The Old Guard stays at Tomb of Unknowns while Hurricane Sandy raged on

“People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”
― George Orwell

Thank God for our servicemen and women.  Guarding their resting place at Arlington National Cemetery is a solemn and honorable privilege. 

Old Guard stays at Tomb of Unknowns in superstorm

Associated Press – Mon, Oct 29, 2012

 

Enlarge Photo

Associated Press/Sgt. Jose A. Torres Jr.,/U.S. Army Photo - This handout photo provided by the us Army shows Spc. Brett Hyde, Tomb Sentinel, 3d U.S. Infantry Regiment (The Old Guard), keeping guard over the …more Tomb of the Unknown Soldier during Hurricane Sandy, at Arlington National Cemetery, Va., Monday, Oct. 29, 2012. Just like the Sentinel's Creed says "Through the years of diligence and praise and the discomfort of the elements, I will walk my tour in humble reverence to the best of my ability." (AP Photo/Sgt. Jose A. Torres Jr.,/U.S. Army Photo) less

ARLINGTON, Va. (AP) — In the face of Hurricane Sandy, the Army continued to guard the Tomb of the Unknowns on Monday but not with the familiar, choreographed 21 paces that the public typically sees.

 

A photo that went viral on social media of three soldiers from the Army's Third U.S. Infantry Regiment, known as The Old Guard, keeping watch over the tomb was actually taken during a September rainstorm. The Army became aware of the photo and said on its Twitter account and to media that it was from September.

The Army handed out a photo that was taken Monday morning before Arlington National Cemetery closed because of the storm. Afterward, when morning funerals were completed, the Old Guard soldiers were still on duty but had moved into an enclosure covered by a green awning known as "the box," about 20 feet away from the tomb, according to regiment spokesman Maj. John Miller.

He said if the weather becomes intolerable, the tomb can also be guarded from a room inside a nearby amphitheater. But no such order was given on Monday afternoon

Bayonets & Horses?? Oh yeah, they are part of our military DNA

Well we heard and have seen how much POTUS cares about the military and our Veterans.  That is why he directed that Veterans must pay more for the benefits and healthcare they deserve.  He is not fooling anyone as he hates and holds distain for all military.

We deserve better than the failed fool who we have suffered under for the last 4 years.

Bayonets & Horses??  Oh yeah, they are part of our military DNA, not that Obama would know that.

If you need a reminder, please see the enclosed picture I took in Sept. 2010 when I attended the funeral of a fallen Marine at Arlington National Cemetery who was a shipmate of mine.

 

Obama line about horses, bayonets fails - www.dailycaller.com

 

In a debate exchange Monday night that set Twitter on fire, President Barack Obama and Republican challenger Mitt Romney crossed swords over the kinds of equipment and materials the U.S. military uses for modern warfare.

In a response to Romney’s barb that Obama has allowed the U.S. Navy’s inventory of battleships to approach a historic low mark, Obama snarked that “we also have fewer horses and bayonets, because the nature of our military’s changed.”

But horses and bayonets both remain vital parts of the U.S arsenal.

The Daily Caller won a prestigious Edward R. Murrow award this year for a war report about the American soldiers who — riding on horseback — were the first U.S. forces to fight in Afghanistan after the 9/11 terror attacks.

And bayonets remain a fixture in Army infantry training and deployment. On August 6 a blogger at the Gizmodo technology website reported that the military was trading in bayonets for a “tomahawk”-like hand-to-hand combat weapon, but it later emerged that the source of that erroneous report was Duffelblog — a military spoof website modeled on The Onion.

“I think Gov. Romney maybe hasn’t spent enough time looking at how our military works,” Obama claimed Monday night.

“You — you mentioned the Navy, for example, and that we have fewer ships than we did in 1916. Well, governor, we also have fewer horses and bayonets, because the nature of our military’s changed. We have these things called aircraft carriers where planes land on them. We have these ships that go underwater, nuclear submarines.”

Wreaths are placed at Arlington to ‘remember, honor and teach’

To “Remember, Honor and Teach” - This is the mission of Wreaths Across America who provide Christmas Wreaths for Servicemen's graves at Arlington National Cemetery and other national cemeteries around our country. The efforts of tireless volunteers ensure that a wreath is placed at graves and those who sacrificed are remembered.

Bravo Zulu to all who make this important effort.

Wreath-laying event at Arlington to ‘remember, honor and teach’
On Saturday, 90,000 wreaths were laid on headstones at the cemetery by about 15,000 volunteers.
By Pamela Constable,Washington Post - December 10, 2011

Thousands of people filtered quietly among the rows of white tombstones in Arlington National Cemetery on Saturday, placing identical pine wreaths with simple red bows at the graves of sons, cousins, parents, battlefield buddies, fraternity brothers and strangers fallen in half-a-dozen wars over the past 70 years.

There were Boy Scout troops, military units in dress uniforms and extended families in mittens and earmuffs. Many headed for familiar spots and formed somber clusters around a single tomb. Some said prayers or read out combat citations and saluted. Others wept or simply stood and stared, lost in thought.

“Every stone here has a story,” said Tim Frey, 43, a police officer from Lancaster, Pa., who came to honor Lt. Col. Mark P. Phelan, a member of his Army Reserve unit, who was killed by an explosive device in Iraq in 2004. “I’m here from a sense of duty, and to see a friend again,” he said. “Other people may not know anyone, but it’s still an honor to come here.”

More than 100,000 wreaths, loaded onto about 20 tractor-trailers, arrived after a six-day caravan from Maine for the 20th annual Wreaths Across America event, sponsored by a nonprofit group. The trucks parked at scattered spots around the vast cemetery, and hundreds of volunteers handed them to waiting visitors.

The event included formal wreath-layings at the grave of President John F. Kennedy, the Tomb of the Unknowns, and the original mast of the USS Maine, a legendary battleship sunk in 1898.

The official slogan of the organizers was “Remember, Honor and Teach,” and the wreath-bearing convoy stopped for special events in towns on the way. But for most visitors to the cemetery, it was a day of personal mourning and private reflection.

“Christmas doesn’t seem to mean what it used to mean, and we need to remember that these soldiers died so we can have the things we have,” said Jeannie Ludwig, 39, of Fairfax, who was visiting the graves of her grandparents, both veterans of World War II, and the grave of a friend who died in Iraq. “My kids are still too young to understand what these soldiers did for us, but this is a way to begin talking to them about it.”

By far, the most crowded portion of the cemetery was Section 60, where the most recent casualties of American military operations in Iraq and Afghanistan are buried.

Members of the District’s National Guard unit came to mourn Spec. Darryl Dent, 19, who died in Iraq.

The grief-stricken family of Navy Cmdr. Charles K. Springle, 52, wept and hugged at his tomb. Springle died in May 2009 when a fellow U.S. soldier opened fire at a military clinic in Baghdad. His parents, Ruth and Charles, traveled from Beaufort, N.C., for the event, and were met there by his daughter, Sarah Monday.

Members of the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity at Virginia Tech gathered to honor 1st Lt. Jeffrey Kaylor, killed by a grenade in Iraq. One member, Jeff Dawley, 26, of Reston, paid his respects to Kaylor and then headed to visit the grave of his father, who he said had died because of exposure to the chemical defoliant Agent Orange in Vietnam.

Some mourners preferred to keep their grief private. A group of tight-lipped Special Forces officers, standing next to a friend’s tomb, politely declined to speak to a reporter. At another grave, a middle-aged man recited the obituary of a soldier decorated for valor in combat, but said he would rather not talk about him.

