moreluck
golden ticket member
By Joseph L. Galloway
> McClatchy Newspapers
>
> It's that time of year again. Memorial Day weekend is the beginning of
> summer fun for most Americans, and as I've done before in this space,
> I want to pause to take note of the real reason there is a Memorial
> Day.
>
> It's meant to honor and pay our respects to those Americans who've
> given their lives in service to our nation, who stand in an unbroken
> line from Lexington's rude bridge to Cemetery Ridge to the Argonne
> Forest to the beaches of Normandy to the frozen Chosin Reservoir to
> the Ia Drang Valley to the sands of Kuwait to the streets of Baghdad.
> Over the past 12 months, 1,042 soldiers, Marines, sailors and Air
> Force personnel have given their lives in the terrible duty that is
> war. Thousands more have come home on stretchers, horribly wounded and
> facing months or years in military hospitals.
>
> This week, I'm turning my space over to a good friend and former
> roommate, Army Lt. Col. Robert Bateman, who recently completed a
> year-long tour of duty in Iraq and is now back at the Pentagon.
> Here's Lt. Col. Bateman's account of a little-known ceremony that
> fills the halls of the Army corridor of the Pentagon with cheers,
> applause and many tears every Friday morning. It first appeared on May
> 17 on the web-log of media critic and pundit Eric Alterman at the
> Media Matters for America Web site.
>
> "It is 110 yards from the "E" ring to the "A" ring of the Pentagon.
> This section of the Pentagon is newly renovated; the floors shine, the
> hallway is broad, and the lighting is bright. At this instant the
> entire length of the corridor is packed with officers, a few sergeants
> and some civilians, all crammed tightly three and four deep against
> the walls. There are thousands here.
>
> "This hallway, more than any other, is the 'Army' hallway. The G3
> offices line one side, G2 the other, G8 is around the corner. All
> Army. Moderate conversations flow in a low buzz. Friends who may not
> have seen each other for a few weeks, or a few years, spot each other,
> cross the way and renew. Everyone shifts to ensure an open path
> remains down the center. The air conditioning system was not designed
> for this press of bodies in this area. The temperature is rising
> already. Nobody cares.
>
> "10:36 hours: The clapping starts at the E-Ring. That is the outermost
> of the five rings of the Pentagon and it is closest to the entrance to
> the building. This clapping is low, sustained, hearty. It is applause
> with a deep emotion behind it as it moves forward in a wave down the
> length of the hallway.
>
> "A steady rolling wave of sound it is, moving at the pace of the
> soldier in the wheelchair who marks the forward edge with his
> presence. He is the first. He is missing the greater part of one leg,
> and some of his wounds are still suppurating. By his age I expect that
> he is a private, or perhaps a private first class.
>
> "Captains, majors, lieutenant colonels and colonels meet his gaze and
> nod as they applaud, soldier to soldier. Three years ago when I
> described one of these events, those lining the hallways were somewhat
> different. The applause a little wilder, perhaps in private guilt for
> not having shared in the burden . . . yet.
>
> "Now almost everyone lining the hallway is, like the man in the
> wheelchair, also a combat veteran. This steadies the applause, but I
> think deepens the sentiment. We have all been there now. The soldier's
> chair is pushed by, I believe, a full colonel.
>
> "Behind him, and stretching the length from Rings E to A, come more of
> his peers, each private, corporal or sergeant assisted as need be by a
> field grade officer.
>
> "11:00 hours: Twenty-four minutes of steady applause. My hands hurt,
> and I laugh to myself at how stupid that sounds in my own head. 'My
> hands hurt.' Christ. Shut up and clap. For twenty-four minutes,
> soldier after soldier has come down this hallway _ 20, 25, 30.
> Fifty-three legs come with them, and perhaps only 52 hands or arms,
> but down this hall came 30 solid hearts.
>
> "They pass down this corridor of officers and applause, and then meet
> for a private lunch, at which they are the guests of honor, hosted by
> the generals. Some are wheeled along. Some insist upon getting out of
> their chairs, to march as best they can with their chin held up, down
> this hallway, through this most unique audience. Some are catching
> handshakes and smiling like a politician at a Fourth of July parade.
> More than a couple of them seem amazed and are smiling shyly.
>
> "There are families with them as well: the 18-year-old war-bride
> pushing her 19-year-old husband's wheelchair and not quite
> understanding why her husband is so affected by this, the boy she grew
> up with, now a man, who had never shed a tear is crying; the older
> immigrant Latino parents who have, perhaps more than their wounded
> mid-20s son, an appreciation for the emotion given on their son's
> behalf. No man in that hallway, walking or clapping, is ashamed by the
> silent tears on more than a few cheeks. An Airborne Ranger wipes his
> eyes only to better see. A couple of the officers in this crowd have
> themselves been a part of this parade in the past.
>
> "These are our men, broken in body they may be, but they are our
> brothers, and we welcome them home. This parade has gone on, every
> single Friday, all year long, for more than four years."
