I've been asked to pass along this essay and do so with pride. Thanks, Phedup and fellow Patriot Guard Riders.
An author once wrote "Today our public worlds demand a few good people who can walk among the masses and negotiate with the powerful but never change, never capitulate, never compromise" After meeting and spending time with Lee "Rough Rider" Lash, I believe he may well be one of those people.
The alarm went off at 5:00 am but I'd been awake since 3:00. The sleep I'd had was troubled, I kept dreaming of bright, multicolored signs and little girls trampling on flags in the snow. As I layed there, I had doubts as to my purpose.
"It's going to be cold" I thought. Then I remembered the 101st at Bastogne. "Yeah, but I'm so tired" I told myself. Then I remembered those at Battan. "Lee's all over this, everything is ready and complete and there's no reason for me to go" I tried to reason. "Yeah, but the last post you made last night was that you were going" I reminded my frazzled pscyche. Then a strange thing happened. A voice I hadn't heard in 20 some odd years barked "You owe the respect of those who have fallen. You owe all you have to those and others like them." Nuff said. Thanks Boats. Thanks Lynn.
The sun broke the horizon about the time I hit Columbia. I could see that the foot of snow we'd gotten in Kansas City two days before, was not relinquishing it's blanket as I chased the sum. The dawn was cold and bright and brought with it a sense of purpose, and an underlying feeling of sheer terror. My mind raced faster than the little PT rolling east, a mixture of light and sound, words and voices, thoughts and re-thoughts. People that hadn't spoken to me in years kept barking welcomed orders in my mind: "Military bearing, sailor!" "Pop-tall!!" "We are more as a unit than we are alone" and a host of other commands meant to keep my torn emotions at bay. Those that know me, know I am an emotional person. I'm either way up, or way down. There simply is no in-between. I was terrified that I, one of those chosen to provide management, organization and order, at the most inoportune time, would simply fly into a rage and rip someone's head off, and sh*t down their neck.
I rolled into St. Louis on schedule and found the Rough Rider right where he said he'd be. You know when you meet a guy, and you just know the handshake is going to be strong and true? Ayuh... virtual vice grip baby...
At 9:30 am on the dot, we were once again pointed east. We picked up the pick-up (heh) with the "God Bless SSG Harper" sandwich-board sign in the back, along with big al 66, and then once again were rolling north and east. You can tell Illinois is in America's heartland. Gently rolling fields as far as they eye could see, gently covered in layers of pristine white, sleeping, in preparation for springs plantings, and the renewal of life that comes with the season.
We reached the staging point in Virden right on time. There were about 30 to 40 people there already. There was coffee inside, and I believe there were few who failed to take advantage of the hospitality. Lee and I went ahead to recon the staging area. Lee had the Patriot Guard banner in the window of his truck, and as we pulled up we were surrounded by LEO's eager to meet and speak with us. As we conversed I could see the look of disgust on the LEO's faces and I could simply feel the displeasure at their task radiating off of them like some inner heat source. By this time I was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and sensing the same emotions I was battling emanating from the LEO's gave me an idea that I might be normal after all. The gentleman Lee was talking to got us all lined out as to the particulars of the event, and we regressed to the staging location.
Promptly at 12:30, have I mention Lee was thorough? We all lined up for the convoy to the funeral home, Lee in front with the PGR banner, the pick-up with the "God Bless SSG Harper" sign second, then the truck with the PGR flags on each side, which I now know was ivetret and her husband. There were already many people there and they parted like a sea of black, gray, and denim as we began staging in the appointed positions. A flurry of activity was unleashed as people with an obvious purpose began emerging from what were seemingly everywhere, unfurling flags and signs and polls. Soon the entire area was awash in color, American flags, Marine Corps flags, all whipping in the wind, sound and color assaulting the senses. I asked a gentleman next to me to hold my flag so I could take some pics, and the reply was "I'd be honored to". I just about cried right there. I have mentioned I'm a tad emotional haven't I? I believe, that gentleman was CG from Quincy, but I'm not sure. My appologies if I'm in error in my reckoning. I shot some pics, which I'll have up later, and returned to the crowd watching, to study the event that was unfolding around me. For those that weren't there, it was simply amazing. The cages kept coming. And coming. Flags and people. People and flags. By the time the fleas made their landing, the area was full, with what I estimate to be, well over 300 obvious bikers and Veterans. ICVMC, OMC, ISMC VVRMC and a host of other MC's that I don't know the acronyms for.