But for many others, Wreaths Across America served as a public ritual, a way to connect veterans and their families across wars and generations, or a form of group therapy. Gray-bearded Vietnam veterans in motorcycle jackets handed out bright red Christmas caps to Boy Scout packs and shook hands with spit-and-polish Marine officers.

Lynn Hill, 62, of Silver Spring wore a historic cavalry uniform and said his mission was to memorialize the 9th and 10th Horse cavalries of the Buffalo Soldiers, the Army unit founded in 1866 and composed of freed black slaves. He said he had attended every Wreath Day since 1992, “to honor all the dead soldiers” in American history.

Regina Barnhurst, the mother of a slain Marine from Severna Park, turned her son’s tomb into a day-long gathering place for other grieving families. The spot was next to a holly tree, where she and some friends put up a ladder and invited visitors to hang personal messages on the boughs and share coffee and doughnuts.

“I used to wonder how I would survive Christmas, but this has become a way for us to support each other,” said Barnhurst, who began weeping as she recounted how her son, Eric Herzberg, had been fatally shot by a sniper in Iraq five years ago. “You have to do something to get through the holidays,” she said with a sad smile. “For all of us, there is still such a huge hole.”

A year ago today....and then some

What were you doing a year ago today ? It was a Monday so many were going to work, taking care of the kids, running errands in preparation for Thanksgiving Day, etc.

But if I asked you specifically what you were doing a year ago today, would you be able to tell me ? Probably not as the days meld into each other as time passes and we lose memory of specific actions on a date as far back as a year ago.

I can tell you as it is a day that held much importance to me and many others.

A year ago today on November 22, 2010, I traveled to Washington, DC for the funeral of Lt. Robert M. Kelly, USMC. He had died in Afghanistan and was part of the contingent of Marines who had kept me safe while I spent time out in Helmand Province. Unknown to me at the time, was that he was also part of the Marine Battalion that I had served under while I was in Fallujah also. We were shipmates and had likely crossed paths while in Fallujah. I went to his funeral after learning of this splendid Marine's death and that he was in Afghanistan in Sangin. I had the honor of speaking with many Marines who were working in that area and they are our nation's best.

Back to the original point, a year ago I was in Washington, DC. 48 years ago, I was a small child at home when the news broke that we had lost President Kennedy in Dallas. I can't tell you much about that day other than my Mom wouldn't stop crying, and to a young lad like myself, that was odd. The memory of that day was being a small boy with a very sad Mom. The loss we suffered that day was great. History would be very, very different if not for the loss of President Kennedy.

Time passes and the world moves on. A thought not lost on me today as we think about those lost to war and to a sniper's bullets 48 years ago today.

Enclosed is the post I made a year ago regarding Lt. Robert M. Kelly, USMC and the services for him at Arlington National Cemetery. He was a good man and a fine Marine, serving our country. We remember him and all others who gave the ultimate sacrifice in defense of our nation.

Semper Fi Lt. Kelly, we have the watch.

US Navy Jeep - 11/22/10

ALCON -

As I have witnessed, many of the readers of this blog hold the mission that our military undertakes as serious business. There can be no more serious business than putting men & women in the uniform of our country in harm's way. I deeply appreciate the support that each of us give to this mission.

Today, I was able to fulfill part of that mission by attending the funeral services for Lt. Robert M. Kelly, USMC today at the Fort Myer Chapel, located next to Arlington National Cemetery in Washington, DC. I was able to do so because I work for an Airline since arriving back in Boston from Afghanistan, and they are the kind of company that not only allows you to get on a jet anytime you want to (or need to) but also encourages you to do so. I was encouraged to do this by my colleagues and it was approved by my supervisor. I thought about it and decided in a very short time, that it was the absolutely right thing to do, I can do it, and I should do it.

Monday Morning, Nov. 22nd, I got on a flight out of Boston and arrived at Reagan National Airport in just over an hour. Arlington National Cemetery is very close (2 1/2 miles) and I got a cab there. Of Course, the cabby didn't know about the location for the ceremony and he was able to bring me deep into the middle of Arlington National Cemetery. I got turned around for a minute and wound up back near the entrance. It gave me the opportunity to pay my respects to President Kennedy, Jacqueline Kennedy and their children who are buried there. The fact that this was November 22nd was not lost on me and seemed ironic that I would be travelling there to honor a Marine and still it happens to be November 22nd of all days. I also paid my respects at his brother's gravesites Senator Robert Kennedy and Senator Edward Kennedy. Each are buried close together near the front of the park.

Afterwards I had to find my way to the other side of the cemetery and was helped out by a park employee. I wound up on a brisk walk across Arlington National Cemetery, and emerged at the back gate which leads into Ft. Meyer. The Gate Guards pointed the way and the chapel was only 1000 yards across the base. I arrived slightly warm but no worse for the wear.

I was in line with hundreds of others, and spent part of my time speaking to young Marine Sgt. who was with friends who are also Marines, but were in civilian dress. The line was a who's-who of military with enough Two Star & Three Star Generals, Navy Captains, Marine Colonels and so many other officers that you could have filled an antique shop with all the brass. Many others there also including Policemen, Firemen and people from various groups to pay their respects. We were ushered in to the Chapel and directed to our seats by Marines as attendants. The Chapel is a bright and airy space, modern but at the same time, providing you with a sense of history.

The ceremony began with a presentation to Lt. Kelly's wife and family of the commendations awarded to him. A Purple Heart for wounds sustained in the battle he died in and a Navy/Marine Corps Commendation medal with Combat Distinguishing Device.authorized for valor (heroism) for a number of missions he accomplished including the one where he lost his life.

The services were very appropriate and the Navy Chaplain gave a great sermon about the meaning of how Christ died for us and he conquered death so that we would not need to be afraid. That Robert had simply gone on to eternal life with our Lord Jesus Christ and was waiting for friends & family when they got there. He ended his sermon with a traditional Irish Blessing (given in Gaelic) saying, " Farewell, God Bless you and see you when we meet again. "

The eulogies were given by his Brother, Capt. John Kelly, USMC and his father Lt. General John F. Kelly, USMC. His Brother went first and spoke about how his brother was a fine man, happy and as expected, the light of his families' life along with his bride, Heather. It was in the middle of his Brother's eulogy that I realized why I was drawn to be there on this day for this Marine.

Captain Kelly detailed about his Brother's career and spoke about the different assignments that Robert had held including Operation Iraqi Freedom, and specifically Operation Al Fajr in Fallujah in November 2004. It was at that moment that the Good Lord's desire to have me go became apparent to me. I was struck by the fact that not only had I been in Afghanistan with this splendid young Marine, but we had served together in Fallujah when I was there in 2004-2005. He & I were not personally acquainted, but we had served under the same Marine Command, and he was there providing security for me & my fellow Seabees. I found myself welling up and thanking the Lord for his will to push me to be there to honor this Marine as Robert was one of those who helped me while I was deployed.

His brother spoke about that the streets of our country and other countries around the world were guarded by United States Marines. He said that he was confident that the streets in Heaven were also guarded by United States Marines. He then stated, " And my Brother is one of those Marines, guarding the streets in heaven." Very touching and true, I am sure.

