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Rocky Mountain News

FinalsaluteMaj. SteveBeck, sitecommander ofMarineAirControlSquadron 23atBuckleyAirForceBase, foldsbackthe flagwhilepreparingtoopenthe casket

of2ndLt. JamesJ.Cathey, 24, for final inspection.Fivedaysearlier,BeckhadinformedCatheys pregnantwife,Katherine,of herhusbandsdeath in Iraq.

S T O R Y B Y J I M S H E E L E R n P H O T O S B Y T O D D H E I S L E R

R O C K Y M O U N T A I N N E W S

Inside a limousine parked on the airport tarmac, Katherine Catheylookedoutat theclearnight skyand felta kick.

Hesmoving,she said.Come feelhim. Hesmoving.Her twobest friends leaned forwardon the softleatherseatsand

puttheirhands onher stomach.Ifeltit,oneofthemsaid.Ifeltit.

Outside,thewhineofjet enginesswelled.

Oh,sweetie,herfriendsaid. Ithinkthis is hisplane.As the three young women peered through the tinted windows,Katherine squeezed a set of dog tags stampedwith the samename as herunbornson:

JamesJ. Cathey.He wasnt supposed to come home this way, she said, tightening her

grip onthe tags, which werelinkedby a necklacetoher husbandsweddingring.

The women looked through the back window. Then the 23-year-oldplacedherhandon herpregnantbelly.

Everythingthatmademe happyis onthatplane,shesaid.Theywatchedas airportworkersrolled a conveyorbelt to therear of the

plane,followedby six solemnMarines.Katherineturnedfrom thewindow andclosed her eyes.I dont want it to be dark right now. I wish it wasdaytime,she said. I

wishit wasdaytimeforthe restofmy life. Thenightis justtoohard.Suddenly,thecar dooropened.A white-glovedhand reachedinto thelim-

ousine from outside the same hand that had knocked on Katherinesdoorin Brightonfivedaysearlier.

Theman in thedeepblueuniform knelt down to meet hereyes,speakingin a soft,steadyvoice.Katherine,saidMaj. SteveBeck, itstime.

Continued on next page

AY, NOVEMBER 11, 2005 1S


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The American Airlines 757 couldnt havelandedmuchfarther fromthe war.

The plane arrivedin Reno on a Fridayevening, the beginning of the 2005 Hot

August Nights festival one of thecitysbiggest filledwith flashinglights,

fireworks,carefreemusic and plentyof gambling.Whena young Marine in dress uniformhad board-

edthe plane toReno,thepassengerssmiledand nod-ded politely. None knew he had just come from theplanes cargo hold, after watching his best friendscasketloadedonboard.

At 24 years old, Sgt. Gavin Conley was only sevendays youngerthan theman in thecoffin.The twohadmet as 17-year-olds on another plane the one toboot camp in California. Theyhad slept in adjoiningtopbunks,the twoyoungestrecruitsin thebarracks.

All Marines call each other brother. Conley and

JimCatheycouldhave been.They finishedeachoth-ers sentences,had matchinginfantrytattoosetchedon their shoulders, and cracked on each other as iftheyhad grown up together which, in someways,theyhad.

When the airline crew found out about Conleysmission,theybumpedhim to first-class.He hadnev-erflowntherebefore.NeitherhadJim Cathey.

On the flight, the woman sitting next to him nod-ded toward his uniform and asked if he was comingorgoing.Tothe war, shemeant.

Hefellbackon the words the militaryhadtoldhimtosay:ImescortingafallenMarinehometohis fam-ilyfromthe situationin Iraq.

Thewomanquietlysaidshe wassorry,Conleysaid.Thenshebegantocry.When the plane landed in Nevada, the pilot asked

the passengersto remainseatedwhile Conleydisem-barkedalone.Thenthe pilottoldthemwhy.

Thepassengerspressedtheir facesagainstthe win-dows. Outside, a procession walked toward theplane. Passengers in window seats leaned back togive others a better view. One held a child up towatch.

From their seats in the plane, they saw a hearseand a Marine extending a white-gloved hand into alimousine,helpinga pregnantwomanout ofthe car.

On the tarmac, Katherine Cathey wrapped her

arm around the majors, steadying herself.Then hereyeslockedon thecargohold andthe flag-drapedcas-ket.

Insidethe plane,they couldnthearthe screams.

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Eachdooris different.Someare ornatelycarvedhardwood,someare hol-

lowaluminum.Someare protectedbyelaboratesecu-ritysystems,some by loosescreendoors.

Duringthe pastyear, the 40-year-oldMarine majorin the white gloves has stood at the front doors ofhomes in three states, preparing to deliver the mes-sagenofamilywantstohear.

Itis a jobhe neveraskedfor andoneforwhichhe re-ceivedno training. Thereare noset rules,onlyimper-sonal guidelines.Itis a missionwithoutweapons.

SteveBecktrainedtofightas a Marine,winningac-colades as the most accomplished marksman of hisclass a manwholaterearnedtwomasters degreesin a quest to become a leader on the battlefield. Hehadhopedto deployduringthePersianGulf Waranddefinitelythoughthewouldgethis chancethistime.

Instead, he found himself faced with an assign-ment that starts with a long walk to a strangersporch and an outstretchedhand.It continues withapromisesteepedinthehistoryoftheCorpsthatmostpeopleassociateonlywith thebattlefield:

Neverleavea Marinebehind.In combat, men have been killed while retrieving

their comrades bodies, knowing that the dead Ma-rine wouldhave donethe same for them.Itsa tradi-tion instilled in boot camp, where Marines aresteeped in 230 years of history and the sacrifices oftensofthousandsof lives.

ForBeck,thatpromiseholdslongafterthedeadre-

turnhome.In the past 12 months, he has seen inside the cas-

kets, learned each Marines name and nickname,touchedthetoystheygrew upwithand readthe let-ters theywrote home. He has held grievingmothersin long embraces, absorbing their muffled cries intothedarkblueshoulderofhis uniform.

Sometimes hes gone home to his own family andfoundhimselfcryingin thedark.

Continued from previous page


Toourreaders:

Almosteveryonehas heardof theknockat thedoor theknockthatallmilitaryfamiliesdread.Once the dooropens,though,the storyhas barelybegun.RockyMountainNews reporterJim

SheelerandphotographerTodd Heislerspentthe past year withtheMarinesstationedat BuckleyAirForceBaseinAurorawho havefound themselvescalleduponto notifyfamiliesof thedeathsoftheirsons in Iraq.In eachcasein thisstory,thefamilies agreedtolet SheelerandHeisler chronicletheirloss and grief.Theywantedpeopleto knowtheirsons,themenand womenwhobroughtthem

home,and thebondoftraditionsmorethan200yearsoldthatunitethem.

Thoughreadersare ledthrough thestoryby thewhite-glovedhandof Maj.SteveBeck,he remainsa reluctanthero.Heis,he insists,onlya smallpartofthemassivemosaicthatis theMarineCorps.

Withthe familiespermission,heagreedtotakeus inside.

nMoreonline:To seea multimediaversionofthis storyand additionalphotographs,gotoRockyMountainNews.com.

n [email protected]

or303-892-2561n [email protected]

KatherineCathey,23,waitsin a limousinenext toahearseatReno-Tahoe InternationalAirport,preparingherself forthearrivalof herhusbands

casket.OnAug.21, she learnedofJimCatheysdeathinIraq.Twodays after that,she learned theirbabywouldbe a boy.

RockyMountainNews FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 2005


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When he first donned the Marine uniform, Beckhad never heard the term casualtyassistance callsofficer.He certainlyneverexpectedto serveas one.

As it turnedout, it would becomethe most impor-tantmissionof hislife.

Eachdooris different.But oncetheyreopen,Becksaid, some of the scenes inside are inevitably thesame.

The curtains pull away. They come to the door.Andthey know.They alwaysknow,he said.

Youcan almostsee thebloodrunoutof their bodyand their heart hit the floor. Its not the blood asmuch as their soul. Somethingsinks. Ivenever seenthatexceptwhensomeonedies.And Ive seena lotofdeath.

Theyre falling either literally or figuratively andyouhaveto catchthem.

In this business,I cantsavehis life.All I cando iscatchthe familywhile theyrefalling.

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Hours before Becks first call, a homemade bombexploded.

Somewherein the Iraqi desert,in the midst of therubble,laythebodyof a MarinefromColorado.

The information from his dog tags was checked.Double-checked.And then the name began its jour-neyhome.

During World War I, WorldWar II and the KoreanWar, the messagearrivedin sparse sympathylettersor in the terse language of telegrams, leaving rela-tives alone to soak in the words. Near the end of theVietnamWar, the militarychanged the process,sad-dling statesidetroopswiththe knockat thedoor.

On that day in October 2004, inside an office at

Buckley Air Force Base in Aurora, Becks phonerang.

Wehavea casualtyinyourarea,thevoicesaid.At the time, Beck wasnt sure what came next. He

did know that he didnt have much time. Once thecallis received,thegoal fornotificationis four hours.

Troopsin thefield now oftenhave access toe-mailand satellite telephones.So when a service memberdies, hiscommanderisdirectedto shutoffcommuni-

cationsbackhometo keeprumorsfromreachingthefamilybeforethe notificationofficers.

Still, thepressureis palpable.The calloftencomesin themiddle of thenight.Officersmustretrievevitalinformationfrom headquarters the Marinesnextof kin, the basic circumstances surrounding thedeath,addressesand phonenumbers and there isnoroomforerror.

Witheachstep,theyget closerto thedoor.

