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Message: Way OT, OT: but A MUST READ
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 duty that is war. 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 Iraq and is now back at the Pentagon.
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 f irst 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 app lause, 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.
" Did you know that?
The media hasn't yet told the story."
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