His father spoke next, saying first and foremost, that he was not there to eulogize his son. He stated "Anyone who is laid out for his final resting place dressed in the uniform of his country's finest, the United States Marines, and wrapped in his country's flag did not need eulogizing and his life's accomplishments are evident to all." Lt. General Kelly went on to describe that we as a country are at war with an enemy that will not go away and only wants our destruction and submission. He spoke eloquently regarding his opinion of the threat our nation faces and how that we as a country are protected by a small number of men & women who volunteer, give up their regular lives and go out to defend our nation against those who would do it harm. He said that many doubt our country but he said as long as our country produced men & women like those he spoke of, there was much hope that we would rid the world of the vile filth that wages terror against innocents.

His last statement was poignant as he described how as a Commander, he had to speak to many families and wounded Marines about the loss of their friends, sons, brothers, fathers and others. Each time, whether he wrote them a letter from overseas, or visited with them in person, he tried to imagine what they were going through and empathize with their loss.

He then stated, " I owe each and every one of them an apology as I could not imagine the depth of the pain they were going through as my wife and I have been going through it since we were notified of the loss of our son. It is unbearable. " His statement speaks volumes to a Father's love & pride for his son.

I was honored and privileged enough to be in attendance among many of our country's finest warriors, Robert's friends & family and felt that I had been called there by a force much greater than anything I can explain here with my paltry words. It was a moment I will not forget.

I had to leave at the end of the ceremonies as I had to catch the return flight to Boston and the services ended close to 2:10 with my return flight at just after 3:00. I was able to walk back across Arlington National Cemetery to the main entrance where they have cabs standing by. I imagined that somewhere in heaven, there was a Marine Lt. laughing as he watched this old Seabee hump his way back across the cemetery to the cab stand. I hope it provided all of them up there in heaven a good laugh. I regret that I was unable to attend the graveside ceremonies, but being there for his services was extraordinary. The time schedule only allowed me time to be there for the service in the chapel.

I caught a cab to the airport, checked in for the flight and was able to be back in my office in Boston by 17:00, no worse for the wear & tear but feeling that I had fulfilled and important mission Monday. Honoring one of our Country's finest, a warrior, son, brother, friend, husband and defender of our Flag.

There could be no finer mission than the one he fulfilled and I wanted to make sure I did not fail in my mission to honor him as we had shared many of the same places and experiences. He as a United States Marine and me, as a US Navy Seabee in Iraq and a contractor supporting the Marines at Camp Leatherneck, Afghanistan. He & I share a bond that was not apparent until his passing but carried no less importance after his death than it did in life. We were brothers-in-arms and that was all that mattered.

Fair Winds & following seas, shipmate. Rest easy Marine, we have the watch.

Navy roommates shared their lives, now lie together at Arlington National Cemetery

No other words are needed.....

Navy roommates shared their lives, now lie together at Arlington
Travis Manion and Brendan Looney, who became great friends at Annapolis, occupy neighboring graves at Arlington
By Childs Walker, The Baltimore Sun
9:42 a.m. EDT, May 28, 2011

That Travis Manion and Brendan Looney ended up side by side should surprise no one.

Loved ones had always been struck by the similarities between the Naval Academy roommates — both family men, both rugged athletes, both warriors who yearned to reach the heart of action.

Now, they needed to be together again. It was the only bit of comfort Amy Looney could fathom as she watched white-gloved soldiers carry her husband's casket from the back of an airplane at Dover Air Force Base last September.

Three years earlier, a sniper had shot Travis in Iraq after he exposed himself to enemy fire so he could drag wounded comrades from an ambush. Now, Brendan was gone as well, killed in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan.

Confronted with that cruel reality, Amy Looney was sure what had to happen next: Brendan, the absurdly tough Navy SEAL she had fallen for back in Annapolis, would want to spend eternity beside Travis in Arlington National Cemetery.

In life, they laughed at jokes that only they were in on, blended into one another's families and talked quietly of their hunger to fight where they were needed most. Amy Looney wanted all of that to endure beyond terrible loss.

"It was the only peace I could find in the whole situation," she says.

When she made her thoughts known, the Manions agreed that the men belonged together, even though that meant moving their son from a Pennsylvania cemetery.

Travis was reinterred at Arlington on a Friday in early October, and Brendan was buried to his left the following Monday.

There they lie.

Though undeniably tragic, the culmination of Travis and Brendan's bond is more than that for the people who loved them. It's a story of bravery, of goodness, of two men who died doing what they were put on the earth to do.

"They're probably the two best guys I've ever known and the two best guys I ever will know," says their friend and academy classmate Ben Mathews. "I think it means something that they're together. It's terrible that they had to give their lives, but they're shining examples of what Americans can strive to be."

Brendan was days from beginning SEAL training in San Diego when the news of Travis' death tore his world asunder. His sister, Erin, had always viewed him as indestructible and was taken aback to hear him hurt so badly. "That was the toughest part," she says. "It was the first time I ever saw Brendan in a different light. Not that he wasn't still tough, but maybe he was a little more vulnerable."

The Navy would not allow Brendan to leave for the funeral. In his fury, he briefly considered quitting. Instead, he dedicated his training to Travis and won the coveted "Honor Man" spot as the top graduate of his class.

On missions in Iraq and Afghanistan, Brendan wore two personal items — his wedding ring and a metal wrist band Travis' parents gave him to commemorate his friend. At his wedding reception in 2008, he handed Travis' mom, Janet, the gold trident pin he received for completing SEAL training.

"I only got this because of Travis," he said.

Destined to be a Marine

Travis Manion grew up in Doylestown, Pa., a borough of tree-lined streets and tidy shops 30 miles north of Philadelphia.

The foundation bearing his name, which gives grants to wounded veterans for community service projects, is housed just off Main Street. Janet Manion's office is a mini-shrine to her son. Photos of him in his wrestling uniform and combat gear surround her desk. On the window sill sits a note from local elementary-schooler Luke Sliwinski, who wrote, "I always try to do things that would make Travis proud. He is my hero. Semper Fi."

The Manions are well-known in Doylestown. Hundreds lined the streets to watch Travis' flag-draped casket proceed from a downtown church to a cemetery on the outskirts of town. Travis' father, Tom, ran for Congress the following year, arguing that too many people in government had set aside the needs of American troops. He didn't win but spread his son's story as a symbol of daily combat sacrifices that are too often out of sight, out of mind.

Janet walks into her favorite sandwich shop on a pleasant fall afternoon, less than two weeks after her son was buried at Arlington.

"I can't even comprehend how difficult that must have been," the shop's owner says. "But it's a beautiful place. He's near his buddy."

She smiles and says yes, that's a comfort.

Travis was born at Camp Lejeune, N.C., and the family moved around in his early years, when Tom was still an active-duty Marine colonel. The boy loved to put on his dad's camouflage gear and protect his buddies during imagined backyard combat. He and his older sister, Ryan Manion Borek, often belted out the Marine Corps hymn on the family couch.

"He wouldn't hurt a butterfly," Janet says. "If someone was mean to him, he'd really take it to heart."

The Manions moved to Doylestown when Travis was in elementary school so his father could take an executive job at Johnson and Johnson. Shortly after, Janet got an early glimpse of her son's sense of justice.

He became fast friends with Steve Brown, one of the few black students at his school. One afternoon, the boys went to get pizza at Travis' favorite downtown shop. Brown ordered a slice of pepperoni, but the man at the counter looked right past him and asked Travis what he wanted. Brown again asked for a slice of pepperoni and again, the man looked past him and asked for Travis' order.

"I'd like a slice of pepperoni," Travis said. The sixth-grader got his pizza and quickly handed it to his buddy, according to Janet. "You know what. We're not going to come back here," he told the counterman who had ignored Brown. Sure enough, Janet says, he boycotted the joint from then on.

