Memorial Day

Memorial Day

Thursday 27 May 2010

2330

Today I had an experience that was hardly unique, but that was a first for me. I attended a memorial service for two soldiers who recently died in combat in Afghanistan. It was a very moving and sobering experience. I would not want to repeat it, but I do not want to forget it.

The service was held this morning at 10:00 AM in the chapel at Patrick Henry Village, the U.S. housing area where I live in Heidelberg. The announcement of the service came a couple of days ago via email. I didn’t know the soldiers personally, but one of the NCO’s in our section knew one of them, and we all went. (Well, almost all of us. One of my colleagues was headed in the other direction and I asked him if he was going. He said “No, I’ve been to too many of those.” I sort of shrugged it off and went on my way.)

The two men served with V Corps in Afghanistan. V Corps is based in Germany, but units from Germany have been regularly rotating to Iraq and Afghanistan for quite some time. Families and friends here go through the same ordeal that those stationed in the USA go through when their units deploy, with the added stress of being on the other side of the world from their extended families. So the sense of shared responsibility and mutual support within the military community here is especially important.

I parked at home and walked to the chapel. As I approached, I saw there were MP’s on duty directing traffic in and out of the parking lot, which was very full. As I approached the entrance, I passed the honor guard, who were standing outside in full dress uniform with their rifles, standing at parade rest. A red flag with stars on it was posted outside the chapel, indicating that a General Officer was in attendance. As I entered, I saw that most attendees were in our regular camouflage work uniform (ACU’s) as I was, but that the participants in the service were all in dress uniform (“Class A’s” ). A sergeant in Class A’s handed me a program, and another guided me to a seat.

It was a typical military chapel, non-denominational but furnished like you’d expect to see in any church: pews, hymnals, stained glass windows, and an altar up front. The altar was set up to honor the fallen men. In the center was a large wreath, with the U.S. flag and unit flag on either side of it. Outside of these were two easels holding large (poster-sized) photos of each of the men. Between the easels, in front of the altar, were two small platforms, each holding an empty pair of combat boots and a rifle standing barrel-down, with a helmet on top and a pair of dog tags hanging from the grip. The contrast between the confident, smiling faces in the pictures and the lifeless, empty boots and helmets struck me immediately.

The cover of the program looked like this:



Inside the front cover was The Soldier's Creed:

The service started with the National Anthem, sung by a soldier. Then a chaplain gave the invocation, and we were seated. Another soldier read the 23^rd Psalm, which was of course particularly appropriate for the occasion.

The battalion commander stood and gave a tribute to the fallen soldiers of his command. It was professional and well done, just what I’d expect from a commander. He honored them as leaders who “led from the front, by example”. He told a little about each man, his service in the unit, what made him special and how he’d be missed. One of the men (SSG Tieman) was clearly a well-respected and beloved long-time member of the unit. The other (SGT Tomlinson), seemed to have joined the unit relatively recently and to have been less well-known but liked and respected nonetheless.

After the commander, four individual soldiers each gave a tribute to the men. Up until this point, I had been fairly dispassionate. I didn’t really know the men, and although I felt somber and reverent, I cannot say that before this I had felt especially emotional. But when these soldiers, friends and comrades-in-arms of the fallen men, got up to speak, I began to feel it personally.

First came a female soldier who spoke mainly about the kinds of men they were. How they laughed and joked, how the staff sergeant was tough but professional and approachable, and the effect they had on the people around them. She was clearly quite emotional, but she got through it alright. She closed her tribute by reading a poem called “Death Is Nothing At All”.

The next was a fellow NCO (Sergeant) who spoke briefly and professionally about the kind of men they were. He referred to them by their team nickname: “T’n’T”, clearly a term of endearment . He said that he had endured some of the toughest PT he’d ever done under their leadership, but appreciated it as it helped him stay sharp and ready. As these soldiers spoke, I kept looking back and forth at the photos of the men. I had an interesting sense of beginning to feel that I knew them a little.

The next young soldier who spoke was less articulate but obviously moved and speaking from the heart. As he struggled through his tribute, trying to control his voice and express his feelings for the leaders he had lost, my heart went out to him in his anguish. He closed his tribute to SSG Tieman by saying “When I become a non-commissioned officer, I want to be like him.” I don’t think a soldier can give a leader any higher compliment than that.

