This was sent to me by a good friend,
I just wanted to share it with everyone.
Some may have read it before, some never.
The meanings the same no matter how
many times we read it.
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".
From a U.S.M.C. Veteran
As a final thought...
"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.
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