Travis grew into a strapping kid who earned top grades in history and math and loved to question just about everything. At La Salle, the Catholic school he entered in ninth grade, he starred on the football, wrestling and lacrosse teams and fit easily into the popular crowd.

Travis grew up around family friends who had attended the Naval Academy, but his parents were surprised when he insisted on Annapolis as his only possible destination for college. They cajoled him into applying to a few less selective schools. But during a family move a few years later, Janet found the application forms, never sent, in one of his drawers.

Travis adjusted to plebe summer more easily than most. He was plenty strong for the physical challenges and plenty bright for the intellectual ones. "Your son's going to do great," an officer told the Manions when they visited him for the first time.

By October, however, Travis had his doubts about academy life. He heard his sister's tales of carefree college nights and bristled at the restrictions on his time. He had to finish the semester, his parents told him. But when Travis went home for winter break, he arranged a transfer to Drexel and left Navy behind.

Big brother

Brendan Looney grew up in Calvert County, the oldest of six siblings in an affectionate but tough Irish Catholic family.

"We expected a lot out of them," says his father, Kevin Looney. "We told them that you're given a lot, so we expect a lot."

Brendan took his role as big brother seriously. When Christmas approached, he called conferences with his two brothers and three sisters so they could synchronize their lists and maximize the gift haul for the entire tribe. He practiced tackling and wrestling with his little brothers, Steve and Billy, making sure that if anyone ever tried to pick on them, they'd be ready.

Brendan's sister, Erin, remembers how hard the younger siblings worked to earn his favor. He liked to construct challenges that pitted one against the other. One day, it might be a race to see which little sister could jump through the ceiling fan without getting her head whacked. The next, Brendan might strap Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pillows to their arms and coach them through a wrestling match. The prize? His weight belt wrapped in tinfoil.

Time in his room was an even greater reward.

"I don't even know that we were allowed to talk," Erin says. "But just getting to hang out with him, you would think, 'Man, this is a good day.'"

Erin could only laugh when war-hardened SEALs approached her at Brendan's funeral and told her how they had cherished any chance to hang in her brother's quarters.

All the male Looneys went to DeMatha for high school, and there was no doubt Brendan would follow the line to Hyattsville. He threw himself into sports, starting on both offense and defense for a football powerhouse that sent players to major Division I programs and the NFL. Even after a hard afternoon practice and an hour-long ride home, Brendan often ran up and down the quarter-mile hill behind his family's home.

"When it came to the fourth quarter of a game, he wanted to know that he had worked harder than the other guy," says Kevin, his voice catching and tears welling in his eyes.

He was the type who ran every practice sprint as hard as he could, stayed late to coach younger players and changed games with his reckless hits.

"Without a doubt, Brendan was the leader of that team," says longtime DeMatha coach Bill McGregor. "There might have been better athletes, but he was the leader."

Because he was only 5-foot-10 and lacked the speed of a pro receiver, Brendan did not draw attention from the flashy football schools that recruited his friends. But he wanted to play Division I and that goal steered him to Navy, which often recruits undersized but tough prospects.

Brendan started at the academy's prep school in Rhode Island, because he was colorblind and there were only so many slots in Annapolis for colorblind midshipmen. He stood out from his first day, says another former roommate, Neil Toohey. He met standards easily and in his spare time, helped others reach them. He even folded Toohey's socks and underwear so his friend wouldn't get in trouble during inspection.

"He had a leg up on the rest of us, but rather than show us up, he helped us out," Toohey says. "Who else would fold my laundry?"

Birth of a friendship

In April of his first semester at Drexel, Travis called his mother from a bar, where he was partying with fellow lacrosse players.

"I want to go back to the academy," he told her. "These guys don't take college seriously enough."

Travis had lapped up the regular college life he believed he was missing in Annapolis and had decided the taste didn't suit him. But as hard as the academy is to enter in the first place, it's even harder to re-enter.

Tom Manion drove his son to Annapolis and sat in the parking lot as Travis tried to talk a colonel into letting him come back. The teenager said time away had taught him that he needed to be at a school where every day was lived with purpose. He got his readmission.

Travis returned in the winter of 2001 to resume his plebe year with a batch of midshipmen who had never met him and had spent months forging bonds without him. Brendan was in his new company.

But they didn't know each other well until the academy paired them as roommates in their sophomore year. The living arrangement proved auspicious, bringing two kindred spirits together.

"Brendan and Travis are so similar, so similar," Erin Looney says.

Travis visited the Looney house in Silver Spring on weekends, forming tight bonds with Brendan's brothers, who were academy-bound, and keeping a watchful eye on his friend's sisters. In turn, Brendan loved to relax at the second home the Manions kept in Annapolis, near the academy campus.

They often described themselves as "brothers from another mother," the Manions say.

Erin Looney laughs, recalling how Travis was just as likely as Brendan to cast a skeptical eye at a Looney sister and say, "Why are you looking at that boy?"

"It was like jeez, Travis, I've already got three of these guys watching everything I do," she says.

Once, Brendan phoned from California and insisted that his youngest sister, Kelly, put her boyfriend on a conference call with the brothers. "How many pull-ups can you do?" he asked the poor guy. "How many push-ups?"

Exasperated with the answers, Brendan said, "Well what can you do?"

When Brendan went on dates with his future wife in Annapolis, Travis often tagged along. The roommates split the cost of a guitar and taught themselves to play, albeit not very well. Travis' greatest hit was an improvised goof called "Orange Sherbet." At other times, they might sit together in silence and suddenly burst into laughter at the same moment.

"It was almost like they could read each other's minds," Janet Manion says.

Peers regarded Travis as the more philosophical of the two. His classmate, Mathews, remembers walking into his room and finding a plastic box full of notecards, each with a quote that had struck Travis as meaningful. He became fascinated with the ancient fighting Spartans and could happily pass a day watching the whole run of HBO's series "Rome" in the family basement.

"Every movie he watched, any book he read, any girl he met at a bar, he tried to take some kind of learning lesson from it," Mathews says.

When talking about Brendan, classmates often resort to expletives to convey their awe at his physicality and determination.

"Whatever was put in front of him, he always just did it," Mathews says. "He was very stoic, but he had a presence about him. He did not want to surround himself with people who weren't trying to do their best."

Neither wanted to be on sidelines

Brendan's Navy football career stalled when a new coaching regime came in. So he turned to lacrosse, a sport he had barely played. It's extremely unusual for a novice to have any shot at playing for an elite lacrosse program, but the challenge thrilled Brendan. He didn't mind practicing rudimentary skills like throwing a ball off the wall and catching it with his stick.

Former Navy coach Richie Meade unreservedly calls him the toughest kid on the team, a fast bundle of muscle who would fly in after the faceoff and obliterate a key opposing player. He did just that against No. 1 Maryland his senior year, setting the stage for a Navy upset.

"It was a rough game, and he was the roughest guy on the field," Meade recalls. "You just felt good going in, knowing that Brendan was on your team and not the other."

Brendan played extensively his senior year, when his brothers were also both on the team. Together, the three Looneys helped take the Midshipmen to the NCAA championship game.

"He was the real deal," Meade says. "Everything that, as an American, you would want this institution to instill in a leader, Brendan Looney was all of that."

Travis, meanwhile, wrestled in the 184-pound weight class for Navy. Though he lacked elite quickness and flexibility, he built enormous strength in the weight room and was rising in the national rankings when he hurt his shoulder as a junior. Surgery and rehabilitation never got him back to where he hoped.

"He went through a grieving process with it, wanting to do more, getting angry and then reaching acceptance," says Navy wrestling coach Bruce Burnett. "He got to the point where he said, 'If I can't do this, what can I do?'"

