This is a story from a production we have planned, called My Service, a collaboration between TOC and MCI's Amvets group. This is one of six true stories that we adapted for My Service. Each story will be presented by a single, different actor. Perhaps this would be appropriate to post on the site, reminding us all of the sacrifices thousands have made? Happy Memorial Day.
The Look In Her Eyes The summer of 1976 changed my life in so many ways; both in heart and soul. Whenever I think back to those days, or it pops into my mind, tears come to my eyes. I was 20 and stationed in Fort Bliss, TX. Vietnam was over and troops were coming home. My 1SG picked me along with some others in my company to be on the funeral detail of our fallen soldiers. In all, there were 15 of us, seven for the firing squad, six to carry the casket and one alternate. We flip-flopped amongst ourselves between being pallbearers and the firing squad for the 21 gun salute. Our job was to give full military honor burials to all branches of the Service for veterans being buried in the El Paso, TX and New Mexico area. We wore our finest dress greens, white gloves, and had our brass shined and shoes gleaming. We were scheduled to do this for three months, but we were extended for another three. At first, it wasn't so bad because we only worked every other day. Soon, the frequency increased from 1 funeral service a day to 2, 3 or even 4. The physical and mental effects were getting to us. The services kept coming. The funeral detail wasn't terribly physically difficult, the mental stress was another thing, To say that the stress wasn't getting to us is a lie. We did our duty as best we could, tying to ignore the tears running down our faces. When we were done for the day we would gather together at the closest bar and drown our sorrows and emotions. Drugs were common. Out of respect for our fallen brothers, a toast would always start our ritual. The stress I experienced also had an effect on my personal relations. I woke from night terrors, often screaming, as my wife was trying to console me, bewildered about how to help. This was long before we understood about PTSD and its effects. A man can only bury so many brothers in arms before the mental stress takes a toll. So much death.... During one of my pallbearer rotations, I noticed we had two extra members. We were told that we would be handling a steel casket, which meant it contained part or parts of a soldier coming back from Vietnam. We knew right away this funeral would be hard on us. We composed ourselves and got ready for what would prove to be a very difficult service. As the hearse pulled into position, we marched up and placed ourselves behind it and waited for the command. This allowed the friends and family of our fallen comrade to take their seats. The command was given and all eight of us took hold of the casket and half-stepped marched to the gravesite, while sinking into the wet, clover-shrouded ground. At the gravesite, we placed the 1100 pound casket onto the frame support that was to lower it. The support creaked and groaned under the weight. We all silently looked out of the side of our eyes at our brothers all praying silently that the support would hold. It did. The firing squad gave the 21 gun salute, making a lot of us jump a little. Even though we knew it was coming, it still was a shock. Taps was played, a haunting melody that seemed to come from all around us. As the pallbearers, we were tasked with folding the flag with as much pride and respect as we could give; saluting it as we passed it down to the waiting Sergeant. He turned and gave it to the tearful widow. I can still hear his words, "This is for your husband's service. We are proud of him. Thank you." She accepted the flag at which point the Sergeant saluted her and the flag. As the widow sobbed, I saw the children of the soldier, a little girl and her two older brothers standing beside her. Looking up to her mother, unaware that her daddy was lying in pieces three feet away inside a steel coffin, she asked with simple childish innocence, "Mommy...when is daddy coming home?" I can't say whether or not the little girl remembers that day, but for me and others who were part of that detail, it will always be a part of my life that I relive in my heart and mind every day. I only hope the brother we buried is proud of my service to him on that day. Prop - folded American flag Musical Inspiration - Sound City, Real to Reel
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