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Becklookslikethe job:hard andsoft.His whitecot-tonglovescovercallousedhands. Theylead to thick,regular-guy arms shaped by work insteadof weight-lifting, and a round, pale face with big cheeks thatturn red when he hasnt had enough sleep, which is

mostof thetime.Becksbookshelfis packedwithtitlesrangingfrom

the History of the Peloponnesian War to the 9/11Commission Report. He can quote Clausewitz andSunTsu in regularconversation.

Buthe neverstraysfarfromhis roots.Born in Sand Springs, Okla., he still pronounces

his homestate O-koma.Hell describeanother Ma-rines muscles as hard as a woodpeckerslips, andwhen he wants something done with precision, hellrequirehistroopsto getit downto thegnats ass.

His carradio is eternallytunedto countrystationsbecause,he insists, a day without country music islikea daywithoutsunshine.

Its an Everyman quality that cant be faked, onethathas becomea crucial componentin helping thefamiliesof fallenMarines.

Afterreceivingthat first call last fall, Beck grabbedfor a thick, acronym-studdedmanual, The Casualty

Assistance Calls Officer s (CACO) Guide. It offeredonlythebasics:

Incases of death, thefollowing is suggested andmay be modified as follows,it reads,in part.

The Commandant of the Marine Corps has en-trustedme to expresshis deep regret thatyour (re-lationship), (name),(died/was killed in action) in(place of incident), (city/state or country) on(date). (State the circumstances). The Comman-

dant extends his deepest sympathy to you andyourfamilyin yourloss.

When he began the job as site commanderat Ma-rineAir ControlSquadron23, Beckknew thatdeathnotification was a possibility. The previous com-manderalready had supervisedthreefuneralsin theregionthat includesColoradoand partsof Wyoming,Kansas,SouthDakota andNebraska.

Until that first call, however, Beck had plenty ofotherworries.

Fromtheir baseamong the top-secretradarinstal-lations at Buckley, Beck and his Marines are highlytrained to support aircraft and missile operations.Theyalso arecontinuallytraining MarineReservistsandsendingthemto Iraq.

Since the beginning of the war, the Marines sta-tionedat Buckleyhave made 19 notificationsfollow-

ing the deaths of active-duty Marines. Fifteen ofthose were killed in action in Iraq and four died instatesidetraffic accidents.

Beckpersonally has notifiedfive families, butevenwhen he isntthe onewhodeliversthemessage,he isinvolved.

Before leaving on his first notification, Beckaskedforadvicefromtwomenin anotherbranchof theser-vice.

One of the first things they said was, Dont em-brace them. If they embrace you, keep your dis-tance, hesaid,shakinghishead.

Ididnthavemuchusefor them.

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Differentserviceshave differentguidelinesfor noti-fication.In theArmy, oneofficeris responsiblefor theknock,whileanotherstepsin tohandletheaftercare.

IntheMarines,thesamepersonwhoknocksonthedoor is thefamilys primary contactfor thenext yearor more.

Thereis no groupof Marineswhoseprimarytaskisdeath notification.Just as every Marine is a rifleman expected to be ableto handle a weapon and headtothefrontif tapped any officeralso may becalledtomakethewalktothedoor.

For Beck, that door is the LOD the line of de-



Beck supports Katherine after she breaks into tears at the sight of herhusbands casket at the Reno airport. When Beck knocked on Katherinesdoor in Brighton to notify her of her husbands death, she had cursed him,

then refused to speak to him for more than an hour. Over the next severaldays, Beck helped her deal with her grief. By the time they reached theairport, she wouldnt let go.

AY, NOVEMBER 11, 2005 RockyMountainNews 3S


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Passengersaboardthecommerical flightbringinghome thebodyof2ndLt.JimCatheywatchashiscasketisunloadedbya MarinehonorguardatReno-Tahoe

International Airport.Beckdescribeda similarscenelastyear atDenver InternationalAirportonthe arrivalofanotherfallenMarine:Seethepeople inthewindows?Theyll sitrightthereinthe plane,watchingthoseMarines.Yougottawonderwhatsgoingthroughtheirminds,knowingthattheyreon theplanethatbroughthimhome.Theyregoingtorememberbeingon thatplanefortherestoftheirlives.TheyregoingtorememberbringingthatMarinehome.Andthey should.

MountainNews FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 2005 FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 2005 RockyMountainNews 5S


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parture.Thepointof noreturn.Afterall of the racing,all of the franticscramble,its

thepoint wheretime freezes.Once I get to the porch, I stand there and take a

deep breath.At that point, you can wait 10 seconds,wait 30 seconds, wait an hour its not going to goaway,he said.

Theres no option.Theresno fork in theroad.Youjust stare down that straight path. You step up be-causethereis nofork.

I pick myself up, gather my thoughts and ring thebell.

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Therewereno footprintsinthe snow.That struckBeck as he sat across the street in his

government SUV that night, outside a house inLaramieblanketedbycold and quiet.

In his briefcasewas a sheet of paper:INITIALCA-SUALTY REPORT, it read. LCPL. KYLE W.BURNS.

Everysecondhe waited wouldbe one more secondthat, for those in the house, everything was still allright.He staredat thefrontdoor,at thedriftingsnow,thenlookedat hiswatch.

Whenhe left Denver,it was still Nov. 11; now it waswellpast midnight.

VeteransDay was over.Insidethehouse,thelightswerestill on.

All during the drive to Laramie, Beck imaginedwhat would happen at the door and what he wouldsay once it opened. This was his secondnotification.

He had easily memorized the words in the manual.Therewas noscriptforthe rest.He talked it out with his passenger, Gunnery Sgt.

ShaneScarpino.In thetruck,thetwo menplayed outscenariosthesame waytheywouldif headedintobat-tle. What if theparents arenthome? What if they be-come aggressive?What if they break down? What if,whatif, what if.

TwoMarinesare requiredfor everyvisit,notjust foremotional support, but for each others protection.While most parentseventually grow close to their ca-sualty assistance officer, the initial meeting tests allemotions. One of the Buckley Marines had beenslappedby a mother.Lastyear,a group ofMarines in



Itsnearly 2 a.m.whenBeckhugshiswife, Julie,before leavingtoconducta casualty notification.Marinesmake notificationsaroundtheclock,usuallywithin fourhoursofreceivingwordofa comrades

death.Theysee itas theirdutytothefamilies.Wouldnt youwantto knowassoonasyoupossiblycould?Becksaid.If itwas yourson,wouldyouwantusto letyousleep?

BeckandanotherMarineapproach JimCatheysfamilyhomein Reno, preparingtoescorthisloved ones tothe airport toreceivehisbody.OnthedayCatheydied,

anotherpair ofMarines followedthe samepath, carrying thenewsof the24-year-oldsdeath, signified nowbythegoldstar flagin thewindow.

Rocky Mountain News FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 2005


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Florida had their van set on fire by a distraught fa-ther.

Amidsheets of blowingsnowjust outsideLaramie,Beck hadpulledthe truck into a gas station andthetwoMarines grabbedtheir garment bags.

When they emerged from the restroom, theirspit-shined black shoes clicked on the floor. Theirdark blue pants, lined with a red stripe signifyingpast bloodshed,fell straight. Their jackets wrappedtheir necks with a high collar thatdates backto theRevolutionaryWar, whenMarineswore leatherneck-strapsto protectthemfrom enemyswords.

As they walkedout of the gas station,Beck felt theeyesoftheclerk.He knows

, Beckthought.Once they drove into the familys neighborhood,the modestwhite house found themfirst,beckoningwith the brightest porch lights and biggest housenumberson the block.

Beck pulled to the curb andcut hisheadlights. Helookedat Scarpino.

Then the two men climbed out of the truck, andwalkedinto thepristinesnow.

Fromthen on,every stepwould leavefootprints.

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Down in the basement of their home in Laramie,KyleBurns parentsdidnthear thedoorbell.

The couplehadspent most of the snowynighttry-ing to hook up a new television. It was nearly 1 a.m.when thedogleaptintoa barkingfrenzy.

Jo Burns looked out the window and saw the two

Marines.I thought, Go away! Get the hell away fromhere! shesaid.ThenI juststartedscreaming.

Down in the basement, Bob Burns assumed thatsomeone was trying to break in. He grabbed a flash-light andflewup thestairs.

When I got up there, I saw Major Beck and the(gunnery) sergeant,he said. Ill never forget MajorBecksprofile.

It was a silhouette their son had warned themabout.

WhenKyle left, he sat us down and toldus that ifhe didnt come back, the Marines would come, Josaid. SowhenI sawthemstandingthere. . .



Sixweeks afterhisbrotherwaskilled inIraq,KrisBurns,closest to the house,anda friend carry boxesofKyleBurnspossessions into thefamilyhomeinLaramie.Beck,whopersonallydelivered theboxes,

alsowas theonewhonotifiedthefamilyof the20-year-olds death onVeteransDay 2004. Nowforthehard part, said JoBurns,afteropeningone of theboxes.Thenshe correctedherself:Its allhard.

JoBurnsweeps asherhusband,Bob,unpacksa boxcontainingtheir sonsuniformsthatBeck,right,broughtfromDenver. Forme,havingallthisbackis a

good thing, JoBurns said.I donteverwant to forgetorto stopfeeling.I dontwant to forget,either,BobBurns said.I just dontwantto hurt.



