 hours, but during this absence pray for strength, endurance, and impact.

I have a curious question for you, I've always assumed the reasons but I don't really recall asking. Thinking back to your early 20's, what was it that inspired you to start KB? Was it the building? Surely there are many trades that involve welding and fabricating. Was it the industry? Was it the fitness? Was it outside sources or inside motives? Needless to say, I proudly say I literally 'grew-up' in a gym. Some may call me a fitness nut, but there is a deep-rooted love for fitness that began in my youth. I loved KB perhaps only second to you, and I will always love the gym.

Oh! I nearly forgot, I have been designing stages! Off-the-wall, some of them. Some very unusual props and reactive components as well. I started drawing and thinking while guarding that Tigris River bridge. The entire theme was Iraq War based, including the bridge (a traffic control point), the dfac (sic), a roof-top guard position, a market, etc. As my mind wandered I even thought of an Adam-oriented side-match fun shoot that involves shooting from an inverted table (the exercise kind we, as kids, used to spin ourselves end over end in)! Safety would be a huge issue obviously, but it could be done. I even rehearsed the physics of drawing from a table upside down and even doing a reload- not as hard as you might think as long as you can keep the blood from rushing to your head!

My mind often wanders to my father (as well as being a father). Sometimes even the strangest memories surface and my heart deeply yearns to revisit those times. Additionally it turns on the desire to re-create those memories with my own children. Such are the thoughts of a young father I suppose; especially one overseas with the time (too much time) for introspection.

"Some men wonder if what they do will ever make a difference in the world. Marines don't have that problem." - Ronald Reagan

I love you (a lot), I miss you (very much), and I can hardly wait to see you again,

Adam