Friday Mornings at the Pentagon
By Joseph L. Galloway
McClatchy Newspapers
Over
the last 12 months, 1,042 soldiers, Marines, sailors and Air
Force personnel have given their lives in the terrible war
on terror. 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 yearlong tour of duty in war on terror in
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 Weblog of media critic and pundit
Eric Alterman at the Media Matters for America Website.
"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. Please! 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.
The above story is one that needs to be told and told again and again. Spread it around and be proud that they are our brothers! (webmaster Greg)