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kandScarpinospenthourswiththefamily,tell-emthe littleinformationtheyknew, promisingouldtakecareof everythingtheycould.rthenextfew weeks,Beckfoundaway tobringtwo Marines who had enlistedalongsideKyle.lped organize a memorial service and Kylesat Fort Logan National Cemetery in Denver.

lped the Burnses navigate the piles of paper-ealingwithinsuranceandbenefits.whole time, Marines from Buckley watched

ylesbody.tfirst night,as thetwo men preparedto leave,rns gave each a hug. Bob Burns shook their

ontknowwhy,buteventhenIfeltcompassionem,BobBurns said. Ivedonea lot of reflect-

that first night and thats what comes back:assion.ontknowhowMajorBeckdoesthis,JoBurnsBecausenobodywantstoseehim.uknow,hefeelseveryone oftheseliketheywere

wn. He does. I tried to talk to him about thatbut hejust puthis handup andturnedaround

the wall.had tears in his eyes. And he just said, I

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oughBeckhadno trainingas a casualtyassis-officer, in a way he had trained for it all of his

earliestmemorybeginswithaneedle.toddler,he learned to hold a syringe to inject

abeticmotherwithinsulin.His parentshad di-d when he was 1. Sometimes, he was the onlyeretohelp.e grewup,the familyscrapedby.Somedays he

Salvation Army clothes to school. Things gotrfromthere.

enhe was13, Beckand his motherwatchedhis-oldbrotherdieafter beinghitbya car.Months

r,young Stevehad taught the littleboyto play

ore the funeral, Beck stood at the open casketacedhisbrothersbaseballgloveinside.ok years for Beck and his mother to recover.treatedandherebelled,leavinghomeearly.ntually, Beck channeled his anger into books,planning to go to medical school, where he

tofinda cureforhis mothersdiabetes.thestirringsof thePersianGulfWar shookhimreparedtotakehis medicalschoolentranceex-

His fatherhadbeena MarineandBeckhadlonghtofjoining.Hefiguredthiswouldbe thewarof

nerationandhedidntwanttomiss it.motherdiedwhilehewasattendingofficertrain-hool.Whenhelosther, healsolost hisreasonforingmedicine.Heneverwentback.ughhisrelationshipwithhisfather acopandr Drug Enforcement Administration agent tascloseasthatwithhis mother,theyeventual-nciled.Thenhisfatherwasdiagnosedwithcan-

my lasttrip outto see him, I tooka drive withndaskedhimif therewasanythingI coulddo,

aid.askedmeifI couldgetacolorguardathis funer-

atsall heaskedfor:a Marinecolorguard.id,Dad,thatseasy.dntgetto talktohim again.

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winternight,BeckpulledhisSUV intoDenvernationalAirportandlookedinto thesky,staring

helightsthatwerenotstars.mousine pulled in behind him, followed by anyhearse.

as early December, nine months before hestand on the tarmac in Reno alongside a

ar-oldwidow.reisno rulerequiringairportstoallowa familysecurearea to receive the body of a fallen ser-ember, and some airportsaroundthe countryefused,Becksaid,shakinghishead.my mind, this is the first time that a Marine isnColoradosoil,and (thefamily)deservestobeBecksaid.IfI hadmyway, theydknowwhich

nlightin thesky ishim, whichplaneis bringingalltheway.

de the SUV, his phone rang. He looked at theerandsmiled.babe, he said. Were at the airport, gettingto bring one of our guys home. How are the

Becks wife, Julie, and their three young chil-his job has sometimes meant his absence on

daysandanniversaries.HespentlastThanksgiv-

ingata funeral.Still,whenhewakesup inthe middleofthe nightto

an ominous call, Julie wakes with him and remainsnearby until he heads off to knock on another door.He talks about her the way the families he cares fortalkabouthim:Sheshisrock.

Hang in there, he said into the phone. Ill behomelate.

Then another call. Again, he recognized the num-ber:anotheroneofhis families.

The contact list on Becks cell phone is pro-grammed with the numbersof grieving parents andspousesfromRapidCitytoReno.

Buthesnottheonlyone,he insists,overandover.He said he takes his cuesfrom his Marines,the menandwomenwhogetinvolvedto thepointwheremanyof theirfamiliessay theymight as wellhave beende-ployedoverseas.

Thisjobisall aboutsacrifice,Becksaid.Wesacri-fice our family stability.Many of us sacrificeincome.We sacrificeour bodies.We breakthings.Werehardon ourselves.We break each other. And were askedtomaketheultimatesacrifice.

Outside the car, a Denver police officers walk-ie-talkiecrackledandhemotionedto Beck.

The cortegepulled behindthe policeescort,head-ingtowardthetarmac.

There are moments in this experiencethat ener-gize you,and thereare momentsthatsuck you dry,Becksaid. Thosemomentsare short,but theyresodefining.

Andyoureabouttoseeoneof them.As jet engines roared around him, Beck looked at

theplane.TheMarinesmarchedtothecargohold,to-

wardthecasket.See the people in the windows? Theyll sit right

there in the plane, watching those Marines, Becksaid. You gotta wonder whats going through theirminds, knowing that theyre on the plane thatbroughthimhome.

Commercialairplanestransportcasketsevery dayincludingservicememberskilledin action.Forthemostpart, thepassengershaveno idea whatlies be-low.

MostpeoplewillneverseetheTransportationSecu-rity Administrationofficials standing on the tarmacwiththeirhandsovertheirheartsas abodyis unload-ed. They wontseethe airport policeand firefighterslinedupalongsidetheircarsandengines,lightsflash-ing,salutingthehearseonitsway out.

Occasionally,aplaneloadofpassengersisbrieflyex-posedtothehardrealityoutsidethecabin.

Theyregoingto rememberbeingonthatplanefortherestoftheirlives,Becksaid,lookingbackat thepassengers. Theyre going to remember bringingthatMarinehome.

Andtheyshould.

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Before graduating from boot camp, every Marinemasterstheblankstare:thefocused-but-distantlookthat glares down from recruiting posters, the onemeant to strike fear in enemies,the one intendedtoconveymorethantwocenturiesoftradition.

Marines are taught to hold the stare no matterwhat.If a fly crawlson theirface, or in theirear, theyareorderedtoremainsteady.

Notrainingcouldpreparethemforthefunerals.According to protocol an extension of their sa-

credneverleavea Marinebehindmandatea fall-enMarinesbodymustbeguardedbyanotherMarine

wheneveritisaccessiblebyamemberof thepublic.During the past year, the 60 active-duty Marines

stationed at Buckley have taken turns standingguard over the caskets.Inevitably,they get to knowthepersoninside.

Underneath their formal white caps, or covers,many of the Buckley Marines keep the funeral bro-churesofeveryMarinetheyhavewatchedover.

Now theyre watching over us, said Sgt. AndreaFitzgerald, as she turned over her cap, revealing aphototuckedinside.I callthemmyangels.

At the visitation,Marines hear the families talk tothebody.Atthememorialservices,theyheartheeulo-gies.Duringtheburials,theyseethe flagpresentedtothegrievingmotherorwidow.

Throughitall,theytry toholdthestare.Theycanstandtherefor hours,Becksaid.Their

feetfall asleepup to theirknees. Thepain werefeel-ing drives us. It drives us for the family becausetheprideisbiggerthanthepain.Butthepainyougot-taeatit,yougottalivewithit,yougottatakeit homeandcryin thedark.Whatelseare yougoingtodo?

For Sgt. Kevin Thomas, of Aurora, it starts whentheMarinesfirstmeetthecasketattheairport.

Youalwayshearallthesestatementslikefreedomisnt free. You hear the president talking about allthesepeoplemakingsacrifices,hesaid.

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MarineSgt.RaymondKocher

standswatchnearLanceCpl.Evenor

HerrerascasketinEagle. Like

manyof theBuckley-based

Marines,Kochersaysfuneraldetailisoneofthemostdifficultmissions

theyface.Iactuallystart

thinkingaboutitthemomentI

wakeup,he said.Ijustwantitto

beperfect.

AMarine honorguardmarchesbehindthehearseonthewaytoEvenorHe rrerasburialinAugust.Sincethewarbegan,casualtyassistanceofficersatBuckleyAirForceBasehaveoverseenthefunerals of19active-dutyMarines,15ofwhomdiedinIraqand theotherfourin trafficaccidents.

Marinesliftthe flagfrom EvenorHerrerascasketduring hisfuneralin Eagle,preparingtofold itfor thelast timeandpresentitto Herrerasmother,Blanca,center.Evenafter watching somany similarscenes,theMarines saythe cries

andgriefof thefamiliesneverleavetheirmind.Itsenoughtochokemeup,tightenmychest. . . saidSgt.KevinThomas.Itsalmostenoughto wishthatyou couldtakehis place,so thesepeoplewouldnthurtso much.



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But you never really know until you carry one ofthem in thecasket.Whenyou feel theirbodyweight.When you feel them, thats when you know. Thatswhenyou understand.

Thomas said he would rather be in Iraq or any-placehe doesntfeel sohelpless.

Still,he said,he has learnedlessonsfromfuneraldu-tythathe knowscombatcantteach.

Ill be sitting in front of the computer and Ill seethenews:Anotherservicememberkilled.Itsenoughtochoke meup, tightenmy chest.Thatsanotherhun-dred people that are about to be affected, Thomassaid.

Its almostenoughto wishthat youcould takehisplace,so thesepeoplewouldnthurt so much.

Theres no way that doing one of these funeralscant make you a better person. I think everyone inthemilitaryshouldhaveto doat leastone.

Still,it doesntendat thecemetery.

Peoplethinkthat afterthe funeral,werefinished,Beck said.Its notover. Its not over at all. We havetokeeptakingcareof thefamilies.

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Thesound of strappingtape rippedthroughtheliv-ingroomin Laramie.

Nowfor thehardpart,Jo Burns said,after open-ing one of the cardboard boxes from Iraq filled withhersons possessions.

Thenshe correctedherself.Itsall hard.It had been more than a month since Becks mid-

night driveto thewhite housewiththe biggestnum-bers on theblock.Beckwasntrequiredto personallydeliver the boxes to Laramie. He didnt have to staywith the family for two hours more as they siftedthroughthem, either.