The last solder to speak was a little guy with glasses, who was quite animated and articulate. He spoke rapidly, telling numerous anecdotes about the impact the sergeants had had on him. As he spoke in an almost light-hearted way, I was struck by how differently each person dealt with their feelings and how each had their own way of coming to terms with the loss and paying their respects to their fallen leaders.

Next, the same soldier who had sung the National Anthem sung “Amazing Grace”, a capella. After that the chaplain gave a memorial message. He spoke about the meaning of Memorial Day, and admonished us not only to celebrate our freedom, but to reflect on the sacrifices made to secure it. He repeated this several times during his message: “Celebrate and Reflect”. We stood for a moment of silence and the benediction.

What happened next took me by surprise. The program listed it as “Roll Call”. The unit first sergeant stepped up front and center in front of the altar, faced the congregation, and began to call out names in a “command voice” (i.e. loudly). The soldiers he called on then answered him just as loudly. (I don’t remember the first few specific names, so I’ll substitute generic ones):

First Sergeant: “Sergeant Smith!”

Sergeant Smith (from in front of me): “Here, First Sergeant!”

First Sergeant: “Sergeant Jones!”

Sergeant Jones (from behind me): “Here, First Sergeant!”

First Sergeant: “Sergeant Martinez!”

Sergeant Martinez (behind me on the left): “Here, First Sergeant!”

First Sergeant: “Staff Sergeant Tieman!”

(Silence…)

First Sergeant: “Staff Sergeant Richard Tieman!”

(Silence…)

First Sergeant: “Staff Sergeant Richard J. Tieman!”

(Silence…)

First Sergeant: “Sergeant Tomlinson!”

(Silence…)

First Sergeant: “Sergeant Joshua Tomlinson!”

(Silence…)

First Sergeant: “Sergeant Joshua A. Tomlinson!”

(Silence…)

Then the First Sergeant turned to the altar, with the boots, rifles, helmets, dogtags, and photos of the fallen men, and raised his hand in a salute. As he did this, the honor guard outside fired three volleys. Then a bugler played “Taps”.

I have to admit that by this time I had tears running down my cheeks. My eyes had misted over a few times during the ceremony, but hearing the First Sergeant calling out their names, and the utter silence afterwards (when you could see their smiling, confident faces in the photographs right behind him) really drove home the fact that these men will never answer another roll call.

We all remained standing as the families of the fallen and members of the command each approached the altar and paid their final respects and exited out the side door. When they were done, the ushers released us one at a time, row by row, front to back, and we each approached the altar and paid our respects.

I was sitting pretty far towards the back, and had quite a long time to observe as people went up front. Two rows in front of me I saw a woman with a tiny baby, fast asleep in a car seat. I wondered who the woman was, although I have a pretty good idea that she is probably the wife of some other soldier who’s still deployed downrange in harm’s way. I kept looking back and forth between the baby’s cute little face, the photos of SSG Tieman and SGT Tomlinson, and the back of the mother’s head, wondering how she must have felt and what she was thinking.

During this time I was also struck by something that had been in front of me the whole time but that I hadn’t really noticed or thought about. I said earlier that the chapel had all the same kinds of furniture you’d expect in any church. But while standing and watching the people go up one by one, I realized that it had one kind of furniture you wouldn’t normally expect to see. The platforms on which the boots and rifles were displayed were custom-made, purpose-built platforms specifically designed for this kind of memorial service. They were professionally finished just like the rest of the chapel furnishings. Just as the pews had a place for the hymnals, these platforms had a step for the boots and a hole to place the rifle barrel in. I wondered how many more such platforms there are in military chapels around the world, and thought about how sad it is that we need them.

As the people went to the altar, each paid their respects in their own way. Some laid trinkets such as unit coins, others laid flowers, many knelt and prayed or crossed themselves, and every soldier saluted. When it was my turn, I went up, stood at attention and looked at them one last time, saluted and said “Thanks, men”. Then I walked out.

On the way out, I passed soldiers who were posted in the aisle holding out boxes of tissues. By this time I was composed and didn’t need one, but I thought that was an extraordinarily thoughtful and sensitive touch. I walked outside, passed the honor guard (still standing at parade rest), and took a deep breath of fresh air. It felt good to be outside in the open, and good to be alive.

I have to say, with no disrespect intended to the fallen, that if I never attend another service like that it will be too soon. Now I understand what my friend meant when he said he’d “been to too many of those”.

Celebrate and Reflect:

Mood: Somber and Reflective

Music: Mozart: Requiem