The troll's showed up on time as is their modus operandi, and quickly commenced their chosen activities. Those of us closest to the line of trolls, were engrossed in the side-show presentation. Then a wonderful and brilliant thing happened. The Rough Rider stepped back and called the company to attention. As ONE, as many as I could see became ramrod straight and focused. Then Rough Rider yelled in the cold, crisp air, "ABOUT FACE". Repeatedly, as ONE, snow, mud, ice and all, some of the crispest about faces I have ever seen were executed. I've never been more proud to be part of an event. One part of the mission ride soon gained strenght, with what I can only describe as "dueling scriptures" as Jim, I believe was the young mans name, yelling the True Word of Christ, and the trolls countering with their abominations of the same. Periodically, those who had simply had too much, would yell back a reply at something uttered by the trolls, which was simply too bizarre or obtuse to leave unrequited.
As I studied those around me and met the eyes of the strong willed men and women around me, I saw the same look returned. The same look I knew I was showing. Anger. Anger so strong, it flushed the faces of the Veterans and bikers around me. The color was strong in these men, even though the air was bitterly cold in the wind. I also noticed that most of the crowd in attendance, from the Vets, to the bikers, and including myself were shaking. I personally don't think it was due to the cold. But also, there was another look I saw. Deeper, past the obvious and totally pure anger. A look of pain. Pain and sadness. How could this be? How could these people do this? Don't they realize that this person DIED so that they could present this abomination to God and Country?!?!?! I could feel the overwhelming pain from the Vietnam Veterans as the faces of the friends lost in that Godforsaken war washed through their minds like some sort of macabre movie that can't be shut off. I'm sorry, I cry as I type this and I can't help it, I have to get it out. I also cry out these feelings for the many I know who won't, or can't.
At this point I think I became somewhat detatched. I felt as if I myself was watching some kind of freakish movie being made. A cast of characters kept moving in and out of frame. Close-ups and pan shots, all moving in a dizzying display. I do know remember when someone from the family would show up. The crowd all cheered and it was if the ground shook. I was concious of when several members of what I believe was part of SSGT Harpers unit arrived. The ground shook again. I was aware of the 21 gun salute. I saw the formation and knew it was coming and the first round of rifle fire still made me jump. I couldn't hear Taps being played and I was glad. I knew If I had, I would have been reduced to a blubbering idiot. Taps was sounded by a lone bugler at my fathers funeral. He was at the Bulge and on the Maginot line. I lost it then and I lose everytime I hear Taps now.
The trolls packed up and left at the appointed time, just like when they arrived. It's obviously a well-rehearsed routine. There were a number of one-finger salutes as the van they were in filed past the gathering of the civilized. The crowd began to disperse at that point. I think it was about this time that I came somewhat back to reality. I had the presence of mind to start snapping pics of all the different patch wearers. The diversity in the collection of Patriots was amazing. I did mention like, 300 people right? Ok. Lee made an amouncement to the group that we were invited by the family to attend the service and where and how to enter and where they wanted us to sit. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle the service, I can relate CJ.
I had wanted to touch base with Lee again, but I needed to get on. I had a 4 1/2 hour ride home. The family had invited those who wanted to go, to the reception. The Iron Sleds MC invited those who wanted to, to a drink back at the club house. I was personally invited by one of the ISMC members and considered it an honor but I knew I had no business drinking and driving. I also knew I was already pushing it. My health isn't the greatest and I knew I still had over 300 miles to cover.
Personally, I feel this mission ride was more than a success. It was a monumental representation of what can happen when good comes together against evil. There were several reporters running around at a feverish pace. I remember several different news teams, cameras and reportes et all. I made the cardinal sin of forgetting pen and pad, so any exact reporting is my failing.
I know this is too long and I apologize, but it's been a catharsis for me getting it out. I'd like to give a shout out to HDDragon (awesome lady) Big Al 66 (show has a brother in the sandbox as I type) and Big Guy and Rough Rider. It's good to put faces with forum names. On the flip side, I need to apologize to ivetret and CG and other forum members who were there for not introducing myself. It was Lee's gig and I was trying to remain unobtrusive.
I could go on about the feelings I experienced and thoughts I had, a traversal of the entire emotional spectrum on the 300+ miles home but I won't. Heh, you thought I was going to go on forever huh?
Humbly submitted by a faithful PGR servant,
phedup