Butactually,Beck said, hehad nochoice.I know that Kyle Burns is looking at me, making

sure Im squared away with his family and withhim, he said during the drive to Wyoming. I knowIm goingto have to answer the mail on that one day notwithGod,butwithKyle.

Insidethe livingroom,BobBurnsbeganliftingZip-loc bags from the box, cataloging the contents in ashakyvoice.

Hereshis wallet, he said, as he looked inside. Afishing license. A hunting license. A Subway Clubcard?Good grief.

Theyre things that reminded him of home, JoBurnssaid.

A fewminutes later,she pulledout a list in her sonshandwritingand startedto cry.

Whatis it,Jo?BobBurnsasked.Itseveryonehe wantedto call.Andwrite.Well, Bob said, now weve got a list, dont we,

Jo?They found more. A camouflage Bible. A giant

clothespin.Pens withtheir topschewedup.Corporalsstripes.He alreadyboughtthem, Bob said. He onlyhad

a couplemoreteststotake.Kylesolderbrother,Kris,pulled outa book,Battle-

field Okinawa, andfeatheredthe pages,thenplacedhisfingerat a wrinkleon thespine.

Lookslike he only got toabout here, he said.Heonlygot halfwaythrough.

Jo Burns neverwantedKyle to be a Marine. Whenheinviteda recruiterovertomeether,she wasopenlyhostile.

Ihaveto behonest,shesaidlater.Ididntbelieveall that brotherhood bull----. I thought it was just abunchof littleboyssayingthingsthatboyssay.

Ineverbelievedituntilafterhe died.In the midst of it all, they found a littlesnowglobe

with a typical Wyoming scene: trees, an elk, a bearanda coyote.

JoBurnsshookit upand watchedtheflakes fall.Shethen graspedBeckshand.He told us several times, You wont be alone

throughthis well behere, shesaid.IguessI didntunderstandwhatthatmeant.

n

Throngsof raucous,face-paintedfanatics filled theStevensHigh Schoolgymnasiumin Rapid City, S.D.,preparingfor thebiggest basketballgame of thesea-son.

As the time for tipoff neared, some of the kidscheeredandothersstompedtheirfeeton thestands.But when the lights dimmed, the teams didnt takethecourt.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,said a uni-formed Marine major, as the gym fell to murmurs,thensilence.

Eight Marines from Buckley marched to the frontof the gym floor, along with a dozen members of theStevensHigh School football teamand the family ofLanceCpl. JoeWelke.

Forsomeof you, thisis a surprise,Becksaid.Forothers,you knewwe hadsomethingspecial.Forevery-one,I promiseyou,this willbe a memorablenight.

In the gym rafters hung the retired jerseys offormer Stevens High football players who laterturned pro. On Feb. 5, the crowds attention wasdrawn to a special display case for three more uni-forms,allwornby thesameman.

KeepJosephWelkelong in your memories, for hissacrifice and that of others should never be forgot-ten,Becksaid.Forif itis, noneof usdeserveourfree-dom.

Thespotlightswept acrossthe lineof footballplay-ers as they passed thejerseyof No. 36 fromplayertoplayer, across the gym, until it rested with JoeWelkesmother.

Thenthelight shone on theMarines.Many of themhad been the last to carry Welkes body, the last tofeelthe weight.

This night,they carriedhis emptyuniforms.TheMarinedressblueuniformis theonly uniform

in usetoday that is comprisedof all the colors of theAmerican flag, Beck said to the crowd, as the suitwas passedalong,through white-glovedhands,untilitalso restedwithBettyWelke.

A Marinethen heldup a desertcamouflageuniformonethathadarrivedin theU.S.onlya fewdaysear-lier.

TheMarine combatutilityuniform has seendutyaround the globe in the toughest of environments,Beck said. Joes combat uniform is with us tonight

andcomes directlyfromthe desertsof Iraq.The Marines passed the uniform along until it

reached Beck. He turned, cradling it with the samereverence he showed months earlier at the funeralwhen he presented Betty Welke with the folded

Americanflag thathad coveredhersons casket.The lance corporalsmotherburiedher face in the

uniform. Her sobbing lifted into the silence of thegym.



OnFeb.5,beforethe biggesthigh school basketballgame oftheseason inRapidCity, S.D., MarinesstationedatBuckleyAir ForceBaseconducteda surpriseceremonyhonoringthememoryofLanceCpl.Joe Welke,who died inIraqlast

November.Stevens High Schoolwilldisplay Welkesmilitaryuniforms inthegymalongside theformerfootball stars jersey.GunnerySgt. Todd Martin,above,carries the dress blue uniformof the man hehelpedlay torest.



9/19

Upon receiving hersons combat uniformat theStevensHighceremony, Betty Welkeburied herfacein therough fabric. Beck, who handed herthe uniform, said heasked her,Doyou want tohold that fora little while? And she said, Yes. She was crying into it prettygood. And for me,that was kind of perfect. Because hiscombat uniformfromIraq hashertears in it.Her tears are in those threads. Forever.

In the stands, the face paint smeared into tears.Beckwhisperedin BettyWelkesear.

I said, Do you wantto hold that for a little while?Andshe said,Yes.

She wascryingintoit prettygood. Andfor me,thatwaskind of perfect.Becausehis combatuniformfromIraqhas her tearsin it.Her tears are in thosethreads.Forever.

n

The day after the ceremony in the gym, the Welkehome in Rapid Cityfilledwith MarinesJoe Welke nev-er knew. Around the country, as people prepared for

SuperBowl Sunday, theMarines preparedfor a birth-dayparty.Todayhe wouldbe21, saidJoe Welkesolderbroth-

er,Nick. Hed beback in townnow.His battalionjustgotback.

Twenty-one, he said. The one you look forwardto.

When the Colorado Marines arrived, theywere mettheway JoeWelkewouldhavewelcomedthem withbackslapsandbeer.

The Marines were so adamant about coming upherewith meon this,Beck said.Theywere the oneswho carried Joe. That funeral touchedthem so deep-ly.

Afterthe startof the footballgame,the MarinesandJoe Welkes high school buddies headed for thebig-screenTV in thebasement.Betty Welke remainedupstairs, looking through photo albums as Beck hov-erednearby.

When theywerealone,she pressedan album closedandlookedup atthe major.Iwant toknowwhatsreally happeningoverthere,

she said.For the next hour, Beck spoke passionately about

the scenes he said not enough people see: the Iraqielections,thesmall, successfuleverydaymissions,andthe positive days he saw ahead for Iraq turningpointshe saidherson helpedmakepossible.

He then explained how he believes it could takemore than a decade until the sacrifices made by themilitary pay off. The American public, he said, wouldhavetolearntobepatient.

Sheremainedquiet,soakingit allin.But is it worth it? she asked him finally. Was it

worthhis life?Helookedherin theeyes.Betty,with all youvebeen through,thatsnot some-

thing I cananswerforyou,Becksaid.

Thatssomethingforyou to decide.

n

Casualty notification isnt always conducted withthesamecare.

In May, the parents of an Army private first classwere stunnedwhentheirsonscasketwas deliveredtothemon a forkliftin a cargoareaof a St. Louis airportwhere employeeson break smoked nearby.They alsothought it insensitive that, when informing them oftheir sons death, the casualtyassistanceofficerliter-allyreadfroma script.

Others have watched their casualty officers dropoff the radar, or end up in Iraq, with no replacementprovided. In some cases, the military has takenmonthsto payfora funeralor leftfamiliesaloneto navi-gatethe morassof paperworkthatfollowsthedeathofa lovedone.

Recently,the governorof Illinoismet withArmy offi-cials to voice the concerns of military families in hisstate. Other cases surfaced in February, during con-gressionaltestimonyby war widows.

Successful casualty assistance is not the rule, it isquite the exception, one Marine widow told the con-gressional committee. This is certainly not the mili-tarytakingcareof itsown.

Somebranchesnowofferdaylongcourseson casual-tynotification.Next week,the MarineCorps is holdinga largesymposiumin Quantico,Va., wherecasualtyas-sistancecalls officers includingBeck willconvenetosharestoriesand advice.

Manyproblemscould be solved,Beck said, if every-onefolloweda simpleprinciple:

Todo this right, to do it properly,youhave to lookat these women as if they were your mother or yourwife,and thesemenas if they wereyour fatheror yourbrother. And you have to ask, What would I want

someonetodo ifit wereme? n

Inside a ballroom at an Aurora hotel in April, Beckadjusted a line of medals on a banquet table, strug-gling withall theyreflected.

Whenyouthink about whatthese guysdid, its noteasy to look at these medals, he said. Whats thetrade-off?Whats theexchange?Howdo yousay (hold-



To do this right, to do it properly,you have to look at these women as ifthey were your mother or your wife,and these men as if they were your

father or your brother. And you haveto ask, What would I want someoneto do if it were me?

Maj. SteveBeck

Theraucouscrowd inside theStevens HighSchoolgymnasiumfalls to a hush in Februaryas MarinesfromBuckleyAir ForceBase pay tribute to one oftheirfallen comrades: Stevens Highgrad Lance Cpl.Joe

Welke. Keep Joseph Welke long in yourmemories,for hissacrificeand that of others should never beforgotten, Beck told thecrowd. For if it is, none ofusdeserveourfreedom.



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ngupamedal),Thisisforyourson?At the beginning of the year, Beck realizedthere were a

number of medals due the Marines whose families hewatchedover.Insteadofmailingthemedalstothem,whichoften occurs, he decided to hold a formal ceremony topresentthemtothefamiliespersonally.

HecalledtheceremonyRememberingtheBrave.Beckconsideredthemedalsagain,feelingtheirweight.Itsnot a trade,but in theminds of themothers,I won-

der if they think it is a trade, and that theyre thinking, Idontwantthismedal.I wantmyson, hesaid.