For the Army meet his senior year, Burnett asked him to go through the ardors of dropping weight so he would be eligible to wrestle even though he would not actually compete. By putting Travis in the lineup, Burnett forced a strategic switch in Army's lineup that ultimately helped Navy win. Travis made the effort without complaint, though he was too hurt to train off the pounds easily.

The mentality that made Brendan and Travis similar as athletes also informed their approach to service after graduation in 2004. Both wanted to make a difference in battle as soon as they could.

"They were always players," Janet Manion says, drawing the connection between their athletic and military mindsets. "They didn't want to sit on the sidelines. It's who they were."

Travis chose to follow his father into the Marines. He aced officer training school and wanted to go infantry. Instead, much to his frustration, he was assigned to a logistics unit for his first tour of Iraq. His only real thrill was guarding a polling place when the reconstructed country held its first election.

"I don't want to say he was bored," his sister says.

"But he wanted to go on more missions," Janet Manion cuts in.

Brendan found his early years of service even more frustrating. He wanted to be a SEAL but couldn't because of his colorblindness. Instead, he was assigned to an intelligence unit in South Korea, where he lived his worst nightmare — sitting behind a desk analyzing data all day.

"You don't want to be a nose picker like I am," he told his brother Billy.

Salvation finally came in the form of a new waiver allowing colorblind sailors to enter SEAL training. Brendan would get to test his physical prowess the way he wanted. He began Basic Underwater Demolition (BUDs) training in the spring of 2007.

Dying the way he lived

The Manions have zeroed in on one conversation to illustrate the service ethic shared by their son and Brendan.

Travis was home on leave at a Philadelphia Eagles game with his brother-in-law, Dave Borek. As they approached an escalator at the stadium, his brother-in-law joked that he could shove Travis down in hopes that he might break an ankle and miss his next combat tour.

Travis turned with a serious look and said, "Dave, if not me, then who?"

He left for his last tour of Iraq the day after Christmas in 2006. This time, he would be embedded with an Iraqi unit in Fallujah, helping the soldiers learn to fight insurgents. Early in the tour, he told his dad, "It's pretty serious over here now."

At the same time, he relished bonding with the Iraqi soldiers he advised. He listened to tapes to improve his Arabic and helped build a new mess hall.

Last year, Tom Manion used his military connections to arrange a trip to Fallujah, where he met some of the Iraqis who served with Travis. They remembered staying up late with him to share philosophical talks about the mission.

"Manion was different," Tom remembers them saying. "He reached out to us and tried to build relationships. He cared about us as people."

Travis' reports grew more dire as his tour went on. During one conversation, his sister made a casual remark about his deployment being half over. "Just because I'm halfway doesn't make it any safer or easier," he said.

In March, a roadside bomb rocked his vehicle, leaving him dazed. But Travis, at 200 pounds plus gear strapped all over him, busted out of the wreckage and chased down the trigger man. His Iraqi peers wanted to execute the enemy, Tom Manion says, but Travis talked them into escorting the insurgent to prison. He posthumously won the Bronze Star for his actions that day.

The last time he spoke with his parents, his connection kept cutting off, but he kept calling back as if he had something important to get out.

"I don't know if the American people know this, but we're doing a lot over here," his father remembers him saying. "We're fighting every day in the streets, and we're making a difference."

"It was probably the most intense talk we ever had," Tom Manion says.

Janet Manion doesn't know why, but on the following Sunday, she invited a passel of friends and family to the house for a picnic. They planted flowers, kids played ball in the backyard and smoke poured off the grill. "It was almost like he called us together," she says.

She answered a ring of the doorbell and saw a uniformed man standing outside.

On patrol in Fallujah that day, Travis' unit had fallen into an ambush by enemy snipers. The citation for Travis' Silver Star says he pulled a wounded Navy medic from the line of fire, then emerged from cover again to pull a Marine to safety. He emerged one last time to lay down fire so his wounded comrades could be rescued. In that exchange, a sniper shot and killed him. He was 26.

Rob Sarver, another academy classmate, got the call on his cell phone as he and Brendan readied their gear for the start of SEAL training. "Something bad happened to Travis," the voice on the other end said.

"I had never seen Brendan emotionally upset," Sarver recalls. "But I could really tell it hit him like a ton of bricks. He just said very quietly and very stoically, 'This training means more now than it did before. We have to go back and continue fighting where Travis died.'"

Brendan listened to Travis' funeral on speakerphone in San Diego. He bawled in calls home to his mother and Amy.

He kept his vulnerability to himself during SEAL training.

The 14-month preparation amounts to consensual torture. The candidates run four miles uphill with 35 pounds of weight in their packs. They wade shirtless into chilly water and then do hundreds of calisthenics in the rough sand. Nothing slowed Brendan. He performed so well during "Hell Week" that fellow trainees rechristened it "Camp Looney."

"In the two-mile swims and the four-mile runs, there was just no comparison," Sarver says. "Brendan physically crushed them."

As soon as Brendan came home from training, he drove to Pennsylvania and sat at the Manions' basement bar, crying and telling stories about Travis. The night before 120 people ran the Marine Corps Marathon in Travis' honor, Brendan spoke to them with tears in his eyes about how much he loved his roommate.

Together again

Brendan loved being a SEAL lieutenant — the crazy rigor of learning to ride a horse or a dirt bike so he'd know how to do it on covert missions.

"The more strength and the more skill it took, the more Brendan enjoyed it," says his uncle, Chris Parker.

In a company of tough men, he represented a rugged pinnacle that others aspired to reach. If he ate fish one night, they ate fish. If he took two scoops of veggies, they took two scoops. He cultivated a wilder look, letting his hair grow long and his beard fill out. His college lacrosse coach, Meade, joked that when Brendan returned to campus, younger midshipmen stayed a step back from him, as if Thor had entered their locker room.

Brendan first served a tour in Iraq and then deployed to Afghanistan on March 9 of last year. He sounded happy on calls home, though he couldn't say much about his covert missions. In typical fashion, he complained that his unit could be doing more. As the end of his five-year commitment neared, he signed on for another five.

Brendan's tour was almost over when he hopped on the helicopter in late September. A replacement SEAL team had arrived in Afghanistan, and back home, his mother was making plans with Amy for a visit to San Diego, where the young couple lived.

The accidental crash that day killed nine servicemen, including Brendan. He was 29.

Eighty people, including the Manions, drove to Delaware to greet his casket. Those who loved Brendan struggled with the idea that he was the one coming off the plane that September day. He had seemed so indestructible.

"To see a coffin come out with a flag on it and know that's Brendan Looney, it's tough," says Meade, his former lacrosse coach. "I said to my wife on the way back from Dover, 'Brendan would have been a better father than me.' I'm never going to be the same."

In the days of mourning that followed, Brendan's mother, Maureen, often sought Janet Manion for a hug. "I don't want you to leave," she told Travis' mother. "You're the only one who knows what this feels like."

As it happened, the Manions had felt misgivings since burying Travis near their home. Before his death, he had told several people he wanted to be interred at Arlington. His sister had pushed her parents to move him. Now, Amy Looney was saying that her husband and Travis belonged together.

Cemetery officials said they could not hold a spot next to Brendan but said the roommates could be side-by-side if the Manions acted quickly.

"It just felt like the right thing to do," Janet Manion says.

So one burial became two.

Marines, SEALs and friends from as far back as elementary school poured in to pay their respects and tell the families stories of how Brendan and Travis had touched them. The SEALs sported fresh tattoos of skeletal frogs adorned with Brendan's initials.

