Changing of the Guard

The average American is not aware of all that is involved in burying our fallen soldiers with honor. Below is an update submitted to us from Lindsay Wise of Houston.

Joshua Contreras and Jermaine Hunt stand at attention on either end of a flag-draped coffin. In one swift, synchronized movement, the soldiers grab the edges of the cloth, lift and pull taut. Between them, a star-spangled canopy ripples slightly in the early-morning breeze.

Together, they fold the flag into a stiff triangle, smoothing out every wrinkle with white-gloved hands.

Then Hunt drops to one knee in front of Bessie Hodek, the widow of 89-year-old World War II veteran Charles Hodek. Hunt places the flag in her lap, looks directly into her tear-filled eyes and quietly thanks her for her husband’s faithful service.

Hunt stands and salutes before retreating into the rows of white of headstones at Houston National Cemetery on Friday. The 21-year-old specialist with the Texas Army National Guard is part of a six-soldier honor guard that attends local veterans’ burials, sometimes as many as 12 or 15 ceremonies a day. It’s solemn, but not depressing, says Hunt, who volunteered for special training to learn the strict protocol for military funeral honors.

“I feel like it’s a duty every soldier should do,” he says.

Next week, however, Hunt and all but one member of his Houston-based honor guard will leave to train for a yearlong deployment to Iraq.

Buried with honor

Cheryl Whitfield can’t imagine the cemetery without them. The 59-year-old Harris County woman runs National Memorial Ladies, a volunteer program founded last year to make sure no veteran is buried alone.

Four or five times every week, Whitfield says, the Memorial Ladies and the guardsmen are the only witnesses at funerals of veterans who were homeless or outlived immediate relatives. She understands the soldiers are needed abroad but frets that some veterans will go without military honors in their absence.

“I don’t think people understand their presence and what they do for families unless they see it,” she says.

Minutes before their second funeral on Friday — the soldiers call them missions — Hunt and Contreras, a 22-year-old specialist, are joined by Eric Williams, a 21-year-old ROTC cadet from the University of Houston. Hunt swipes a lint remover over Contreras’ shoulders as Williams checks Contreras’ uniform jacket for loose threads.

The soldiers are fastidious about their crisp pleats and gleaming patent leather shoes, which they shine with Windex or furniture polish. Hunt even keeps a bottle of Pine-Sol in his car.

Contreras says he has to replace his white gloves with new ones every four or five days because red dye from the flag stripes rubs off and turns them pink.

Family’s appreciation

Their sprucing is interrupted by two men in dark suits who thank the soldiers and shake their hands.

Jim Wise and his brother, Thomas Wise, say the presence of an active-duty honor guard would have meant the world to their father, Albert Wise, who fought in the Battle of the Bulge.

“My father’s last words to me — we spoke on the phone and he could barely even draw breath — he said, ‘God bless the 101st Airborne,’ ” Thomas Wise says, fighting sobs.

Williams feels a kinship with every veteran he helps lay to rest. He knows someday it could be him in the coffin, his loved one clutching a flag.

“I actually think about that every day,” he says. “You can’t help but think about it.”

The soldiers are trained not to show any trace of emotion, but they’re human. The hardest part is always handing the flag to the next of kin.

“I remember one lady, her tears dropped right on my hand, and my mind almost went blank for a second,” Hunt says. “I had to get myself together.”

Williams will not deploy to Iraq because he’s scheduled to attend officer-training school. For now, he squeezes his honor guard work between classes at UH, so he’s not sure how often he’ll be able to come, but he’s trying to drum up other cadets or nondeployable guardsmen to take over for those who are leaving. The Veterans of Foreign Wars or honor guards from other branches or cities can step in, but Williams hopes Houston will continue to be able to take care of its own.

“When you join, you raise your right hand and take the oath, and you’re praised for that,” Williams says. “When you’re laid to rest, I feel like somebody needs to be there to see your body off, properly.”

Lasting presence

At the honor guard’s third and last appearance of the day, Williams plays taps on the bugle. Hunt folds the flag, and Contreras hands it to a woman who had helped care for James Rhatigan, another World War II veteran. Though no family members were present, five of Rhatigan’s friends and neighbors came to say farewell.

As Hunt, Contreras and Williams march slowly away, backs straight as ramrods, the funeral director urges mourners to take a moment to imagine Rhatigan not old and ill, but “like these young men here, standing tall and proud.”