Theonlyway Ican dispelthatis throughsomethinglikethis.Byshowingthemthehonor.By honoringtheirson.

After the lights dimmed in the ballroom,more than 500peoplefellsilent.

Youareaboutto hearthedescriptionsofindividualactsofcourage,Becksaid.Listenclosely.

Listen.Closely.Fornearlyan hour,theyhearddetailedaccountsofrock-

et-propelledgrenadeattacksandimprovisedexplosivede-vices,ofambushesandassaults eachwiththesame end-ng.

Slowly,methodically,the Marinesbroughtout the med-alsandcitationsandkneeledbeforeamotheror fathertheyhad first met on a doorstep. For each family, the Marinesalsopresentedavaseof yellowroses,onerosefor everyyearoftheMarineslife.

After it was over, Beck sat back and took another deepbreath.

EvensomeofourMarinessay,Whyarewedoingthisto

thefamilies?Whydoyouhave tokeepremindingthem?Beckshookhishead.This isnt aboutreminding them they dont need re-

minding.Thesefamiliesthinkabout thiseveryday oftheirives.

He looked up, addressing every person who hasnt feltwhatthosefamilieshave.

Thisisntaboutremindingthem,hesaid.Thisisaboutremindingyou.

n

Onthetarmacin Reno,thewhiteglovereachedintotheimousine,butKatherineCatheycouldntmove.

Katherine,Becksaid,itstime.Imnotreadyfor this,shesaid.Illneverbe ready.Hermother leanedintothe carand spoketo herdaugh-

ter.Katherine,shesaid.Jimwouldwantyouto seethis.Katherinelookedat her mother,then at Beck, and took

hishand. Afterclimbingfrom thecar, shesteadiedherself,her arm intertwinedwith Becks.Then she lookedtowardtheplane.

Atthe sightofthe flag-drapedcasket,Katherineletloosea shrill, full-bodywail that gave way to moans of distilled,contagiousgrief.

NO!NO!Noooooo!Nothim! Noooooo!

Shescreamedas thecasketmovedslowly downthecon-veyorbelt.Shescreameduntilshe nearlycollapsed,clutch-ingBeckaroundtheneck,herlegsalmostgivingway.

Atthe baseofthe luggageramp,thescreamshitthe pall-bearers.

Of all the Marines they had met or trained with, JimCathey was the one they consideredinvincible,built withsteel-cablearms and endless endurance a kid who hadmade sergeant at 19 and seemed destined to leapfrogthroughtheranks.

Mostof theMarineswho wouldserveas pallbearershadfirstmetCatat theUniversityofColorado,whileenrolledin an elite scholarship program for enlisted infantrymentakingthedifficultpathto becomingofficers.They partiedwith him, occasionally got into trouble with him, thenwatchedhimgraduatewithhonorsinanthropologyandhis-toryinonly threeyears.

When they lifted his casket, they struggled visibly withthe weight, their eyes filling with tears as they shuffled tothewhitehearse.

After they placed the flag-drapped coffin inside,Katherine fell onto one corner, pressing her face into thebluefieldofstars.

Beckputahandonherbackassheheldthecaskettight.By then, he was close enough to her to know that shewouldntletgo.He kepthishandon herbackuntilhefoundasolution.

Wouldyou like to ride with him? he finally asked. Shelookedup,dazed,and repliedwitha snifflingnod.Shetookhis hand again as he guided her to the front seat of the

hearse, where the surprised funeral directors quicklymovedpaperstomakeroomforher.

Jim Catheys mother, father and sister took their owntimewiththecasket,caressingtheflag,remembering.

His mother, Caroline, thought of the baby who used toreachoutto herfromthecrib.Hisfather,Jeff,sawtheboyhewatchedgrowinto aman onlong huntingtripsthroughthebarrenlandscapenearby.

Hissister,Joyce,sawthekidwhobecameherprotector.Thedayaftershelearnedofhisdeath,shehadhisfacetat-tooedon thebackofherneck,sohewillalwaysbewatch-ingmyback.

Lastof all,the youngMarinewhohad escortedhisfriendhomewalkeduptothe casketandcametoattention.

Onlyafew monthsbefore,GavinConleyhadstoodbeforehis best friend at the formal commissioning ceremony inBoulder,whereCatheyreceivedhisbrasslieutenantsbars.

ForCathey,it wasoneofthemostimportantdaysof hislife,andConleyknewthebestway tosharehispride.

Atthe endof theceremony,Conleywalkedupto thenewlieutenantandsnappedhisarm tohis brow,givingthenewofficerhisfirstsalute.

In front of the casket on the tarmac, Conley againbroughthishandtohisface, thistimein oneslow,sweepingmovement.Asthefamilywept,hishandfell tohisside.

Hisjobas escortwasofficiallyover.Before climbing into the hearse with Katherine, Beck



Beforepresentingmedalsto thefamilyof LanceCpl.GregRund ata formalceremonyin AprilinAurora,Marinesreadthedetailsof thebattlethat tookhislife andof theheroismthatsavedhis comrades.Rundsmother,Jane, andwife,KarissaMarcum,feltthe weightofthe medalsthathe wouldneverhold.

Standingat attention,severalMarinesfoughttocontaintheiremotionsandmaintaintheirMarinestareasmedalswere presentedposthumouslyto thefamiliesoftheir fallencomrades.Capt. ChrisSutherland,

left,Sgt.Maj. JeffStudy,Staff Sgt.CliffordGrimes,GunnerySgt. ToddMartinand othersalsopresentedeachfamilywitha bouquetofyellowrosesonebloomforeachyearoftheirlovedoneslife.

JoBurns,of Laramie,puts herhandto theface ofBeck,who hasassistedher familyfollowingthelossof hersonLance Cpl.Kyle Burns.Thetendermomentoccurredata ceremonythat BeckcalledRememberingtheBrave.Friendsofthe fallenMarines,left,posedforphotoswiththeircomrades picturesand uniforms.AfterseeinghisfriendKyleBurnsdie,Lance Cpl.MikeBall said,Istartedto letthetearscome,butwehadpatrolin10 minutes.. . .ThatnightwhenIgotback,Itriedtomourn,butitwasgone,andI knewIdhavetowait.

MountainNews FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 2005 RockyMountainNews 13S


11/19

tookone last lookat the scene,fixing ontheplane.Bythen, the passengers had moved on, leaving the Ma-rines and the family alone with the casket andeverythingthat wasabout to follow.

n

Five days before Jim Cathey returned home, twouniformed men sat in a government SUV, severalblocks from Katherine Catheys home in Brighton,and bowedtheirheads.

Beckand Navy chaplainJim Chapmanclosedtheireyes in prayer as the chaplain asked for wordsthatwillbringthefamily peace.

This time, Beck was dressed in a drab green uni-formin accordancewith a controversialnewmandatefromthe topbrassnot to weardress blueuniformstonotifications, based on concerns that the distinctiveblueshad becometooassociatedwith tragedy.

It wasa warm, blue-skySunday afternoon.Nearby,a neighbormowedhislawn.

When the knock came, Katherine Cathey was tak-ing a nap. Her stepfather saw the Marines first andopenedthedoor.

Wereherefor Katherine,Beck said quietly.Oh,no,VicLeonardsaid.

At first, Katherines mother thought it was some-one trying to sell something. Then she saw her hus-bandwalkingbackwardandthetwomen in uniform.

Oh,no,shesaid.Shespregnant!Leonard suggested to his wife that she wake up

Katherine. Vicki Leonard shook her head. She

couldntspeak.When her stepfather opened the door to her bed-room, Katherine could hear her mother crying. Shethoughtsomethinghad happened to someonein hermothers family.She had never heard her mothercrylikethat.

Whatsgoingon? Katherineasked herstepfather.Itsnot good,hetoldher. Comewithme.Her own screamsbeganas soonas shesawtheuni-

forms.Katherineranto thebackofthe livingroomandcol-

lapsed on the floor, holding her stomach, thinkingof



SecondLt.MarcusMoyeroffers comforttoKatherinebefore leaving for theReno airportto receivethecasketof herhusband, JimCathey. Jimsmother,

Caroline, andsister,Joyce,hold tightlytoeachotherastheyprepareforamomenttheyallsaidtheywouldnever beready toconfront.

Katherineweeps onherhusbands casketat theRenoairportas Beckcomfortsher. She clungto it forseveralminutes, refusingtomove. IknowJimsgoingto be

withmeinsomanyways,shesaid later.Andtherewillbesomanypeoplewhowill teachhissonabouthis father.



12/19

the man who wouldnever see their baby. Finally shestood,butstill couldntspeak.

As Beck and the chaplain remained on their feet,she glared at them. She ran to the back of the houseand drewa hot bath.For thenext hour,shesat in thetub,dissolving.

Shortly after their arrival, Beck had ducked backoutsidetomakea quickphonecall.

Inside a governmentSUV in Reno, just around thecornerfromthe home whereJim Catheygrew up,an-otherphonerang.

n

Thetoolboxwasa mess.Jim Catheys motherstood in the garage, trying tofind the right wrench to fix a sprinkler head in herfrontyard.Whata frustratingmorning, shethought.

As she preparedto leavefor the hardware store,thefamilydogstartedtohowl a howl likeshe hadneverheard before.Sheput the dog in the houseanddroveoff.

When the silver SUV pulledup, the Marines insideassumedsomeone was home. A lawnmowersat out-sideandit lookedas if someonewas doingyardwork.

Noone answeredthe door.A neighbor droveup, lookedat them and pulledin-

to an adjacent driveway. The Marines started to getnervous. The neighbor looked out a windowat them.Their orderswereto remainparked atthe house untiltheparentsreturned.