Many shared the same solace, that both men died doing what they were meant to do, that both lived according to the principles they shared.

"It's the old Braveheart thing," Mathews says. "Would you rather die in bed many years from now or would you rather give your life for something like freedom?"

The Looneys endured the pain knowing that their other two boys would be back to Navy service a few days later, Billy as a supply officer at the academy in Annapolis and Steve as an intelligence specialist in San Diego. "We all still believe in what they and Brendan were fighting for," says Maureen, wearing a bright green Navy T-shirt.

Erin Looney says her brother was drawn to tight communities in which he felt a powerful common purpose. She knows that whenever she visits Brendan's marble headstone, she'll see Travis to his right. The pilot of the helicopter in which he died is buried to his left.

"Even when he's gone, he's got this tight crew around him," she says. "He has his guys with him

Teen makes digital record of all Iraq & Afghanistan Veteran's Graves at Arlington National Cemetery

AWESOME USE OF THE TECHNOLOGY DUDE.....Give this kid recognition as he made it happen....all on his own......Bravo Zulu, young lad.

Teen makes digital record of Arlington graves

Ricky Gilleland, a tech-savvy 11th-grader, has created the only digitized record of Iraq and Afghanistan veterans laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery.

Ricky Gilleland, 17, has set up a website documenting graves of every service member buried at Arlington National Cemetery.
April 26, 2011, 8:08 p.m.

Reporting from Arlington, Va.— Rosemary Brown is standing over the grave of her son at Arlington National Cemetery when someone catches her eye. It's a boy in khaki shorts and muddy shoes, juggling a clunky camera and the Motorola Xoom he got for his 17th birthday five days earlier.

"May I ask what you're doing?" Brown inquires. The boy begins to peck at the Xoom tablet, and in seconds the image that Brown has come all the way from Cartwright, Okla., to see fills the screen. It's the white marble headstone of Army Special Forces Staff Sgt. Jason L. Brown, killed by small-arms fire in Afghanistan three years ago this day. Her face brightens.

"Most of Jason's family and friends are in Oklahoma and Texas. For them to be able to see his grave…," she says, her voice breaking.

Richard "Ricky" Gilleland III — 11th-grader and Junior Future Business Leaders of America computer ace — has succeeded where the Army failed: He has created the only digitized record of Iraq and Afghanistan veterans laid to rest at Arlington. His website, preserveandhonor.com
is a reverent catalog of the fallen, and one young man's response to a scandal of Army mismanagement, mismarked graves and unmarked remains that has rocked this hallowed place for two years.

"It's a tool to help remember people. They can go on and think, 'Wow, look at all these people who gave their lives just so I can walk around,' " Ricky says.

His "project," as he calls it, won't fix Arlington's considerable problems. A commission led by former Sens. Bob Dole and Max Cleland was formed to attempt that.

But his simple website has brought a measure of order and relief to military families unnerved by reports first disclosed by Salon.com in 2009: unidentified remains in graves thought to be empty, one service member buried on top of another, an unmarked urn that turned up in a dirt landfill.

The father of one Marine was so disturbed that he had the remains of his son — a 19-year-old private killed in Iraq by a roadside blast in 2006 — disinterred last year. He searched the coffin that held his son's ravaged body himself. A left-arm tattoo confirmed no mistake had been made, reassurance that came at a terrible price.

An investigation by the Army inspector general concluded in June that at least 211 graves were mislabeled. Top brass were fired. And the management of the 147-year-old American landmark, where about 300,000 fallen troops rest, suddenly seemed as chaotic as its uniform lines of unadorned white markers are orderly.

Cemetery operations were declared antiquated. Arlington still relies on paper records and index cards to maintain 200 acres where presidents, astronauts, freed slaves and heroes of every American war lie. "One fire, flood or coffee spill away" from irreplaceable loss, Sen. Mark Warner (D-Va.) warned.

While discussing Arlington's outdated record-keeping over dinner one night last summer, Ricky — who had just gotten an A in his Programming 1 class at school — announced, "I can fix that." His mother didn't doubt it. She still remembered her older sons complaining they were locked out of the computer again because Ricky, age 4, had changed all the passwords.

"He was the kid who figured things out," Elisabeth Van Dyk, 46, said of her youngest. "He took apart remote controls and his brothers' toys and put them back together again. You could trust he knew what he was talking about."

Ricky didn't have his driver's license yet, so he hitched a ride with his mom on her 45-minute commute from their home in Stafford, Va., to her workplace in Washington. He hopped the Metro the rest of the way to the cemetery. This was July and he wanted an early start before the heat set in.

His focus was Section 60, where about 700 veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan are buried, more than anywhere else in the country. He combed all 18 acres of it, row by row, and found more than just names. At one grave was a baby's sonogram; he thought about the child who would never know his dad. He saw parents who looked a lot like his own, standing, staring.

Ricky took it all in. This is a side of service he had never fully appreciated, even for a military brat — his great-great-great-grandfather fought at Gettysburg, his father is a retired Army sergeant first class, his stepfather is a retired Navy lieutenant commander and both of his brothers are Air Force senior airmen. (He intends to apply to the Naval Academy at Annapolis and wants to be an officer.)

"Sometimes I look at the birth date and they are about the same age as my brothers, or a year older than me. It puts a whole new perspective on life to think there are 18- or 19-year-old kids who give their lives," he said.

One afternoon while he was out here taking pictures, a woman asked, "What number is my son?" She wanted to know where he fell in a casualty count that is nearing 6,000 for both wars. Ricky couldn't answer her, but later he told his mom that he didn't want them to be numbers; he wanted them to be remembered as people.

"From that point forward," his mom recalled, "it seemed to turn into more than a project."

He spent afternoons in a bookstore poring over Web development manuals for the right program language to create the site. At night, in his family's study, his computer hooked up to a 40-inch flat screen and his keyboard on a snack table in front of the couch, he input hundreds of names, photos, links to obituaries and newspaper accounts; he created a space to blog tributes.

By mid-October, the site was launched.

Army Times wrote him up. The local TV station did a piece. At North Stafford High, he was a minor celebrity. Friends and families around the country could view a loved one's grave thousands of miles away with the click of a mouse. So far, the site has received nearly 116,000 hits and about 300 emails, like the one from Jean Lockey, widow of Army Col. Jon M. Lockey, killed in Iraq on July 6, 2007: "I now have a site to go to when life overwhelms me, a place where I can pretend for a moment I am right there."

And Sarah Hall, mother of 1st Lt. Benjamin John Hall, killed in Afghanistan on July 31, 2007: "Ben was … the light of my life and I miss him every second of every day. To know that his loss is felt by others and acknowledged with such love and honor as you have shown here lifts my heart.…Thank you."

About 10% of the service members killed in Iraq and Afghanistan are at Arlington; the rest are in cemeteries around the country. Ricky's next goal is to enlist the help of the American Legion and record them all on the website. He figures it could be done in a few months.

But the work at Arlington is never really finished. Sadly, there are always graves to add, and he comes out every few weeks to update the list. That's what brings him here today, with his mom and stepdad, in the back seat of the silver Honda she said he could have if he stayed on the honor roll, which he did. (If his grades drop, she has threatened to sell the car for a dollar.)

He's eager to try out the Xoom. It's a gorgeous April Sunday after a hard rain. The red tulips stand straight as soldiers at the cemetery gates, but the grounds are soaked. Ricky starts patrolling the far end of Section 60 where the new arrivals are. It's muddy and his sneakers sink three inches into what he realizes is a grave so fresh the sod hasn't gone in yet. He winces and carries on. No way can he wear those shoes to school Monday.

