Sunday, October 26, 2003

TAPS
Yesterday, in the midst of my basement cleaning blitz I nearly jumped for joy when I turned on the TV and found a rerun of “The West Wing”. It must have been my good luck day, because there ended up being two episodes back to back on the good ole WB. I would like to momentarily take back mean things I said about the WB, on account of they played two hours of West Wing on Saturday, and Lo, it was good.

So, I puttered and cleaned and threw things out while President Bartlett and crew were smart, funny and thought provoking as ever – even though this was probably the sixth or seventh time I’ve watched this. The second episode nearly sent me into a seizure. The episode was “In Excelsis Deo.” This is the first “Christmas” episode where Toby arranges a military funeral at Arlington for a homeless vet who fought during the Korean War.

I have always felt this was and still is to date the best West Wing episode ever. And that’s saying a lot. I’ll go a step farther and say this is one of the best TV episodes of all times. It’s up there with the farewell episode of Mash, the Chuckles the Clown funeral on the Mary Tyler Moore show, and several other classics. It’s just that good.

So, during the commercial, I decided my basement cleaning was done for the day (Yay me!) and I ran upstairs to watch the rest. As I said, I’ve seen this episode probably half a dozen times anyway – probably more. But I still sat on my bed transfixed, as if I’d never seen it before. It is so incredibly engaging on so many different levels. It’s fun to see the characters from an earlier time in the show’s history. CJ was flirting with Danny (local boy from TunaVille, BTW. Remind me to tell you the story when he and many of his friends came to the movies to see his premiere in “Revenge of the Nerds”). Josh was flirting with Donna (We’re talking good old days here), Mandy was on the show, but that’s ok because we know in hindsight she won’t be there for long. And last and never at least, Mrs. Landingham was there. Gah, I love her. I wish she didn’t have to get deaded in her new car. That sucked and was sad beyond words.

Anyway. Everybody was there. One of the main plots centered around a homeless man who froze to death. In his coat pocket was Toby Ziegler’s card (he’d donated the coat to Good Will) so the police contacted him in the hopes that he had some information on this man. Toby ends up finding the man’s brother (also homeless and somewhat mentally handicapped), and pulls massive amounts of string to finagle this full military honors funeral at Arlington.

At the end of the show, I cry. Just like I’ve done every single time I’ve watched this. It is an incredibly moving scene, because it juxtaposes the military funeral with the singing of “Little Drummer Boy” by The Harlem Boys Choir at the White House. I get teary just writing about it.

My Grandfather is there. My Grandfather is buried at Arlington National Cemetery. He always used to joke that he was only going to move from his house once – and that would be seven miles up river. He didn’t quite get his wish, but he was close. They sold the house and moved into a beautiful apartment adjacent to an assisted living center. If you needed assistance, it was there, but if you didn’t you could be very independent. It’s a great compromise, I think.

My Grandfather (a retired naval captain) scared the living BeJeebus out of me and my siblings most of the time. He was a big imposing man with a booming voice. He was hella smart, and when the mood struck him, he would grin his evil grin that went from his mouth deep into his eyes, and he would slice you in half with his razor sharp wit– while you were still laughing. I love those memories.

The only thing scarier than my Grandfather was the Alzheimer’s disease which severely altered his mood and his demeanor towards the end. Usually for the worst. Still in all, I carry mostly very cool memories. Like the time he packed us sandwiches for the road on the way home from North Carolina. He told us in a mysterious voice to “beware of the ringer.” It ended up being Peanut Butter and pickles sandwich. Younger Brother Tuna got the ringer, and we laughed about it all the way home. I also remember the time – ok, every single time – when we would leave his house, and he would walk (painfully with severe arthritis) outside with us, and then he’d cross the road, and “wave us out” of the driveway when it was safe. It was a colossal pain in the ass to have to wait for him to do this. But he did it because he cared. TinyTuna doesn’t remember him doing this, but interestingly enough, she actually waves me out of the garage every morning. If she had a perfectly mixed Bloody Mary in her hand and was another two feet taller, she’d be the poster child for reincarnation. Those two have an awful lot in common.

My Grandfather died, and we traveled to Arlington National Cemetery for the funeral.

Now, I must admit that I’m not particularly a gung-ho military type person. Every country needs a military, and they have an important job to do. I am, however, going to own up to being a weenie, and say I’m glad I don’t have to serve. But nobody cares about that here. We are in Arlington, which is military central. I feel a little (and a lot) out of place and unworthy.

The family gathered in a small room adjacent to the Arlington chapel. It is not a large church at all – it might seat 100 if you squished. No more, and probably less. Once the family was gathered, we were led to our seats. The casket was rolled in by honor guard with great solemnity and pomp. The service was fairly brief. My uncle spoke, and we all fell in love with the ministers beautiful booming voice which had a Jamaican-like lilt to it.

At the end of the service, the honor guard returned. As they began moving the casket out of the chapel, I thought I heard music, but far, far away. The doors to the chapel opened, and as we stood and followed the casket out of the church, we saw the navy band. It wasn’t a pickup band. It wasn’t the “oh jeez, I gotta go play this funeral, but I’ll meet you at lunch in a hour” band. It was a full naval band. It was over 100 people in full naval dress. Amassed and in formation. They were playing for my Grandfather.

The casket was placed on the horse-drawn caisson. The band remained in formation and followed the caisson to his grave site. They marched the entire way. They played the entire way. It was over a mile. When we reached our destination, a few final words were spoken. Prayers were said. The twenty-one gun salute was sounded. Taps was played. The flag was folded and presented. All of this was for my Grandfather. It was something I’d never seen before, and I knew I would never see again.

Some say “the military knows how to put on a good funeral.” And yes, I suppose it’s true. But it struck me – cynical me – that it was so much more than a “good show”. Of course it was a moving service, but it was also very impressive. It was impressive because all of these people: the minister, the honor guard, the navy band, the riflemen, and the bugler, were there for my Grandfather. They didn’t know him from the next crabby guy on the street. But with every last thing they did – how they moved, how they played, how they looked – it said one word. Honor. It wasn’t pomp at all. It was honor. Honor for a comrade. Honor for a fellow military man. Honor because that’s what is done, and nothing less.

Still, it doesn’t seem enough to say that it was “impressive”. That word is best left for mountains and large snowfalls. “Awesome” is too trendy and overused. It lends itself more to a description of an unadvertised sale, or the quality of ones nachos at the local pub. It was, however, “Awe-Inspiring.” Every crisp, deliberate movement, every word spoken and every note played echoed the theme of honor and respect across the endless rows of pristine white headstones. They didn’t know him, but he was one of their own.

So as I watched West Wing and snuffled through the ending, I thought of the Ringer sandwich and smiled a little smile. In the years since his death, I’ve heard many stories about my Grandfather from GramTuna and from my AuntTuna, and I’m not so afraid of him anymore. I’ve always had a great deal of respect for him, but on that crisp September day, a large group of strangers took me and showed me what lies beyond respect. They showed me Honor.

Thank You.
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