When Caroline Cathey drove up, she saw the

strange government vehicle, then fixed her eyes onthemanin thedriversseat.She saw me;she pulledin, Capt. WinstonTierney

said.AndI hatethis,butI thinkshe mighthavesus-pected when she saw me. She got out of her vehicleandI toldmyguys, Timetogo.

CarolineCatheyshandswenttoher face.As I made my way up the driveway, we didnt say

anything,Tierney said. I wanted to waituntil I wasthere.She looked atme and it looked like shewasgo-ingto collapse.I supportedherand triedto giveher ahug.

He recountedthe conversationfromthere:Pleasedontlet it be,she said.Imsorryto have tobe heretoday.Canwe goinside

and sitdown? There are some things weneedto con-firm.

Pleasetellme itsnot Jimmy, pleasetellme itsnotmyson.

The Marines stayed with the Catheys for the next10 hours. With Carolines help, they contacted JimCatheys 9-year-old daughter, Casey, who was bornwhile he was still in high school. Casey, along withKatherine,hadpinnedthe lieutenantsbarson herfa-theronlya fewmonthsbefore.

Caseys mother and stepfather drove the little girlfrom CarsonCity,Nev.,to Reno,whereanotheroneofthe Marines an operationschief who had childrenofhis own told her thather daddy hadbeen hurtinthe warandwouldntbe ableto come back.He askedherif sheunderstood.Sheansweredwith tears.

The Marines held fast until Jim Catheys father,Jeff,returnedfroma trip hehad takento hissons fa-vorite hunting grounds, where he was scouting forgamebirds.

When it wasall over,the Marinesclimbedbackintothesilver SUV. A staff sergeantlookedatTierney.

Sir,he said. Pleasedonttakeme on anotherone

of these.n

TheflagneverleftJim Cathey.From themomenthis body departedIraq, thestur-

dy, heavyweight cottonflag remained nearby, follow-inghim from thedesert toDoverAir ForceBase,Del.,wherea mortuaryaffairs teamreceivedhis body.

According to the Department of Defense, Catheywaskilledin Al Karmah, Iraq, on Aug. 21.Membersofhis unit later told family members that Cathey wasleading the search of an abandoned building when abooby-trapped door exploded. The explosion was sofierceit blewoff an arm andlegof theMarinedirectlybehindCathey.That man,now in recovery,creditshislieutenantwith savinghis life.

OnceCatheysremainsarrivedat Dover,the mortu-ary affairs team began the delicate task of readyinghis body for the final trip home. When possible, mili-

tarymorticianspreparea bodyforviewingby thefami-ly.In Catheyscase,thatwasntan option.

Specialists at Dover wrapped his body in a whiteshroudand coveredit witha satin body-lengthpillowand his dress blue uniform before closing the casketlidand securingtheflagnearby.

When the plane landed in Reno, the same flag wasdraped over the casket, which was loaded into thehearseto continueitsjourneyto thefuneralhome.



At thefamilyhomeinReno, CarolineCatheyshowsBeckanapronher son gaveherwhenhewasa child.Before JimCatheywent toIraq,hismotherreceivedaphone callfromhim lateonenightwhile hewasat a

barwith somefriends.Hesaidhewanted to toast her,thenhadallofhisfriendsserenadeherwiththeNeilDiamondsongSweetCaroline. Icanstillseethatgrin, shesaid. That ornerylittlegrin.

Before leaving for the airport toreceivehissonsbody,JeffCatheyhugs twoofJimsbestfriends, 2ndLt. JonMueller, left, and2ndLt.MarcusMoyer. Asthefuneralneared,JeffCathey,whosuffersfrom

clinicaldepression,was surroundedbyMarineswhoflewin frombasesaround theworldto honortheirfriendandcomfort his family. Tellmeaboutmyson,JeffCatheyaskedthem.Tellme aboutmy son.

SecondLt.JimCatheyandhiswife,Katherine, inoneofherfavoritephotos.Sincehecouldntwearhis weddingringinto combat, hehadhername tattooedaroundhisringfinger. I talkwith the Iraqipeoplea lot andtheyalwaysseemy tattooofyourname andask, Madam?which isthewordforwife, hewrotein oneofhis

last letters toher. Usually that leadsintoaconversation aboutourbaby andtheirfamilies. Its really quitenice andit alwaysmakesmehappy.



13/19

Katherinepresses herpregnant bellyagainst herhusbandscasket.The baby,a boydue Jan. 1,willbenamedJames JeffreyCatheyJr.



14/19

After all the noise at the airport the screaming,the crying, thewhiningof jet engines insidethe fu-neralhome eachfootstepechoed.

The pallbearers carried their friends body to thefrontof an enormousemptyroom, then fadedinto thebackground. Beck posted himself at the head of thecasket,hisfacefrozenin theMarine stare.

His eyestrainedforward,he still saweverything.Inside the room, Catheys mother, Caroline, bent

down to hugKatherine.They squeezedeachotherfora longtime.

Yougive me strength,the youngwidowsaid.Other familymemberssat oncouchesandsomesat

on the floor hugging, holding hands, their eyes

lockedon thecasket,for nearlyhalfan hour.Finally,Beck brokethe silence.Im sorry, he said, excusing the family from the

room.Thereare somethingsI needtodo.

n

Beckmotionedto thepallbearersand beganthe in-structionsthatwouldholdfor thenextthreedays.

Although the Marines are required to stand watchover a comradesbody,oncethe casketis safelyinsidea locked mortuary or church, they usually leave atnightand returnwhenthe mortuaryreopens.

Thistime,however,the watchwouldnotend.Katherine and Caroline have both expressed con-

cerns about Jim being left alone, Beck told the Ma-rines.Sowe wontleavehimalone.

Hethenexplainedhowto guardthe casket.Theyallhadpostedwatchbefore.Theyhad stood atattention

for hours as part of basic training, but nothing likethis.Theywereto take shiftsof about an hourat a time,

Beckinstructed,standing watch24 hoursa day.Whenchangingthe guard,they were to saluteCatheys cas-ketfirst, thenrelievetheotherMarinethe same way.

He showed them the slow salute the one theyarent taught in basic training three seconds up,holdfor threesecondsand threesecondsdown.

A salute to your fallen comrade should taketime,hesaid.

ForBeck,that saluteembodiesmorethan themove-mentitself.Earlierin theday,someonehadaskedhimabout the arrival of the body. He held up his handwitha firmcorrection.

Thebodyhas a name.he said. Hisname is Jim.Inthe room,he walkedup tothe casketandpaused.Now, this is important, too, he said. If a family

memberwantsyou tobreak,youcan break.Theymay

want to hug you or kiss you. ThatsOK. Hug them.Ifsomeonewantsto shake your hand, shake their hand.Ill take my glove off when I shake their hand youdont have to, its up toyou.But then gobackto posi-tion.

Everyoneunderstand?Yes,sir, theyresponded.Rogerthat.This is a serious business,he said. Jim is watch-

ing you.As the other Marines filed into the hallway,closing

the door behind them, Beck walked back to the cas-ket.Forthefirsttime,he andJim Catheywerealone.

Itwas timeforthefinal inspection.

n

Beck walked up to the casket and lifted the flagback, tucking it into neat pleats and leaving justenough room to open the heavy wooden lid. He

walked around the flag several times, making sureeach stripe lined up straight, smoothing the thickstitchingwithhis softwhite gloves.

Thenheliftedthelid.Forthepastfivedays,Beckhadspenthourslooking

at picturesofJim Cathey,listeningto thefamilyssto-ries, dabbing their tears. When he looked inside, theywereno longerstrangers.

Forthe next10 minutes, Beckleaned overthe opencasket,checking the empty uniformthat lay atop thetightly-shroudedbody, makingsure everyribbon andmedal wasin place.Occasionally,he pulledoff a pieceoflint ora straythreadandflickedit away.

Although casualtyassistanceofficersreceive an ad-visoryfrom military morticiansaboutwhethera bodyis viewable,somefamilies insist on looking.The ca-sualty assistance officer is often the one to makelast-minute recommendations, since by then heknows the family and after the final inspection

knowsexactlywhat thefamilywill see.Whether or not the family decides on a viewing,

Becksaid, theprocedureis noless meticulous.In Catheys case,the familydecided not to look un-

der the shroud.But Katherine wanted a few minutesalonewiththe opencasket,to give herhusband a fewof the things they had shared andone he nevergottosee.

Beckran his handalongsidethe shroud,taking one



BecauseJimCathey was killed in an explosion, hisbodywas wrappedin a shroud andcoveredby abody-lengthpillow. Hisuniformwasthenplacedon

top. After openingthecasket forKatherine, Becktookherhandand pressedit on the uniform.Hes here,he saidquietly. Feel right here.

There are no words to describe howmuch I love you and will miss you. I willalso promise you one thing . . . I will behome. I have a wife and a new baby totake care of and you guys are my world.

2nd Lt.Jim Cathey,ina letterhewrote tohiswife,Katherine, beforeleaving for Iraq

Katherine drapes herself overher husbands casketasBeck stands by.I wouldsuckall herpainawayif

I could. EveryMarinewould, he said.Theydtakeeveryounce of pain andjustabsorb it.



15/19

stlookattheuniform.Heclosedthelid andturnedtowardthedoor.

n

Katherine draped her body over the smoothood,pressingher pregnantbelly to the casket,

scloseto ahugas shecouldget.Beckplacedahandon herback.Tell me when youre ready, he said. Take

ourtime.Hesteppedback.Theair conditionerclickedon, fillingthe roomith a low hum. Ten minutes passed. It clicked

ff,leavingtheroomto hersoftmoans.Shemovedonlyto adjustherfeet,continuingto

ub her belly against the wood. She closed heryesandwhisperedsomething.