>
> McClatchy Newspapers
>
> It's that time of year again. Memorial Day weekend is the beginning of
> summer fun for most Americans, and as I've done before in this space,
> I want to pause to take note of the real reason there is a Memorial
> Day.
>
> It's meant to honor and pay our respects to those Americans who've
> given their lives in service to our nation, who stand in an unbroken
> line from Lexington's rude bridge to Cemetery Ridge to the Argonne
> Forest to the beaches of Normandy to the frozen Chosin Reservoir to
> the Ia Drang Valley to the sands of Kuwait to the streets of Baghdad.
> Over the past 12 months, 1,042 soldiers, Marines, sailors and Air
> Force personnel have given their lives in the terrible duty that is
> war. Thousands more have come home on stretchers, horribly wounded and
> facing months or years in military hospitals.
>
> This week, I'm turning my space over to a good friend and former
> roommate, Army Lt. Col. Robert Bateman, who recently completed a
> year-long tour of duty in Iraq and is now back at the Pentagon.
> Here's Lt. Col. Bateman's account of a little-known ceremony that
> fills the halls of the Army corridor of the Pentagon with cheers,
> applause and many tears every Friday morning. It first appeared on May
> 17 on the web-log of media critic and pundit Eric Alterman at the
> Media Matters for America Web site.
>
> "It is 110 yards from the "E" ring to the "A" ring of the Pentagon.
> This section of the Pentagon is newly renovated; the floors shine, the
> hallway is broad, and the lighting is bright. At this instant the
> entire length of the corridor is packed with officers, a few sergeants
> and some civilians, all crammed tightly three and four deep against
> the walls. There are thousands here.
>
> "This hallway, more than any other, is the 'Army' hallway. The G3
> offices line one side, G2 the other, G8 is around the corner. All
> Army. Moderate conversations flow in a low buzz. Friends who may not
> have seen each other for a few weeks, or a few years, spot each other,
> cross the way and renew. Everyone shifts to ensure an open path
> remains down the center. The air conditioning system was not designed
> for this press of bodies in this area. The temperature is rising
> already. Nobody cares.
>
> "10:36 hours: The clapping starts at the E-Ring. That is the outermost
> of the five rings of the Pentagon and it is closest to the entrance to
> the building. This clapping is low, sustained, hearty. It is applause
> with a deep emotion behind it as it moves forward in a wave down the
> length of the hallway.
>
> "A steady rolling wave of sound it is, moving at the pace of the
> soldier in the wheelchair who marks the forward edge with his
> presence. He is the first. He is missing the greater part of one leg,
> and some of his wounds are still suppurating. By his age I expect that
> he is a private, or perhaps a private first class.
>
> "Captains, majors, lieutenant colonels and colonels meet his gaze and
> nod as they applaud, soldier to soldier. Three years ago when I
> described one of these events, those lining the hallways were somewhat
> different. The applause a little wilder, perhaps in private guilt for
> not having shared in the burden . . . yet.
>
> "Now almost everyone lining the hallway is, like the man in the
> wheelchair, also a combat veteran. This steadies the applause, but I
> think deepens the sentiment. We have all been there now. The soldier's
> chair is pushed by, I believe, a full colonel.
>
> "Behind him, and stretching the length from Rings E to A, come more of
> his peers, each private, corporal or sergeant assisted as need be by a
> field grade officer.
>
> "11:00 hours: Twenty-four minutes of steady applause. My hands hurt,
> and I laugh to myself at how stupid that sounds in my own head. 'My
> hands hurt.' Christ. Shut up and clap. For twenty-four minutes,
> soldier after soldier has come down this hallway _ 20, 25, 30.
> Fifty-three legs come with them, and perhaps only 52 hands or arms,
> but down this hall came 30 solid hearts.
>
> "They pass down this corridor of officers and applause, and then meet
> for a private lunch, at which they are the guests of honor, hosted by
> the generals. Some are wheeled along. Some insist upon getting out of
> their chairs, to march as best they can with their chin held up, down
> this hallway, through this most unique audience. Some are catching
> handshakes and smiling like a politician at a Fourth of July parade.
> More than a couple of them seem amazed and are smiling shyly.
>
> "There are families with them as well: the 18-year-old war-bride
> pushing her 19-year-old husband's wheelchair and not quite
> understanding why her husband is so affected by this, the boy she grew
> up with, now a man, who had never shed a tear is crying; the older
> immigrant Latino parents who have, perhaps more than their wounded
> mid-20s son, an appreciation for the emotion given on their son's
> behalf. No man in that hallway, walking or clapping, is ashamed by the
> silent tears on more than a few cheeks. An Airborne Ranger wipes his
> eyes only to better see. A couple of the officers in this crowd have
> themselves been a part of this parade in the past.
>
> "These are our men, broken in body they may be, but they are our
> brothers, and we welcome them home. This parade has gone on, every
> single Friday, all year long, for more than four years."
>