That's what he's doing when Rosemary Brown spots him. She comes here twice a year — with her husband on the anniversary of Jason's death and by herself on his birthday in September. ("It's a Mom thing. That's my time.") In between, Ricky's website might be the next best thing.

"Continue this, please," she tells the boy she's only just met. He's shy and a little awkward, not so different from the one she raised. "It's so important that they never, ever be forgotten. Ever."

"I will," Ricky promises. "You can bet on it."

faye.fiore@latimes.com
Copyright © 2011 - LA TIMES

A Holiday Visit to Arlington National Cemetery

Be Thankful at this time of year (and always) for the brave men & women who gave us the gift of a safe & peaceful land. I was at Arlington National Cemetery in November and it is a solemn and awe inspiring place. God Bless them all.


December 22, 2010
A Holiday Visit to Arlington National Cemetery
By Donna Miles, guest blogger, American Forces Press Service

I walked the grounds of Arlington National Cemetery yesterday morning to put wreaths on the graves of two dear friends and a fallen soldier I’ve never met.

The cemetery never fails to move me, its stark white headstones standing dress-right-dress along its hills and plains for as far as the eye can see. Driving through the grand entrance gates just as they opened this morning of the winter solstice – the longest, darkest day of the year – I knew I was in for an emotional morning.

Each headstone was adorned with a holiday wreath, donated as part of the “Wreaths Across America” project. The bright red ribbons provided cheerful contrast to the cemetery’s hills and plains, much of it still blanketed with the last remnants of an early-season snow.

Walking through Section 60, the final resting place for almost 700 fallen veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan, I stopped at the grave of Army Staff Sgt. James R. Patton. I’d never met “Jimmy,” as his family calls him, but I had the privilege of meeting his mother, Sheila, during a recent trip to Fort Campbell, Ky.

Jimmy, who was serving his seventh overseas deployment since 9/11 with the 3rd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, died in a helicopter crash in Tikrit, Iraq, on April 18. His father, Army Command Sgt. Major Gregory Patton, who is deployed to Afghanistan with the 101st Airborne Division’s 3rd Brigade Combat Team, accompanied his son’s body home for the funeral, then left to rejoin his unit. Sheila Patton, despite all she’s dealt with during the past year, has stood as a font of courage and inspiration to everyone whose lives she has touched.

“I am a proud momma of a soldier who died fighting for his country and doing what he loved doing,” she told me. “If he had to die before us, that is the only way we could ever have accepted his death: to smile and be proud and honored that God thought enough of my son to make him a hero.”

But despite Sheila’s seemingly Teflon composure, I know this Christmas will be a particularly painful one.

As I stood at Jimmy’s grave, I looked around me and took in the majesty of Arlington National Cemetery. In every direction, I saw reminders that other families, like the Pattons, will be feeling the loss of a loved one this Christmas.

Many had visited their husband’s, wife’s, father’s, mother’s, son’s, daughter’s, brother’s, sister’s gravesite, leaving behind personal and very individual tributes.

Some had left simple holiday memorials: a festive floral arrangement, a miniature Christmas tree, a wrapped gift box.

Others were more elaborate. The grave of Army Cpl. Christopher John-Lee “C.J.” West, an 82nd Airborne Division soldier killed in Iraq in February 2004, featured two American flags, a large Styrofoam snowman, a set of felt reindeer antlers and a sweatshirt of West’s beloved Dallas Cowboys.

Two bright balloons flew over the grave of Sgt. Alberto Montrond, a 7th Special Forces Group soldier killed in Afghanistan in February 2006. At the base of his headstone, next to a wreath, was a plate with two holiday cupcakes.

A large floral arrangement with a ribbon proclaiming, “Rangers Lead the Way,” adorned Army Cpl. Ryan Casey McGhee’s grave. The 3rd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, soldier was killed in Iraq in May 2009.

His mother had left behind a hand-written Christmas card, telling her son that although she thinks of him every day, the holidays are going to be especially tough.

He won’t be there to open gifts with his family, to share in a holiday toast, or even to call from a faraway deployment to tell them he loves them. And the empty seat at the dinner table will forever be a reminder of what they’ve lost.

As I left Arlington and headed off to work, I felt a deep sense of sadness over how much so many have sacrificed.

But then I remembered Sheila Patton, and the selfless gift she and so many others like her have given me and every other American.

Merry Christmas, Gold Star families. I wish you – and all of us — peace on earth

Services for Lt. Robert M. Kelly, USMC today at Arlington National Cemetery

ALCON -

As I have witnessed, many of the readers of this blog hold the mission that our military undertakes as serious business. There can be no more serious business than putting men & women in the uniform of our country in harm's way. I deeply appreciate the support that each of us give to this mission.

Today, I was able to fulfill part of that mission by attending the funeral services for Lt. Robert M. Kelly, USMC today at the Fort Myer Chapel, located next to Arlington National Cemetery in Washington, DC. I was able to do so because I work for an Airline since arriving back in Boston from Afghanistan, and they are the kind of company that not only allows you to get on a jet anytime you want to (or need to) but also encourages you to do so. I was encouraged to do this by my colleagues and it was approved by my supervisor. I thought about it and decided in a very short time, that it was the absolutely right thing to do, I can do it, and I should do it.

Monday Morning, Nov. 22nd, I got on a flight out of Boston and arrived at Reagan National Airport in just over an hour. Arlington National Cemetery is very close (2 1/2 miles) and I got a cab there. Of Course, the cabby didn't know about the location for the ceremony and he was able to bring me deep into the middle of Arlington National Cemetery. I got turned around for a minute and wound up back near the entrance. It gave me the opportunity to pay my respects to President Kennedy, Jacqueline Kennedy and their children who are buried there. The fact that this was November 22nd was not lost on me and seemed ironic that I would be travelling there to honor a Marine and still it happens to be November 22nd of all days. I also paid my respects at his brother's gravesites Senator Robert Kennedy and Senator Edward Kennedy. Each are buried close together near the front of the park.

Afterwards I had to find my way to the other side of the cemetery and was helped out by a park employee. I wound up on a brisk walk across Arlington National Cemetery, and emerged at the back gate which leads into Ft. Meyer. The Gate Guards pointed the way and the chapel was only 1000 yards across the base. I arrived slightly warm but no worse for the wear.

I was in line with hundreds of others, and spent part of my time speaking to young Marine Sgt. who was with friends who are also Marines, but were in civilian dress. The line was a who's-who of military with enough Two Star & Three Star Generals, Navy Captains, Marine Colonels and so many other officers that you could have filled an antique shop with all the brass. Many others there also including Policemen, Firemen and people from various groups to pay their respects. We were ushered in to the Chapel and directed to our seats by Marines as attendants. The Chapel is a bright and airy space, modern but at the same time, providing you with a sense of history.

The ceremony began with a presentation to Lt. Kelly's wife and family of the commendations awarded to him. A Purple Heart for wounds sustained in the battle he died in and a Navy/Marine Corps Commendation medal with Combat Distinguishing Device.authorized for valor (heroism) for a number of missions he accomplished including the one where he lost his life.

