Ray S S
Silver Member
Greetings, I am modifying this greeting to prevent any further misunderstanding. I am
sorry that I did not make it plain that this is not about me, but is a very good email I
got and want to share it, and with Veterans Day coming up on Nov. 11, that is two
very good reasons to post it. Some of you may have seen this before, but it is well
worth the read. This Marine really shows true respect for this lady at the end and
also shows what he is made of. I am proud to relate his story.
May God bless AMERICA, and all those who protect it.
Ray
It goes as follows
Cemetery Watchman
My friend, Kevin and I are volunteers at a National cemetery in Oklahoma and put in a few
days a month in a 'slightly larger' uniform.
Today had been a long, long day and I just wanted to get the day over with and go down
to Smokey's and have a cold one. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 1655.
Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day. Full dress was hot in
the August sun. Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever--the heat and humidity at
the same level-both too high.
I saw the car pull into the drive, a '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new. It
pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace. An old woman got out so slow I thought she
was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheath of flowers--a bout four or five bunches as best
as I could tell.
I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: 'She's
going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier-my hip hurts like mad and I'm ready to
get out of here right now!' But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in.
Kevin would lock the 'IN' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make
it to Smokey's in time. I broke post attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took
the first step and the pain went up a notch, I must have made a real military sight:
a middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in Marine full dress uniform,
which had lost it's razor crease about thirty minutes after I began the watch at the
cemetery.
I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk, she looked up at me with an old woman's
squint.
"Ma'am, may I assist you in any way?"
She took long enough to answer. "Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to
move a tad slow these days."
"My pleasure, ma'am." (Well, it wasn't too much of a lie)
She looked again, "Marine, where were you stationed? "
"Vietnam, ma'am. Ground pounder. 1969 to 1971"
She looked at me closer. "Wounded in action, I see. Well-done, Marine. I'll be as
quick as I can"
I lied a little bigger, "no hurry, ma'am."
She smiled and winked at me. "Son, I'm 85 years old and I can tell a lie from
a long way off. Let's get this thing done. Might be the last time I can do this.
My name is Joanne Weiserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more
time."
"Yes, ma'am. At your service."
She headed to the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one
of the flower bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She
murmured something I couldn't quite make out. The name on the marble was
Donald S. Davidson, USMC: France 1918.
She turned away and made a straight line for World War II section, stopping at
one stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking it's way down her cheek. She put a bunch
on the stone: the name Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943. She went up the
row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone that said Stanley J. Weiserman,
USMC, 1944.
She paused for a second and more tears flowed. "Two more, son and we'll be done."
I almost didn't say anything, but, "Yes ma'am. Take your time."
She looked confused. "Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way."
I pointed with my chin, "That way , ma'am."
"Oh!" she chuckled quietly. "Son, me and old age ain't too friendly."
She headed down the walk I'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before
she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on Larry Weiserman, USMC,
1968, and the last one on Darrel Weiserman, USMC, 1970. She stood there and
murmured a few more words I still couldn't make out and more tears flowed.
"Ok, son, I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home,"
"Yes, ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?"
She paused, "Yes. Donald Davidson was my father, Stephen was my uncle,
Stanley was my husband, and Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed
in action, all Marines.
She stopped. Whether she had finished or couldn't finish, I don't know. She
made her way to her car, slowly and painfully. I waited for a polite distance
to come between us and double-timed over to Kevin, waiting by the car.
"Get to the 'OUT' gate, quick. I have something I've got to do."
Kevin started to say something, but saw the look I gave him. He broke the
rules to get us there down the service road fast. We beat her. She hadn't
made it around the rotunda yet.
"Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead." I humped it
across the drive to the other post.
When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the
short straight traverse to the gate I called in my best gunny's voice,
"TehenHut! Present Haaaarms!"
I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress attention
and a salute that would make his DI proud.
She drove through the gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a
send-off she deserved, for Service rendered to her country, and for knowing
duty, honor, and sacrifice far beyond the realm of most. I am not sure, but
I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.
Instead of 'The End', just think of 'TAPS'
As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer....
'Lord, please keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at
home or overseas. Hold them in your loving hands and protect them as
they protect us."
Lets all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before
in our thoughts and prayers. They are the reason for the many freedoms
we enjoy.
IN GOD WE TRUST
Sorry about your monitor, it made mine blurry, too.
