[I have just returned from five days at Guantanamo Bay. I was expecting to be blown away at the quality of the people I would meet there, but I was not prepared for how far they went beyond my high initial expectations. I'll have a Veteran's Day Afterburner about the experience by Wednesday morning. Until then, please conside this a small token of my undying respect and admiration for our retired and active duty military personnel. They are beyond my ability to describe. But I will try.
This was the first thing I ever posted online. It originally appeared through the kindness of Steven Den Beste at USS Clueless. Steven was writing about the American military, and I wrote this to him as soon as I returned from my father's funeral at Arlington. I'm very grateful to Steven for having published it in its entirety (and his subsequent support of Eject! Eject! Eject!), because this small essay, and the response it received from you fine people, is what got me writing.
Thanks, Steven -- you are missed. And thanks especially to all of you for the support and encouragement. I never knew life could be this good, and I owe that to all of you. -- BW]
On October 7th, 2002 I returned to Los Angeles from Arlington National Cemetery where we interred my father, 2nd Lt. William Joseph Whittle, who died from what may have been sheer joy during a fishing trip in Canada.
My dad served in the US Army in Germany, from 1944 through 1946. He was an intelligence officer, and was responsible for recording the time of death of the convicted War Criminals at Nuremburg after the war. He saw them hanged — he stood there with a stopwatch. He was 21 years old.
My father spent two years in the U.S. Military. He spent a lifetime in the corporate world. After twenty years as a world-class hotel manager, turning entire properties from liabilities into assets, he was let go without so much as a thank-you dinner or a handshake. Twenty years of service. He was a four-star general in the corporate world for two decades, and that was his reward.
Monday afternoon, at 1 pm, I stood underneath the McClellan arch at ANC. There were 13 family members there. There were also 40 men in uniform. I was stunned.
They took my dad’s ashes, in what looked like a really nice cigar box (what a little box for such a big man, I thought at that moment), and placed it in what looked like a metallic coffin on the back of a horse drawn caisson. His ashes were handled by other twenty-one year old men, men whose fathers were children when my dad was in uniform. Everything was inspected, checked, and handled with awesome, palpable, radiating reverence and respect.
As we walked behind the caisson, the band played not a dirge, but a march…a tune that left me searching for the right adjective, which I didn’t find until the flight home. It was TRIUMPHAL. It was the sound you make when you bring a hero home. It was the only time during the service that I really began to cry.
My father received a military funeral: the folded flag, the 21 gun salute, the honor guard, and a Chaplain named Crisp who declared a grateful nation was welcoming their brother William home to rest among heroes.
My dad served for two years. He wrote on the back of his Army officer class graduation photo that he expected to die fighting for his country within a few months. Most everybody who signed his photo wrote the same thing.
The chaplain said, looking my stepmom in the eyes like this was the first time he’d ever said the words, that the men and women buried here had agreed to lay down their lives for their country and each other, and that THIS, not rank, or social status, or length in service, is what entitled them to be buried in America’s most sacred ground.
Before the ceremony, I was looking at the headstones, and it’s sad how each area of Arlington is like a forlorn vintage: here are buried the veterans who died around 1995, there is the 1982 vintage, the mid-fifties crop over on yonder hill. And standing between a Major and a Lt. Colonel, I saw a headstone for a PFC who was born in 1979, the year I entered college, and who had died in 1998. This young man, not even twenty, couldn’t have been in the service for more than a few months, and yet there he lay, with the same headstone as colonels and majors and the many, many sergeants that cover those fields.
That is American honor, and no where else in the world does it exist in such a naked, magnificent form. Each of these men and women, this band of brothers, receiving the same heartfelt respect. For my father, who died at age 77, it was the honoring of a contract he had signed more than half a century before, defending Europe and helping bring those criminal bastards to justice. It was a contract paid in full, one that has given my family and me an indescribable sense of comfort and pride.
As we were leaving, it dawned on me that the ugly brown-grey building I had been looking at across the road looked suddenly familiar. I asked the funeral coordinator if that was, in fact, the Pentagon, and he replied that it was…indeed, it was the side that the aircraft struck.
On September 11, 2001, this man was about to conduct a morning service on a hill about 1/2 mile from that brown-grey wall. He heard a roar and a whine, saw a silver blur fifty feet above his head, and watched as a 757 immolated itself against the side of the Pentagon. It was my unpleasant duty to inform him that a book claiming that the plane crash never happened, but was rather an intelligence service plot, had become one of the best-selling books in France, the country my father and millions of other American’s were willing to die for in order to liberate as young men.
My mother remains, to this day, a proud British Subject, the daughter of a man Awarded the Order of the British Empire in 1954 for his service in the Royal Marines. She, my grandfather and uncle were nearly murdered by Egyptian mobs during the Suez crisis, and she is fiercely proud of both of her native country and the one she married into. Yet she said that nowhere in the world do ordinary servicemen or women receive anything like this level of honor and respect and reverence, and she is right. All nations honor their generals and heroes. This nation honors privates and sergeants in indistinguishable fashion.
Walking behind the flag-draped caisson of an Army 2nd Lieutenant that day, I felt that my father was receiving the funeral of the President of the United States. And, number of people on the parade route aside, as a matter of fact, he was.