The services were very appropriate and the Navy Chaplain gave a great sermon about the meaning of how Christ died for us and he conquered death so that we would not need to be afraid. That Robert had simply gone on to eternal life with our Lord Jesus Christ and was waiting for friends & family when they got there. He ended his sermon with a traditional Irish Blessing (given in Gaelic) saying, " Farewell, God Bless you and see you when we meet again. "

The eulogies were given by his Brother, Capt. John Kelly, USMC and his father Lt. General John F. Kelly, USMC. His Brother went first and spoke about how his brother was a fine man, happy and as expected, the light of his families' life along with his bride, Heather. It was in the middle of his Brother's eulogy that I realized why I was drawn to be there on this day for this Marine.

Captain Kelly detailed about his Brother's career and spoke about the different assignments that Robert had held including Operation Iraqi Freedom, and specifically Operation Al Fajr in Fallujah in November 2004. It was at that moment that the Good Lord's desire to have me go became apparent to me. I was struck by the fact that not only had I been in Afghanistan with this splendid young Marine, but we had served together in Fallujah when I was there in 2004-2005. He & I were not personally acquainted, but we had served under the same Marine Command, and he was there providing security for me & my fellow Seabees. I found myself welling up and thanking the Lord for his will to push me to be there to honor this Marine as Robert was one of those who helped me while I was deployed.

His brother spoke about that the streets of our country and other countries around the world were guarded by United States Marines. He said that he was confident that the streets in Heaven were also guarded by United States Marines. He then stated, " And my Brother is one of those Marines, guarding the streets in heaven." Very touching and true, I am sure.

His father spoke next, saying first and foremost, that he was not there to eulogize his son. He stated "Anyone who is laid out for his final resting place dressed in the uniform of his country's finest, the United States Marines, and wrapped in his country's flag did not need eulogizing and his life's accomplishments are evident to all." Lt. General Kelly went on to describe that we as a country are at war with an enemy that will not go away and only wants our destruction and submission. He spoke eloquently regarding his opinion of the threat our nation faces and how that we as a country are protected by a small number of men & women who volunteer, give up their regular lives and go out to defend our nation against those who would do it harm. He said that many doubt our country but he said as long as our country produced men & women like those he spoke of, there was much hope that we would rid the world of the vile filth that wages terror against innocents.

His last statement was poignant as he described how as a Commander, he had to speak to many families and wounded Marines about the loss of their friends, sons, brothers, fathers and others. Each time, whether he wrote them a letter from overseas, or visited with them in person, he tried to imagine what they were going through and empathize with their loss.

He then stated, " I owe each and every one of them an apology as I could not imagine the depth of the pain they were going through as my wife and I have been going through it since we were notified of the loss of our son. It is unbearable. " His statement speaks volumes to a Father's love & pride for his son.

I was honored and privileged enough to be in attendance among many of our country's finest warriors, Robert's friends & family and felt that I had been called there by a force much greater than anything I can explain here with my paltry words. It was a moment I will not forget.

I had to leave at the end of the ceremonies as I had to catch the return flight to Boston and the services ended close to 2:10 with my return flight at just after 3:00. I was able to walk back across Arlington National Cemetery to the main entrance where they have cabs standing by. I imagined that somewhere in heaven, there was a Marine Lt. laughing as he watched this old Seabee hump his way back across the cemetery to the cab stand. I hope it provided all of them up there in heaven a good laugh. I regret that I was unable to attend the graveside ceremonies, but being there for his services was extraordinary. The time schedule only allowed me time to be there for the service in the chapel.

I caught a cab to the airport, checked in for the flight and was able to be back in my office in Boston by 17:00, no worse for the wear & tear but feeling that I had fulfilled and important mission Monday. Honoring one of our Country's finest, a warrior, son, brother, friend, husband and defender of our Flag.

There could be no finer mission than the one he fulfilled and I wanted to make sure I did not fail in my mission to honor him as we had shared many of the same places and experiences. He as a United States Marine and me, as a US Navy Seabee in Iraq and a contractor supporting the Marines at Camp Leatherneck, Afghanistan. He & I share a bond that was not apparent until his passing but carried no less importance after his death than it did in life. We were brothers-in-arms and that was all that mattered.

Fair Winds & following seas, shipmate. Rest easy Marine, we have the watch.

Homeless Ex-Marine Laid to Rest After Losing Life Saving Others From House Fire

SEMPER FI To this BRAVE MARINE -- Rest EASY with your Brothers At Arlington National Cemetery....WELL DONE MARINE


Homeless Ex-Marine Laid to Rest After Losing Life Saving Others From House Fire
FOX NEWS

ARLINGTON, Va. — Ray Vivier had been an adventurer, an ex-Marine who explored the country from South Carolina to Alaska, the father of five children.

The 61-year-old also was a man starting to get his life back together after living for years in a shanty beneath a Cleveland bridge. He had struggled with alcoholism, but by November he had a welding job, friends and a place to stay at a boarding house.

He rescued five people from that house when arsonists set it ablaze — but Vivier couldn't save himself. He and three others died, and two people have been charged in their deaths. Vivier's body, unclaimed and unidentified for weeks, seemed destined for an anonymous, modest burial.
However, Jody Fesco — who met Vivier while she was volunteering at a soup kitchen and had even invited him to her wedding — heard that Vivier may have died. Fesco and her husband contacted their friend Haraz Ghanbari, an Associated Press photographer, about the situation. Ghanbari took the lead to make sure Vivier wasn't forgotten, tracking down the family members and arranging a proper funeral.

On Friday, Vivier's ashes were inurned at Arlington National Cemetery with full military honors.
"You can see from what he did that he definitely had a good heart," said Mercedes Cruz, Vivier's ex-wife of 23 years, who attended the funeral with the couple's children. "No matter what our difficulties were in our marriage, I'm very proud of what's happened."

For his grown children — who now are scattered around the country — Vivier had been gone for about 15 years. They know of his heroism now — but they don't know much about the man he was trying to become. They remember their dad's struggles with alcohol and other troubles.

"What I'm trying to get out of this is to have one good, concrete memory that I can have of him for what he did to save those people," said his oldest daughter, Elisha Vivier. "I'm proud of the man that he was becoming."

Vivier was a private in the U.S. Marine Corps in 1965 and 1966, though he didn't see combat. He was stationed at Parris Island, S.C., Cruz said.

After his discharge, Vivier spent years working as a machinist, welder, iron worker and other tough jobs. He loved the outdoors and moved his family from Alaska to Oregon.

"He was just adventurous," Cruz said. "He loved to see different places and see what it was like to live there."

When he was homeless in Cleveland, he was proud to have one of the best shanties around, said Fesco, 29, who met Vivier at a soup kitchen.

"We hit if off right away," she said.

She took Vivier home for Christmas one year and later invited him to her wedding. Vivier was genuine, she said, "a real gentle spirit.

"He was trying to get himself out of some struggles — some struggles with alcohol — and just do better for himself, and he was, which was fantastic," Fesco said.

Ghanbari, who is an ensign in the U.S. Navy, helped arrange for Vivier's remains to be placed in a columbarium wall at Arlington National Cemetery. The site overlooks the Pentagon with the National Cathedral and Washington Monument in the distance.

At the military service, seven Marines fired three rifle shots, and a bugler played taps. Elisha Vivier carried a gold urn with her father's ashes to the wall and placed them inside, alongside the remains of thousands of veterans.

Ray Vivier was quiet, friends said, but people knew who he was. Cleveland City Councilman Joe Cimperman met Vivier years ago while working as a social worker. He said Vivier was quiet, yet kind and compassionate. More than 125 people attended a memorial service weeks after the fire in Cleveland.

"It was a huge blow for the community. This was one of our neighbors who people cared about and knew," Cimperman said. "We're less because he's gone."