POKIN AROUND: Respecting a fallen soldier: such a simple act
I'm not sure "protesters" is the right word. Their primary focus is not the wars in Iraq or Afghanistan, but homosexuality. From what I know of this small group, they believe God is punishing us as a nation, including our soldiers, because of our permissive attitude toward homosexuality.
Which, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with the July 13 death in Afghanistan of 20-year-old Army Cpl. Gunnar Zwilling of Florissant.No connection. You know that and I know that. But we don't claim to read the mind of God.
I promised my editor I'd at least take the first step - I'd talk to the protesters. I did not commit to writing a column. I'm hesitant to give a public forum to hurtful, wrong-headed, inflammatory rhetoric. Don't we already have the Internet for that?
But as I said, they were gone.
Nevertheless, I parked in the commuter lot and joined several people waving American flags at the corner of Cave Springs and West Clay, about 200 yards from Baue Funeral Home, where the funeral for Cpl. Zwilling was being held.
A man offered me an American flag. Sure.
Sharon Snyder, 58, of St. Charles told me she was driving by when she saw the protesters and their signs - including one that said "Blame God for Dead Soldiers" - and was curious enough to stop.
"They aggravated me," she says. "I felt I had to stay."
People lined West Clay, holding flags, wearing T-shirts with eagles. I talked to a few. This is no scientific sample. But it's clear they didn't come to blame God. Or to support the war. Or to protest the war.
They came, they said, out of respect for a dead soldier.
Some have relatives and loved ones overseas. Some are veterans.
Sonny Henderson, of unincorporated St. Charles County, is a Vietnam veteran, a "drafted" Vietnam veteran, he pointed out. He was chosen, he said, through the Selective Service System. "And I'm still trying to figure out the friends who selected me," he says.
I asked him why he came.
"I'm here to show respect for a young man that lost his life for the rights of those people who were up here demonstrating with their signs," Henderson says.
Henderson was having breakfast Tuesday over at Burkemper's Family Restaurant in O'Fallon with his buddy Roger Jones, 65, of unincorporated St. Charles County. It was Jones, also a veteran, who had seen people gathering in support at the funeral home.
And just like that, Jones knew he wanted to show his support, too. And he brought his wife, Joan, who turned 58 on Tuesday.
"We're here to show respect," she said.
Same for Sarah Fitzgerald, 24, of St. Peters. She was with her husband, Josh, 27, and their daughter Haley, 10 months.
Like others, they did not know Cpl. Zwilling. They do not know his family.
"If it was somebody I knew, I'd want people to come," she said.
Then there's Dave Kurre, 61, of St. Charles: "Four years active duty in Vietnam and two six-year hitches in the Navy Reserve.
"Same reasons," he said. To show respect.
"I have a brother in Iraq and a brother-in-law who is going to be over there," says Stephenie Carpenter, 29, who was with her daughter Kaitlyn, 11, and son David, 14 months. "I want to show my support."
Can you believe, she asks, one of the protesters carried a sign that read, "You Will Go to Hell."
The procession left Baue en route to Cpl. Zwilling's burial in Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery in St. Louis.
I took my flag out of my pocket and raised it, then switched it to the hand holding my note pad so I could jot down what I saw.
There were police cars from various local agencies, including O'Fallon, Wentzville and St. Charles County. The officers were solemn; they made no eye contact.
They were followed by as many as a hundred members of the Patriot Guard Riders, men (as well as a few women) on motorcycles. American and MIA flags tapered from their bikes. Many of the riders are veterans, I'm told.
They wore leather, looked hard, and focused on the road ahead.
They are followed by the hearse and two limos with dark windows.
And then car after car passed by in which, it just so happened, each driver was a woman. They cried. They dabbed at their eyes. They did not stare straight ahead.
Instead, they looked at us, the flag holders, even me - who had come to talk to the protesters. It is such a simple act, I think, a cliche even, to stand silently on a street corner holding an American flag.
And they rolled down their windows to offer their thanks.