Thank you so much for re-posting Honor. I’m looking forward to your new Afterburner. Keep up the excellent work! I remember from some of your earlier posts on Eject that your father used to work at a hotel in Bermuda. Were you born there?
The 40th president of the United States of America would have approved of your father — and given a true salute to his casket right there. Amen for people like John Whittle! And amen for his hunting down those Nazi bastards — the same vermin socialists in the White House, in the Swiss banks, in the UNATCO offices who threaten our children today!
Bill, I read this for the first time when Steven Den Beste posted it on his blog. I’ve read it several times since. It is just as powerful and moving THIS time as it was the very first time. Thank you for posting it again.
As has happened to me countless times before, to read the story of one more American hero made every cell of me offer a salute. Too often it seems, what I have read was eulogy to a hero now gone ahead of the rest of us. It’s difficult to keep a hero from taking the point.
I hope that that is what you were hoping to cause in me, and others. It is a sensation full of the pride for the honors our heroes deserve.
And, permit me to end with brief prayer not only for our heroes, but for all of us for whom they faced giving their all :
Hear! Hear! America! God shed His grace on thee.
Thanks for reposting this, Bill.
Thank you, Bill.
Thank you, Bill, for posting this again. Something’s wrong, though, because every time I read this darned piece, it makes my monitor go all blurry…
My personal thanks to your father for his service to our great nation – his time in the military defending her, his time in the workforce building her, and his time as a parent producing responsible, right-thinking offspring.
“Well done soldier – mission complete. Welcome home.”
“On September 11, 2001, this man was about to conduct a morning service on a hill about 1/2 mile from that brown-grey wall. He heard a roar and a whine, saw a silver blur fifty feet above his head, and watched as a 757 immolated itself against the side of the Pentagon. It was my unpleasant duty to inform him that a book claiming that the plane crash never happened, but was rather an intelligence service plot, had become one of the best-selling books in France, the country my father and millions of other Americans were willing to die for in order to liberate as young men.”
I think this one paragraph encapsulates one of the great tragedies of our age.
God bless your father, Mr. W.
At Nicedeb’s place, I told about how I was in the honor guard during my short time in the Marine Corps, and how ANYONE can’t be overcome with emotion at how the US military treats it’s warrior dead is someone who’s soul has vacated them.
My brother was also a service member and unlike me he served in war. Also unlike me, he wasn’t a true believer.
I was a true believer, not “like your father.” but with the same intention. My life was the Corps, not a resume’ filler.
I joined with the intention and expectation that I would die in service, and I made a point of telling everyone I cared about, about my intentions.
I was CRUEL to the love of my life and chased her away with my false cruelty, I lied to her, and I told everyone I cared about other lies so that they didn’t have to suffer the pain of my (planned) eventual death.
Let them suffer once at my funeral if they still remember any kindness for me when that time occurs.
A thing about servicemembers there are the cloaking members, they are generally pieces of crap. They just want a veil of respectability.
I was a true believer.
The veiling players and maskers of their true nature are pieces of crap, as the Marines call them “Birds.” SCREW them, I feel nothing for them.
I was a True believer, I was an engineering major college attendee, (mechanical with extra focus on aeronautical whatchimacallits (it’s been 18 years)) and I dropped out of college to join the Marines.
My best friend, my VERY BEST FRIEND, a guy I knew since I was 5 years old, tells this quip. “Doug is the only guy I have known or read about that joined college TO join the Marine Corps.”
I’m a true believer. I was rare at the time I served, ten years ago, but now? I’m a nothing, these guys now are AMAZING!
I have axiety attacks because I’m not there any more.
Being a civvy isn’t much easier than being an in theater glory seeker who finds that they are wrong.
Bill,
If you wish, let me know where your father is in the Columbarinum. I get close a few times a year in Section 60 to visit with my Mom and Dad and other friends.
I’d be honored to visit your Dad.
My condolences on the passing of your father and my thanks for his service.
I just read this for the first time and as I read it I can see in my mind the ceremony that they gave my father when he passed away. He is resting in Willamette National Cemetery and his ceremony was identical to the one your father received. Thank you very much.
I seem to have something in my eye…
Your Mother was right: we don’t do this in Britain. A very fine tradition.
OT: Have you seen this new Video regarding “Global Warming”, it is a must watch.
http://www.coyoteblog.com/coyote_blog/2009/11/new-climate-video-catastrophe-denied.html#comments
I thought you were going to write an essay on AGW?
I own “Silent America” and have for a few years, but I loaned it to my brother a while back and it was nice to be able to read some of it. I had been offline for almost a year, and am wondering, Bill, what happened to the old site? I tried to go to the old Ejectia and ended up here.
Bill, the power of this essay is undiminished. And I’m sure you will say that it is due to the power of the facts you present. Well, it stands on them, to be sure.
But there is a frightening, even loathsome corallary: that one day long from now, in the natural course of events, your father’s funeral might be the funeral of the current President of the United States. We can hope that he and his may stay true to type and decide that it’s somehow beneath them. After all, Arlington was Robert E. Lee’s estate once. Which would just go to show that some people will never understand. But in this case, it might be a good thing.