If we ever forget that we're 'One Nation Under God'
then we will be a nation gone under!
sorry that I did not make it plain that this is not about me, but is a very good email I
got and want to share it, and with Veterans Day coming up on Nov. 11, that is two
very good reasons to post it. Some of you may have seen this before, but it is well
worth the read. This Marine really shows true respect for this lady at the end and
also shows what he is made of. I am proud to relate his story.
May God bless AMERICA, and all those who protect it.
Ray
It goes as follows
Cemetery Watchman
My friend, Kevin and I are volunteers at a National cemetery in Oklahoma and put in a few
days a month in a 'slightly larger' uniform.
Today had been a long, long day and I just wanted to get the day over with and go down
to Smokey's and have a cold one. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 1655.
Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day. Full dress was hot in
the August sun. Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever--the heat and humidity at
the same level-both too high.
I saw the car pull into the drive, a '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new. It
pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace. An old woman got out so slow I thought she
was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheath of flowers--a bout four or five bunches as best
as I could tell.
I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: 'She's
going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier-my hip hurts like mad and I'm ready to
get out of here right now!' But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in.
Kevin would lock the 'IN' gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make
it to Smokey's in time. I broke post attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took
the first step and the pain went up a notch, I must have made a real military sight:
a middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in Marine full dress uniform,
which had lost it's razor crease about thirty minutes after I began the watch at the
cemetery.
I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk, she looked up at me with an old woman's
squint.
"Ma'am, may I assist you in any way?"
She took long enough to answer. "Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to
move a tad slow these days."
"My pleasure, ma'am." (Well, it wasn't too much of a lie)
She looked again, "Marine, where were you stationed? "
"Vietnam, ma'am. Ground pounder. 1969 to 1971"
She looked at me closer. "Wounded in action, I see. Well-done, Marine. I'll be as
quick as I can"
I lied a little bigger, "no hurry, ma'am."
She smiled and winked at me. "Son, I'm 85 years old and I can tell a lie from
a long way off. Let's get this thing done. Might be the last time I can do this.
My name is Joanne Weiserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more
time."
"Yes, ma'am. At your service."
She headed to the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one
of the flower bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She
murmured something I couldn't quite make out. The name on the marble was
Donald S. Davidson, USMC: France 1918.
She turned away and made a straight line for World War II section, stopping at
one stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking it's way down her cheek. She put a bunch
on the stone: the name Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943. She went up the
row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone that said Stanley J. Weiserman,
USMC, 1944.
She paused for a second and more tears flowed. "Two more, son and we'll be done."
I almost didn't say anything, but, "Yes ma'am. Take your time."
She looked confused. "Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way."
I pointed with my chin, "That way , ma'am."
"Oh!" she chuckled quietly. "Son, me and old age ain't too friendly."
She headed down the walk I'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before
she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on Larry Weiserman, USMC,
1968, and the last one on Darrel Weiserman, USMC, 1970. She stood there and
murmured a few more words I still couldn't make out and more tears flowed.
"Ok, son, I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home,"
"Yes, ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?"
She paused, "Yes. Donald Davidson was my father, Stephen was my uncle,
Stanley was my husband, and Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed
in action, all Marines.
She stopped. Whether she had finished or couldn't finish, I don't know. She
made her way to her car, slowly and painfully. I waited for a polite distance
to come between us and double-timed over to Kevin, waiting by the car.
"Get to the 'OUT' gate, quick. I have something I've got to do."
Kevin started to say something, but saw the look I gave him. He broke the
rules to get us there down the service road fast. We beat her. She hadn't
made it around the rotunda yet.
"Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead." I humped it
across the drive to the other post.
When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the
short straight traverse to the gate I called in my best gunny's voice,
"TehenHut! Present Haaaarms!"
I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress attention
and a salute that would make his DI proud.
She drove through the gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a
send-off she deserved, for Service rendered to her country, and for knowing
duty, honor, and sacrifice far beyond the realm of most. I am not sure, but
I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.
Instead of 'The End', just think of 'TAPS'
As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer....
'Lord, please keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at
home or overseas. Hold them in your loving hands and protect them as
they protect us."
Lets all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before
in our thoughts and prayers. They are the reason for the many freedoms
we enjoy.
IN GOD WE TRUST
Sorry about your monitor, it made mine blurry, too.
If we ever forget that we're 'One Nation Under God'
then we will be a nation gone under!
Chug
