PCADaveinPhila
New member
I got this from my father and wanted to share it. It is a way for us to say Thanks to all Vets.
Cemetery Watchman ..
My friend Kevin and I are volunteers at a National cemetery in Oklahoma and put in a few days a month in a ' slightly larger ' uniform.
Today had been a long, long day and I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey ' s and have a cold one. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 16:55. 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 it to Smokey ' s in time.
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 thirty 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 flower 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: France1918.
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 and more tears flowed. '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 and more tears flowed.
'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 fast. We beat her. She hadn ' t made it around the rotunda yet.
'Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. 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 far beyond the realm of most.
I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.
Instead of 'The End, ' just think of 'Taps.'
As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer: '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.
'In God We Trust. '
Sorry about your monitor; it made mine blurry too!
If we ever forget that we ' re one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone under!
You are required to pass this on NOW!!
Cemetery Watchman ..
My friend Kevin and I are volunteers at a National cemetery in Oklahoma and put in a few days a month in a ' slightly larger ' uniform.
Today had been a long, long day and I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey ' s and have a cold one. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 16:55. 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 it to Smokey ' s in time.
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 thirty 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 flower 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: France1918.
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 and more tears flowed. '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 and more tears flowed.
'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 fast. We beat her. She hadn ' t made it around the rotunda yet.
'Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. 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 far beyond the realm of most.
I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.
Instead of 'The End, ' just think of 'Taps.'
As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer: '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.
'In God We Trust. '
Sorry about your monitor; it made mine blurry too!
If we ever forget that we ' re one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone under!
You are required to pass this on NOW!!