ThenshelookedupatBeck.OK,shesaid.Asshestoodat hisarm,he openedthecasket.Shedidntcry.Shedidntspeak.Hegaveherawseconds,thentookherhandandbroughtit to

he middle of the empty uniform. He held herandthereandpresseddown.Heshere,hetoldher.Feelright here.Sheheldherhandon thespot,pressingtheuni-

orm into the shrouded body beneath. Sheraggedherhandthelengthofall thatwasthere.Beck walked back to get the personal belong-

ngs Katherine had broughtwith her from Colo-ado.

Wheredoyouwantto start?heasked.Withthepictureofuskissing,shesaid.

Sheplacedthepictureatthetopof thecasket,bovetheneckoftheuniform.Shebentdownandressedherlipstoit.Imalwayskissingyou,baby,shewhispered.Shetookseveralotherphotosof their livesto-

etherandplacedthem aroundtheuniform.Sheentlyaddedabottleof herperfume,thenpickedp the dried, fragile flowersof her weddingbou-uet.BeforeJim Cathey had left for officertraining,

heyweremarriedbyajusticeof thepeaceinDen-er, planning a big wedding on his return fromaq.Herweddingdressstillhangsinher closetat

ome,unworn.She placed the flowers alongside the uniform,

henturnedagaintothemajor.Theultrasound,shesaid.The fuzzy image was taken two days after her

usbands death. Katherine had scheduled theppointmentfora daywhenJim wassupposedtoall,sotheycouldbothlearnthebabysgenderto-ether.Hehada feelingitwasa boy,hehadtolder.Ifit was,shesuggestedtheynamethechildaf-

erhim.Shestoodcradlingtheultrasound,thenmoved

orwardandplacediton thepillowattheheadofhecasket.She stoodthere,watchingfor several

minutes,thenremovedit.She walked the length of the casket, then

tepped back, still holding the only image ofamesJ.CatheyJr.

Sheleanedinand placeditoverher husbandseart.

n

In the housewhereJim Catheygrewup, a tat-eredstuffedanimalstillpeersfroma heavywood-nchest.

This is Floppy Floyd, his mother said. Thest time he was here he said he wanted to take

loydback,forthebaby.She held the stuffed animal to her face. Else-herein thehouse,shestillhasall ofJimsbaby

eethandeveryawardheeverwon.On his bookshelf, encyclopedias are shelved

ear the Louis LAmour novelsshe used to reado him, next to a collection of Thucydideswrit-

gs.Thesearethethingsthatmadehimwhohe is

oday, she said, then caught herself in presentense.

Whohewas today,shecorrectedherselfsoft-.Later,inthekitchen,shepausedata notethat

ashungonthe refrigeratorsincetheday Jimleftome.See you all later. You know I love you andill be thinking about you every minute of e v-

ry day. I miss you. Dont worry about me toouch.Ill beback May8th asa Marine!Write asuch as you can. I will look forward to the let-rs.Withallmylove,J.C.She looked away from the note and at the

hingsthatmadeJimCatheywhohe was.MaybenowIknowwhymysonwasalwaysina

hurry,shesaid.

n

JeffCatheyalmostdidntmakeitto hissonsfu-neral. From the moment he saw the Marines atthedoor,hewas thinkingof hisown.

Jeff, who suffers from clinical depression, spi-raled deeper the day the Marines came to thehouse,tothepoint wherehisfamilyworriedmoreabouthimthantheirowngrief.Hiswifehidall ofhis guns. Even so, the day after he found outabouthissonsdeath,heinsistedongoingbacktothehuntinggroundswhereheandJim hadspenttheirbesttimestogether.

Beforehe left, I made him swear on his sonslife that he would come back to me, Carolinesaid.

Ithoughtaboutdoingit. Endingit,Jeffsaid,breakingintotears.Ireally did.I wanttobe withhim.

Ashesat onthecouch,hetriedto composehim-self.

Good thoughts, he told himself. Goodthoughts.

Andthenfoundplenty.Oneof myfinestmemorieswaswhenwewere

huntingand hecame backto thecar, overturnedapail,sat downandstarteddoinghishomework.

IwishI hada pictureofthat.Youdo,his wifesaid,rubbinghis back,point-

ingtohis head.Rightuphere.

n

Inside the mortuarythe night before Catheysfuneral,twoMarinesstoodnearthecasket,unfurl-ingsheetsona makeshiftbed.

Makeitlook nice,dude,makeit looknice,oneofthemsaid.

Whoareyou, MarthaStewart?theothershotbackwithagrin.

Anotherlookedattheblanket.Ifyourepregnant,doyougethot orcold?One of the Marineswho has a child of his own

lookedatthebed.Shes going to need another pillow, he said.

Sinceshespregnant,shellneed to puta pillowbetweenherlegs.

Thentheysawcar lightsoutsideandtooktheirpositions.

Earlier that day, Katherinehad told them shecouldntbear to spend the last night away fromherhusband.Shesaidshewouldsleep ona pewifshehadto.The Marinesfoundheranairmattressinsteadandpromisedtobeready.

Arriving exhausted, she almost immediatelycrawledontothebedtheyhadmadefor her.Herstepfatherhelpedtuckherin.

Do you have another pillow? she asked. Ineedonetoput betweenmylegs.

Oneof theMarinescroucheddownandaskediftheyshouldcontinuetopost guardintheroom.

We can do whatever you want, he said. Wecanstayorwe cangiveyousomeprivacy.

Ithinkit wouldbekindof niceifyou keptdoingit, she said. I think thats what he would havewanted.

After one of the Marines dimmed the lights,Katherineopenedalaptopcomputeronthe floor.Intheblueglowofthescreen,shelistenedtothe

songs they would have played at the weddingtheyneverheld.Sheswayed,thenclosedhereyes.

As drowsiness set in, she picked up an oldT-shirt the last shirt Jim Cathey wore beforechanginginto his cammiesto leave for Iraq. Shehadntwashedit.It stillsmelledlikehim.

Sheheldtheshirtto herfaceandbreathedin.

n

Just past midnight, Staff Sgt. Andrew Pricewalkedtothebackoftheroomand,likea watch-ful parent, dimmed the lights further. Then heclosedKatherinescomputer.

For thenext hourhe stood,barelyilluminatedbythelightbehindthealtar,untilanotherMarineapproachedfromthe shadows,pausedbeforethemakeshiftbedandraisedhis handinslowsalute.

As each man was relieved, he walked into aspare room next to the chapel. In the darkness,onebyonethey spoke:

1:37a.m.StaffSgt.AndrewPriceThelankyMarinehad stoodwatchatdozensof

funerals at Arlington National Cemetery, butnonepreparedhimforthis.

We would have stayed as long as Katherine

ontinued from previous page


Youhearthe president talking aboutall these peoplemakingsacrifices.Butyounever really knowuntil youcarryoneof them inthe casket.Whenyou feeltheir bodyweight.Whenyou feelthem, thatswhenyouknow. Thatswhenyouunderstand.

Sgt.KevinThomas

Theday beforethefuneraloftheirfriend2nd Lt.JimCathey,2ndLt. JonMueller,

aboveleft,and 1stLt.MatthewBaumannpracticedfor hoursfoldingtheAmericanflag.Thatwillbethelasttimehisflagisfolded,saidBeck,ashegavetheminstructions.Ithasto beperfect.

Forthreedays,MarinesstoodwatchoverJimCatheysbody,takingbreaksina roomat themortuary,whereStaffSgt.David Rubiorubshiseyesafteranap.Whenyoureincollege,youresodetachedfromwhatshappeningin Iraq,Rubiosaid.Themorewetalkaboutit, theharderitseemstoget.



16/19


17/19

wanted us there tonight. Even if she wanted usto go, I would have stayed there forher.I wouldhave walked around in the shadows. Some wayoranother,werealwaysgoingto tryto takecareofher.

Of allthe hourshe has walked sentry,the lasthouranda halfwasthe hardest.

Its almost selfish of us to die. James wonthave to see her like that. They train us as war-riors. They dont teach us how to take the painaway.

2:28a.m.2ndLt.CharlieLoya Jr.Theycallhim thejokerof thegroup: a massive

manwitha massivelaugh.(After Cathey got killed) People would ask

me how Im doing and Id say, Im fine. And Iwas. Then (attheairport). . . wepickedthecas-ket up off the conveyor beltand all I heard wasKatherine screaming.I thought, My wifewouldbe doingthe same thing. Then all I couldthinkaboutwasmy son.

When he heard about Catheysdeath, he wasscheduled to leave for Iraqin two weeks. Insidetheroom,he realizedtherewereonly eight daysleft.

(BeforeCatheydied)peoplewouldask howIfelt about going over there. Id say, Im confi-dent,Im preparedandmy boysare ready.

NowIm f---ingscared.

3:19a.m.Staff Sgt.DavidRubioCat would have wanted them to laugh, he

said, sohe did.Hewasthe smartestdumbguyI knew.I used

to always tell him that. He was just a big oaf. Ikeepseeingthatface,thatbigcheesyface.

He got up, paced the floor, holding the grin,thewaythe bigoafwouldhavewanted.

I got a call fromhim a couplemonthsago . . .The last thing he said was, Mark time, dude.Marktime.Ill seeyouin thefleet.

It just basically means, Ill be waiting foryou.

4:23a.m.2ndLt.JonMuellerHe looked at thedark wall andthought of the

casketon theotherside.Im still going to go when they ask me to go.

ButI also wantpeopleto know whatI amdoing.Imnot a veryemotionalguy.I dont show emo-tion, butI knowthatits importantfor peopletoknow how much you care for them. Im not the

kind ofguywhocan say, Iloveyou.Itsnoteasyforme.

