Memorial Day

The salutary effects of a loud voice

I am not an American and perhaps I am stepping out of line with this post. I won’t apologize because I am an America-phile to the extent that I believe the founding documents and ideas of the “Great American Experiment” to be extraordinary and worthy of serious consideration not only for my American cousins but for all people everywhere. I am especially a student of the US Civil War for a lot of spiritual reasons that to me ring true.

Many years ago, I was at a local football game with my son and as we were making our way out of the stadium following the game we came upon a tall, young, burly policeman who was screaming into the ear of a tall, young, drunk patron whose arms he had pinned and whose nose was pressed into the concrete wall.

“That seems a bit over the top,” I though to myself as the crowd parted around the pair at the urging of a second cop who had his partner’s six. The yelling was discordant and created an increased flow of adrenalin in me. It seemed to be an unnecessary extravagance just to control a silly, drunk guy. But I didn’t know what had preceded the policeman’s reaction and I wasn’t too upset. I am not a big fan of heavy drinking at sporting matches, so I passed by with a sense of,

“Good! Tough luck you drunken idiot.”

As we passed by, a friend of the pinned drinker careened into the back of the cop doing the pinning. Big mistake. He was almost instantly thrown to the ground and before his head stopped bouncing off the concrete, he was pinned by the second cop. The volume of the screaming more than doubled. It was unnerving and it occurred to me how effectively disorienting and perhaps necessary is the power of a loud, commanding voice.

In April of this year, I was visiting grandchildren in Texas and needed to buy some equipment from the local Home Depot. Actually, I needed to make several return trips to Home Depot and this was among the last that I made. Which, incidentally, made the Babylon Bee story about Jesus and the Home Depot the funnier to me. In fact, the plumbing prowess of my son-in-law and me was of such a calibre that my grandson mentioned it in his “what I did on the weekend” essay at school.

“I went to Home Depot six times on Saturday…”

At any rate, this was a solo trip and, as I was walking to my car in the parking lot, the air was split with the siren sound of a very close police car who roared up and slammed on the brakes almost beside me. Disorienting hardly describes my reaction. The car was not stopped when two cops jumped out and, with guns unholstered, took up positions behind the fenders of their car and started screaming at someone in a nearby vehicle to get out NOW with their arms up. I was fascinated for the second it took to realize that I was in a direct line of fire should something untoward occur. At first I thought I might join the nearest cop behind the fender but wisely decided that might get me some unexplained jail time so I hotfooted it out of the direct line of fire and watched from the safety of another car - not wanting to draw bullet holes into mine.

As with the drunken football fan, the yelling was almost more unnerving than the drawn guns. I thought,

“Dude, get out with your hands up! These guys are serious. Listen to them screaming at you.”

Soon enough a guy with a well tattooed arm got out with his hands up (not high enough for the screaming officers apparently) and he kept asking what this was about. Soon enough he was getting a very close look at his truck’s paint job with two cops, guns drawn, screaming in his ear. The screaming was having an effect on me and so I highballed it back home.

In 2012, my wife and I toured the many museums and historic sites of Washington DC and surrounding area. At the top of my list was a visit to Arlington cemetery primarily to visit the graves of the Civil War veterans. Our visit was in April and the cherry trees were beginning to bloom hinting at the beauty which was soon to characterize Washington.

Arlington was the home of Confederate General Robert E Lee, and the property came to him through his marriage to Mary Custis, a great granddaughter of Martha Washington, the first First Lady of the United States. To say that Arlington has a storied history is to understate “storied”. Unfortunately for Mr. Lee and his family, Arlington is just across the Potomac River from Washington and so it was captured by Union armies quite early in the Civil War and eventually used for a cemetery.

Following the war, negotiations between the Lees and the US government resulted in the land being purchased and it has been officially hallowed ground ever since. The Lee homes remains on the grounds and the buildings are part of Arlington National Park. I am told that US military veterans can still request to be buried at Arlington and many do. There are a lot of graves at Arlington, and they have a sobering effect on any who wander its hills and paths.

The most sobering and, to my mind, beautiful and profound part of Arlington is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. It is a large, classical marble structure with seats for people to sit quietly and contemplate the meaning of the many military graves and particularly that grave dedicated to soldiers whose remains were never identified. During our visit, there were Marine Corps servicemen guarding the tomb with their heads bowed over their rifles. Every half hour they would march the length of the Tomb, I suppose to prevent stiffness and to add ceremony to what they were doing. It was, in its way, a very somber and impressive drill. The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier is hallowed ground within hallowed ground - a veritable Holy of Holies.

As my wife and I watched and contemplated the scene in front of us, I was aware of the conversation and giggles of a group of teenagers who were also sitting in the Tomb. Suddenly the air was split by the literal screaming of the Marines who had picked up their rifles, formed up in front of the teens and proceeded to dress them down in no uncertain terms for their impudent ignorance and lack of decorum and respect. I forget if a firing squad was mentioned but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was. These were seriously inflamed and disgusted soldiers who were about to go postal - or so it seemed to me. Fortunately, their shouting solved the problem and there was no more giggling from the severely chastened teens who shamefacedly filed out. Sometimes such “micro-aggressions” are necessary and satisfying to watch.

According to my lights, the government of the United States is getting a lot of stuff wrong and has been for the past thirty years. Giving up on faithfulness to your founding documents turns out to be a bad governance strategy. Given the current recruitment problems experienced by the US military, I don’t know if the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier remains hallowed ground jealously protected by earnest young men who understand concepts like service and sacrifice. I sincerely hope so because I was most impressed those years ago by their dedication to the respect to be paid to their fallen brothers and sisters.

We Canadians sometimes observe what goes on south of our border bemusedly and wonder about the American urge to be over the top. But sometimes we, or at least I, can only sit in silence and wish that we Canadians got half as much right as the Americans do. That was amply demonstrated to my wife and I that cool April day at Arlington. Those Marines represented the best of their country, and it was thrilling to watch them demand respect for others who, by protecting their fellow citizens, could no longer protect themselves.

So happy Memorial Day to my American cousins and may the hopes and dreams and memories represented by the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier be zealously protected for centuries to come. And may you return to a profound respect for the living words of your founding documents which so many have willingly died to protect and under whose protection so many are now wanting to live.