I’m sorry to drop such bitter rain on the grounds of honor, but the time will come when we must face the issue.
Thank you Bill. This describes, very closely my own experience burying my own father at ANC in August of 2005. He was Viet Nam veteran, LTC, with a Silver Star, and two Bronze Stars with “V” insignia. That is holy ground there and my father’s grave is right in view of the Pentagon, just like you said. I visited there a couple of years later with some friends and all of our kids. There were five young boys, ages 2 to 6, running through the headstones, giggling and carrying on while I was trying to be respectful and somber. Then, I realized that the children’s laughter was probably sweet music to the fallen heroes surrounding us. My screen is getting blurry, so I’ll have to sign off and see about getting it fixed. Keep up the good work on your blog and PJTV.
Dave
I had not read this before. Thanks for writing the piece.
I’d like to let you know that my family members from WWI and WWII, and your Father, are now neighbors at Arlington.
Bill,
I just read the article about your father’s funeral at ANC. Although I never went here until I was out of the army, friends of mine, to include my best friend, were in the Old Guard at Ft. Meyer which does the ceremonies. One was even the commander of the relief at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. [You can see his as such in the movie "Gardens of Stone" with D.B. Sweeny, James Caan and James Earl Jones (the SSG inspecting the oncomming guard, a real ceremony)]. He has since finished college, gone to OCS and is now a Lt.Col.
I went through that to tell you this. Although the personification of the “parade ground soldiers” the men and women of the Old Guard consider themselves elite. They are dedicated professionals who, despite it being routine for them, are always mindful of the fact that to the families and friends of the deceased, this is a solemn and one time event.
I have been behind the scenes and seen the G.I.s being the usual jockular[sp?] young men, smoking and joking while pressing shirts and insulting each others family trees;
but when they go outside in their dress blues, keenly aware of what they represent, they become steely-eyed, mission oriented professionals.
When my father, an Korean War era Air Force veteran, was buried in our hometown, he had a flag on his coffin my older brother in the uniform of an Air Force Officer. he also had me in the uniform of an Army PFC and my best friend (later to serve on the Old Guard) in the uniform of an Army Corporal. For us it was all the honor guard we needed.
With respects,
Max
Bill, re “Yet she said that nowhere in the world do ordinary servicemen or women receive anything like this level of honor and respect and reverence, and she is right. All nations honor their generals and heroes. This nation honors privates and sergeants in indistinguishable fashion”.
Here in Australia, we are more reserved about our patriotism, yet I would say that there is just as much respect here for men who do military service for this country as there is in yours.
Bill,
Thank you for the incredible essay and long live the memory of William Joseph Whittle! My grandfather passed this spring, he also served the same years as your Father as a volunteer member of the 101st Airborne and he never spoke about it once in light of my relentless inquisition throughout my lifetime. When my Grandmother passed in 2005 he asked to come and live with me, and as we passed through the gates of the Roseburg Oregon VA Hospital following his long awaited classification of PTSD after a half century of test and psyche evals, he said softly…”I am going to talk for a while kiddo, and I will never speak of this again.” The eight hours we spent driving north to my home in Washington State were filled will tales of castles, mortar fire, bloodshed, and mayhem, the likes of which I had never imagined. Now that my Grandfather has passed, I reflect often on that day and his willingness to share those memories with me…
Some argue, that the men and women of that time are very different from you or I, but I say the time those men and women are from is what forged them, and I feel there are many parallels from that time and now…we need to remember what it means to be American…
Thank you again for sharing your story…
Cheers!
Bill, I’ve been trying to contact you and this seems to be the only way to do it.
Your video, “Warmongers or peacemakers: Who will be responsible for scorching the earth?”
http://www.pjtv.com/v/2591
This should be available on you tube. It’s the kind of message that everyone needs to hear for free. You really hit the nail on the head and its a great add for PJ.
How can I contact you in the future?
Keep up the good work.
Brad
Bill,
I used to surf to EjectEjectEject every day but lost the link in a crash. I saw your spot-on analysis of the decision to drop the atomic bomb on Japan on PJTV. Today, I followed the Ike/Climategate link from PajamasMedia and found “Honor.” I’m a 64 year old veteran with an almost 50 year assocation with the Army on active duty, the Reserves and as a DA civilian, and I was really moved by “Honor.” And I’m glad that the guy from Ejectx3 is Bill Whittle and is back on my Favorites.
This old soldier teared up hoping his son will feel the same way when he’s laid to rest.
Good on ya Bill!
Walt
AirBoss
Veterans Airlift Command
Yes. I would drive past Arlington National Cemetery every day to work at the Pentagon. And every day I would be furious at what the bien – pensant so enamoured of the Clintons and some of the Kennedys, so assiduous in escaping from “service to the nation” via draft evasion during the Vietnam War were doing to the country with their lies and distortions about the military among other aspects of the USA, all in the service of the enemy. There is a word for this, but it did not apply to Jane Fonda and her ilk. WHY NOT?. At least Nixon did “serve his country” in combat, which of this lot only JF Kennedy did.