Illmakeit sothatmy lovedonesknowthat Ilovethem.

5:19a.m.2nd Lt.JasonLindauerCatwas doing what he loved.I supposethat

makes it a little easier, but . . . I called my(4-year-old) son on the phone, and he said,Daddy, my friend Cat got killed. (My wife hadtoldhim.)

Isaid,Yeah,I knowbuddy.Catsin heaven. TheMarine beganto cry.(My son) said, Well, whens he coming

back? Heloweredhis head.Isaid,Hesnot,buddy.

n

As thesun rosein Reno,the casinoscontinuedto chime.Dinersbeganto fill.In thenewspapersthat hit the porches, Iraq had been pushed tothebackpagesagain.

While the city churned, the sun found thebuildingwhereKatherineCatheyawoke.

Itsthe best nightof sleepIvehad,she said,surprised.I reallyslept.

As she sat, wrapped in a blanket, her eyesbleary,shelookedatthe casket.

You takeforgrantedthe lastnightyou spendwith them,she said.I think I tookit for grant-ed. This was the last nightIll have tosleep nexttohim.

Behindher, thenext Marineapproached,pre-paringto takeoverthewatch.

I feellike theyremy angels lookingover me,

Katherinesaid.Sheplacedher handon herbelly.Lookingoverus, she said.

n

Itstartsin slowmotion.At a windswept cemetery near 2nd Lt. Jim

Catheys favoritehunting grounds, the Marines



While stationed inHawaii, JimCatheyandhisMarinebuddiestooka trip toIwo Jima,wheretheycampedonthebeachandremembered thenearly6,000Marines

whodied thereduringWorldWarII.They each tookhomea sackfulof sandfrom the beach.AtCatheysfuneral,his friendsdrizzled fistfulsof it overhis casket.

Thepainwere feeling drives us. It drivesusfor the familybecause the pride isbigger thanthe pain. But the pain you gottaeat it, yougotta live with it, you gotta take ithomeandcry in the dark.What elseare yougoing todo?

Maj. SteveBeck



18/19

movedas if underwater,a precisionslowness,al-

lowing everyone in the cemetery to study each

move, eachframe, holding it as longas possible

until itsgone.

Beckstoodbackand startedtheritual again.

Presentmilitaryhonors,he commanded.

In the distance, seven members of the rifle

guard from Reno readied their weapons. Be-

causethe Renounit wasso small withmany of

its members in Iraq they called in recruiters

and other Marinesfrom acrossthe state to help

withtheduty.

Ready.Aim. Fire.

Witheach volley,almosteveryonein the shel-terflinched.

Ready.Aim. Fire.

TheMarinesat thecasketheld steady.

Ready.Aim. Fire.

Theyknewthehardpartwas stilltocome:

Taps.

As the bugler played, the Marines held onto

theflag. SecondLt. Loyablinkedalmostcontinu-

ously,tryingto holdbackthetears.

Afterthe last note,they beganto fold.

The afternoon before, the pallbearers spent

more than an hour with Beck as he instructed

them on how to fold the flag. For such a seem-

ingly simple task, there arehundreds of ways to

getit wrong.Especiallywhenyourefoldingit for

your friends pregnant wife especially when

yourefoldinghis flag forthe lasttime.The Marines took their time, stretching one

foldafter another, until the flag strained, a per-

manent triangle. A sergeant walked up and

slippedthestill-hotshells fromthe riflesalutein-

tothe foldedflag.

Beck took the flag, cradling it with one hand

on top, one hand below, and carried it to

Katherine.

He bent down on one knee, looking at his

hands,at theflag,his eyesreddening.

Before his tears could spill, his face snapped

upand helookedherin theeyes.

Katherine,he said.

Then he said the words meant only for her

words he hadcomposed.When he was done, he

steppedback,into the blankstare.

Capt. WinstonTierney walkedforward,carry-

ing another flag for Caroline Cathey. The night

before, the Marines had used the flag to prac-

tice, draping it over the casket not only for

themselves,butalso so thatJim Catheys moth-

erwouldknowthatit hadcoveredherson.

The captain bent down on one knee, passed

the flag into CarolineCatheys hands, then fad-

ed intothe background.

Fora group of Catheys friends,therewas one

moretask.

TheMarines,manyof whomhad flownin from

Okinawathe night before,walked up to thecas-

ket.Oneby one,theyremovedtheirwhitegloves

and placed them on the smooth wood. Then

they reached into a bag of sand the same dark

grayshade as gunpowder.

A fewyears ago,while stationedin theinfantry

in Hawaii,Jim Catheyand his friendshad taken

a trip to Iwo Jima, where nearly 6,000 Marines

had losttheir lives almost60 years before. They

slept on the beach, thinking about all that had

happened there. The day before they left, they

eachcollectedabagof sand.

Those bags of sand sat in their rooms for

years. Girlfriends questioned them. Wives won-

deredwhattheywouldever dowiththem.

Onebyone,the youngMarinespoureda hand-

fulof sand ontothe gloves atopthe casket, then

steppedback.

Sgt. Gavin Conley, who had escorted his

friends body to Reno, reached into the bag,

madea fist anddrizzledthegrainsontothecas-

ket.

Once again, he slowly brought his bare hand

tohis brow.A final salute.

(The day after sleepingon the beach),we all

dida hikeupMountSuribachi,whereourbattal-

ion commanderspoke, andwe renderedhonors

toall thefallen onIwo Jima,Conleysaid.

Helookedoverat thesand.

Nowtheycan bepartof him, too.


Duringa wakefor JimCatheyathisfamilyhomeinReno, friendstoast hismemory. Mostof thetoasts

endedthe same way:SemperFi LatinforAlwaysfaithful,theMarineCorpsmotto.

JimCatheysfather,Jeff, hugsa Marineashissonsfuneralnears. Someoneaskedmewhat I learned

frommy son,he said.He taught meyou needmorethanone friend.

AtJimCatheysburial,hiscasketwascoveredwith thewhiteglovesof theMarineswhocarriedhim, sand theybroughtfrom thebeachesofIwoJimaanda singlered rose.



19/19

Before leaving fora funeral in December,Beckhugshis children, Stephen,2, andtwins Lindseyand Abigail, 4. TheMarine majorsjob often means longperiodsawayfrom hisown familyto care for others. One morning after burying a lance

corporal,all I wanted to do was come home andplaywith mychildren . . . hesaid.Butyou know, allI was thinkingabout whileI wasplayingwiththemwereallthose guys out therein harmsway,making allthatpossible.

Minutes after the ceremony ended, awindstorm blew into the cemetery,swirlingthe highdesert dust.

Beck was one of the last to leave,givinghis finalcommandsto thecem-etery caretakers in the funeral shel-

ter: Make sure the sand on the casket doesnt blowaway.

Itsimportant,he toldthem.As he drove away from the cemetery, Beck re-

playedthe last fewhoursin hismind, looking for les-sonsfor thenext time, hopingtherewouldntbe one,butknowingtherewould.

He thought back to the latest funeral from themoment he rang the doorbell in Brighton until hehanded the flag to Katherine and said those words

thatusuallybegin,On behalfof a gratefulnation. . .You know, everyone always wants to know what

the words are, what it is that I say, he said. I dontsayit loudenoughforeveryonetohear.

Thereare scriptedwords writtenforthe Marinestofollow.Beckhaslong sincelearnedthathe doesntal-ways havetofollowa script.

Im basically looking into that mother, father orspouses eyes and letting them know that everyonecares aboutthem,he said. Butthe words arenoth-ingcomparedtotheflag.

He thendrove severalmiles withoutspeaking.Inhis mind, thesubjecthadnot changed.You think about the field of cottonsomewherein

Mississippi,andout of all of it comesthis threadthatbecomesthisflag thatcovers ourbrave.Thinkaboutit.

Ihad a cotton fieldright behind thehouse when Iwasgoingto command andstaffcollege.Imagine be-

ing thatfarmerwho owned the cottonfield. Imagineif one of theseparentswas ableto takea flag backtohimandsay,That flag came out ofyourfield and es-cortedmyson home.

Heshookhis head.Thethingsyou think about,hesaid.

t t d i t t i

hasntlearnedhow tostepbackfar enough.One morning after burying a lance corporal, all I

wanted to do was come home andplaywith my chil-dren. Just take them into a corner with all theirthings and play with them, he said. But you know,allI wasthinkingaboutwhileI wasplayingwiththemwere all those guys out there in harms way, makingall thatpossible.

Here we are, while theyre out there. Someonecould be under attack right now. Someone could becallingfor anairstrike. . .

Someonecouldbe standingat a door,preparingtoknock.

This experience has changed me in fundamentalways, Beck said.I wouldnotwishit onanyone, butat the same time, I think that its important that it

happenedto me. I knowits goingto have an impacton someones life that Im going to meet years fromnow.

In a year,he said, so many scenesreturn.The doors anddoorbells.The first timehe completeda final in-spection.Sandona casket.

Thescenehe seesthemost,however,is notof a sin-gle moment but the entire journey, viewed throughsomeoneelseseyes.

One thing keeps coming back to me, he said. Itwasduring the memorial servicefor KyleBurns.

The service came only a week after Beck firstparkedin front of that little white house in Laramie,watching the perfect snow, preparing to walkthroughitall.

During that memorial service, Kyle Burnss uncle,GeorgeElsom,recountedthe call from his devastat-edsister, who phonedhimafter shefirstsaw theMa-rines at thedoor.

AtKyles memorial service,his uncle talkedaboutall they had learned since that night. Beck said.Then he looked at us and said something Ill neverforget.

He said, If these men ever come to your door,dontturn themaway.


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