21 Steps
In movements that embody the term “military precision,” it's the number of steps that members of the Old Guard take behind the Tomb of the Unknowns at Arlington. At the end of the black mat, the sentinel faces east, pausing for 21 seconds before facing north for another 21 seconds. Executing a perfect “shoulder-arms” movement, the sentinel moves his weapon to the shoulder furthest from the Tomb thereby placing himself between the Tomb and any threat. Another 21 steps to the opposite end of the mat and the process repeats itself. Why the number 21? The 21-gun salute is the highest military honor that can be bestowed, hence the number's preeminence in a ceremony that honors those who gave not only their lives for their country, but their very identity. No loved ones greeted their return home, no hometown processions took them to their rest. Today they lie in honor, in the company of heroes, guarded by impeccable soldiers who stand watch regardless of the weather or hour. Odds are, however, that it isn't where the Tomb's occupants wanted to wind up.
For many who serve at the pointy end of freedom's sword, their work is not accompanied by the sharp click of heels marching in precise cadence, but rather by the chaotic and violent concussion of battle. Their uniforms aren't characterized by perfectly placed medals and spotless white gloves, but by layers of dirt and the salt-white residue of sweat. The warrior hears his orders not as crisp commands echoing off silent walls, but rather as one voice among a cacophony of voices and sounds. The predictability of a military ceremony is replaced by confusion and split second decisions where a single step can be the last. The sentinel who places himself between the Tomb and any potential threat is also the warrior who without a moment's hesitation gives his life for his brothers in arms. The goal of the warrior is simple. Accomplish the mission, eradicate the threat, and bring your comrades home like good airline tray tables, ...in the upright position. But there are times when it doesn't quite work out as planned.
Artie Hodapp was known as a “spitfire,” and “the life of the party,” by his comrades. Charlie Cremer, a boyhood friend, said, “He was a hearty laugher and would find humor in almost anything.” His sister Francis remembered Artie as mischievously warning her co-workers at the bank that she had, “sticky fingers.” A member of the reserves, Artie was deployed to Korea in 1950. In April of 1951, he was assigned to the 5th Regimental Combat Team, 24th Infantry Division, on the front lines fighting China's “Spring Offensive” effort to take Seoul. In the midst of heavy fighting, Artie was taken prisoner on April 21, 1951. Subsisting on a diet of pasty cattle feed, many of the American POWs fell victim to dysentery and something their comrades called “give-up-itis.” Artie literally starved to death on a dirt floor in an overcrowded 10-by-12 hut. We know that he died on July 3, 1951, because another POW scratched Artie's name and the date of death on his own combat boot as secret documentation. Through DNA matching that continues to the present, Artie's remains were identified in a box of American remains that North Korea turned over some 20 years ago. Last week, in his home of Freeport, Il, Artie Hodapp was laid to rest with full military honors. His sister, now 88 years old, attended. Mr. Clyde Fruth, another Korean War POW was on hand for the funeral. Choking back his own tears, Fruth said, “All the guys over there, they all say that if they die, they don’t want to be left over there.” The term “home,” takes on a new meaning when one is far away and survival is far from certain.
When my own orders come to deploy years ago, my friend Bob Lee reminded me, “You have to go, but you don't have to come home.” And not all of us did. For those who made it back home, there are memories of friends lost, nagging questions of why we made it back while they didn't, and the determination to honor their memory by reminding our countrymen of the sacrifices made on their behalf. Because you see, their stories are personal. To those who knew them, Memorial Day is not just a moment of silence before a picnic. These were good people who laughed and lived and filled the room with their presence. Those voices are forever silent, their place at the family table forever empty. Their daughters will not have daddy walking them down the aisle on their wedding day. Their parents have the unbelievably painful duty of burying them. I remember during one alert, while donning my gear as quickly as possible, rather spontaneously kneeling at the foot of my bunk and simply praying that if things went badly they would at least find enough pieces of me to send home for the family to bury. “Home,” is always the goal no matter what. This is why, when taps is sounded, followed by the jarring crack of rifles firing a 21-gun salute, so many veterans can scarcely fight back the tears. Because so many good men and women, husbands, daughters, brothers, and friends aren't with us anymore. We miss them. We mourn their passing, keep alive their memories, and swear to look after their loved ones and honor their sacrifice. For those they left behind, it's deeply and painfully personal.
