A Sacred Obligation

A Sacred Obligation

 or What Did You Do Today?

­ Tom Wann, Historian, American Legion Post 286, Odessa, Mo.

Members of the Funeral Honors Team get to the VFW building half an hour before the funeral is over. They load up the vehicles with weapons and flags of honor and wait for the rest of the team to arrive. A couple of them have a drink, a few more talk about the deceased and a few others chat about the weather and the market. They are dressed simply in black trousers and white shirts adorned with the Funeral Honors Team patch and the American flag, over a black dickie. They wear a military style hat and black shoes. They sport mustaches, full beards, sideburns, long hair (trimmed or otherwise), mostly contrary to the military standards into which they had enlisted years ago. This is a small town and they all know each other and the veteran who has left them.

The team, men and women, collectively represent the Veterans of Foreign Wars, American Legion, Sons of the American Legion, American Veterans and the Veterans of Foreign Wars Auxiliary. They represent several American conflicts from WWII to Korea to Vietnam to Desert Storm, Iraqi Freedom, and beyond. They also represent The United States Air Force, Army, Marine Corps, Missouri National Guard, and the Navy, veteran, active, reserve or retired. All of them can probably claim family members who had served in past wars and conflicts dating back to the American Revolution; military life seems to be genetic. Their tours of duty spread across the globe in places most civilians do not want to visit or have never heard about. While on duty they met people who hated or loved them because of their skin color, language, religion, national origin and other reasons people use to justify hate or love. The team's military jobs ran the array of “needs of the service” from combat duty to dental technician, from supply clerk to gunner, from cook to medic, officer, enlisted, and so on. They remember their time in uniform with pride while respecting and honoring each other’s experiences. They each earned an Honorable Discharge.

The honorable service of deceased veterans from all services and conflicts is also given respect, but now it's time to go. The small convoy of civilian cars and vans with military pride decals on the windows depart the VFW hall enroute to the cemetery. The ceremonial place is obvious; it is marked with a green turf tarp over fresh dug dirt with an awning erected over it. The old veterans pull up into the cemetery and get out. They take one of the two ceremonial rifles, seven firing rifles, an American flag, an Army Service flag and the American Legion flag out of the trunk of one car. The Bugler gets out with his bugle and steps over to the small crowd hanging together next to the funeral awning out of the cold wind. With smiles, they shake hands with the active duty personnel in dress blues who arrive as a part of their duty to this ceremony. They chat awhile and wait for word from the funeral director by cell phone.

The detail leader of the Funeral Honors Team tells them where to line up. They form a casual line in preparation for the event and wait for the mourners who are just now leaving the funeral home. ETA is 15 minutes. The leader says to start falling in and gives the order, “Dress Right, Dress.” They form a single line evenly spaced, side by side, the Rifle Team is at the ready, safeties on for now. Flags are unfurled and the bugle is ready for that last, single, most mournful tune. The leader commands masterfully, “ATTENTION!”, “Parade Rest.” They perform the moves learned and well mastered years before. The cortege has left and is now slowly, mournfully enroute. The show begins. To explain, I say “show” here, not as a piece of entertainment but as a visual statement of loyalty, historical continuity, and cohesiveness. It shows others that this is serious. It shows them we never forget. By the rendering of final honors and rites it goes into the memory and full hearts of all mourners. Those veterans yet living see that they will also be honored accordingly.

The mourners arrive with the hearse leading the way, the family car immediately behind, followed by the rest of the family and friends. They flow in, maybe twenty to thirty cars, get out, walk to the awning with the Army flag flapping in the cool wind. They look a bit underdressed for the weather. Maybe they can use the air as an excuse for the moist eyes. The funeral director directs the crowd for the grave side service. As the pallbearers remove the flag­draped casket, the command is given: “PRESENT ARMS!” The honors team “snaps to” and renders the salute of ancient honor. When the deceased is at the open grave a quieter command is given, “Parade Rest!” The team set the rifles at their side and stands at rest. The preacher then says a few words of eternity and comfort amidst a few sniffles and cleared throats.

The detail leader sends a silent signal to the honors team. Their hearts now beat a little stronger and faster. Rifle safeties are off.

“ATTENTION!”

“PRESENT ARMS!”

            “READY, AIM, FIRE!”

            “READY, AIM, FIRE!”

            “READY, AIM, FIRE!”

            “PRESENT ARMS!”

Twenty one blank rounds explode from the barrels in the silence of the cemetery, seven rifles, three rounds each. Live rounds are only for combat and marksmanship.

The bugle, an ancient instrument, has been used for many military calls to call members out of bed, to chow, to assemble, lights out, prepare to fight, attack, retreat, and other reasons during its history. Today it is called upon one more time in a small town cemetery to perform “Butterfield's Lullaby” named for the Major General who wrote it in 1862: “Taps.” The first line is, “Day is Done.” All stand at attention and the bugle tune makes that sound. It makes tears fall and our skin crawl. It brings faces and memories back to mind. They think of their past comrades, places they've been and all stand in respectful awe. Some remember the newly deceased. The mourners stand and face the music while a few more tears are wiped. Children have questions, but the answers come later.

“Order Arms!” The rifles are brought back to their sides. The sight and sound is now in all hearts and minds. The flag is ceremonially removed and hovered above the casket and enfolded to a formal triangle with well rehearsed hands, then presented to the next of kin with,

“. . .on behalf of a grateful nation.” Condolences are offered, more tears.

Another silent signal and the team is released with, “Dismissed.” They recover the brass cartridges from the grass that ejected only moments before with each volley and given to the next of kin. The old veterans return to the cars, load the weapons and flags, then depart, another funeral done, another fellow veteran honored and remembered.

Upon arrival at the VFW/American Legion Hall a bit of housekeeping occurs and they go to their cantina for a couple rounds of cheer. Words of remembrance are again spoken among them, privately this time, then a special liquor is pulled out from a hiding place. The pouring, the toast, the solemn salute then glasses are downed. No one speaks of future funerals. Funerals will happen in time but the team is a bit superstitious. When someone talks about funerals another funeral is soon to happen, another veteran might die. They talk about other things and go home. The sacred obligation is done. One day it will be their turn; until then honorable, hard–working, unsung life goes on, but we remember.