That's why the Old Guard devotes so many hours to perfecting their uniform and their duties. It's why 21 perfectly executed steps matter. It's a matter of gratitude and honor. It's why men who spend most of the time in a wheel chair struggle to rise and salute when the American Flag passes in parades. It's personal. It's why one of the more coveted duties among the active duty force is a job on the Honor Guard, where they show the gratitude of a nation through the precision of military ceremony. To those family members who have lost one of their own in service to our country, I salute you. Your pain is impossible to fathom, your remarkable strength an inspiration to us all. And to our brothers and sisters in arms who have passed on, know that you are sorely missed, and loved. Here's to you. Godspeed, and thanks.
(Note: The following video provides realistic testimony of freedom's cost.)
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Comments :
Jun '10
Re: 21 Steps
Thanks, Dave. Symbolism of this kind (the 21 perfect steps) always signifies a great truth.
My wife's uncle died in early 1944 when his bomber crashed in the North Sea trying to return from a bombing raid. My Dad spent 64 years with half of his upper right arm missing (shrapnel from and 88 mm shell hitting his Sherman tank). He was ten days past his 20th birthday when his war ended on October 6, 1944.
He never thought he was special and never complained about the pain. But he loved this country to his core, and he made sure my brother and I knew it.
God bless them all. The old ones from WWII and Korea. The middle-aged ones from Vietnam. And the younger ones from the Gulf, Iraq, and Afghanistan. I'm grateful to each of them.
Jul '10
Re: 21 Steps
.
Jun '10
Re: 21 Steps
It's interesting that 21 grams is supposed to be the weight of the soul.
Dec '10
Re: 21 Steps
Thank you for the moving and thoughtful post, Dave.
Sep '10
Re: 21 Steps
Here dead we lie because we did not choose
To live and shame the land from which we sprung.
Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose;
But young men think it is, and we were young.
- A. E. Housman
Mar '11
Re: 21 Steps
Thank you for your service, Dave; and for this beautiful post.
Apr '11
Re: 21 Steps
What a powerful, beautiful, painful piece.
Thank you, Dave - for this. And thank you for your service to your country.
This line tore me up with its poignant truth:
" 'Home,' is always the goal no matter what."
Nov '10
Re: 21 Steps
Thank you, Dave , for your service and your post . I will read your post to my family tomorrow morning at breakfast...before we go off to the parade and the frivolities of the day .
Re: 21 Steps
You know, Dreamlarge, I debated whether to post this tonight or tomorrow. I decided to post it tonight on the chance that it might help form the basis for some reflection before the festivities commence during the day tomorrow. I'm glad it worked out.
Re: 21 Steps
To those who are kindly thanking me for my service, or for writing this post, I don't want to seem aloof and not acknowledge your kindness, but my service was quite modest in comparison with so many others and my goal here is to focus the spotlight on the supreme sacrifice made by them. I use my own experiences merely to try in some meager way to help readers who may be unaccustomed with the realities of military life understand in a personal way, what these people have done for the rest of us. They are the heroes. My goal is to give voice to their devotion and, in so doing, put flesh and blood to the telling of their story.
Sep '10
Re: 21 Steps
Dave,
I can't think of anything to close with as your deeply moving essay says it all. I'll simply quote from Newman's Dream of Gerontius, the closing lines:
Re: 21 Steps
Pseudodionysius: Dave,
I can't think of anything to close with as your deeply moving essay says it all. I'll simply quote from Newman's Dream of Gerontius, the closing lines: · May 29 at 8:41pm
What I love about that is that it so beautifully expresses, in a few short lines, what it would take me an hour to write. Thank you!
Re: 21 Steps
"It's personal." So it is. Here in Israel, Memorial Day is a solemn occasion, a shared public grief: an expression of the unity of the personal and the national. It's a reminder of the honor and nobility of service and of the terrible price devotion to duty can exact. Your post reminded me of the thread of common values that unites our two nations. Thanks, Dave.
May '10
Re: 21 Steps
Catherine Wilson: What a powerful, beautiful, painful piece. ...
This line tore me up with its poignant truth:
" 'Home,' is always the goal no matter what."
Especially with the line before it...
"All the guys over there, they all say that if they die, they don’t want to be left over there.”
What those soldiers do for us can never be appreciated enough. Never.
Jun '10
Re: 21 Steps
Andrea, where have you been? Missed your avatar over the last little while.
Jun '10
Re: 21 Steps
*Slow Salute*