The wind can whip cold across the tarmac at Dover Air Force Base in Delaware, freezing fingers that hold the flag-draped metal transfer case in which lie the remains of a fellow service member. You do not loosen your grip. You do not shuffle your feet. You do not grimace.
If you have to yawn, you do it through your nose. You swallow your coughs and sneezes, let itches go unscratched. Keep your mouth closed, eyes straight and the blinking to an absolute minimum.
Those are the rules.
Those are the rules when it’s 4 a.m. and it’s dark and there’s no one around.
Those were the rules late Sunday when the ritual of welcoming home the fallen was open to the public for the first time since President George H.W. Bush instituted a ban on news coverage in 1991.
Air Force Staff Sgt. Phillip Myers, 30, of Hopewell, Va., who was killed Saturday in Afghanistan in the explosion of a makeshift bomb, became the first service member welcomed home publicly in 18 years. Myers, who was attached to the 48th Civil Engineer Squadron based in England, was awarded a Bronze Star last year for his service in Iraq, according to the Air Force.
Myers’ wife and other relatives attended the 17-minute ceremony. Except for the command “Present arms,” it was conducted in silence.
“It doesn’t matter what the conditions are like — cold, wet, sunny,” said Sgt. James Rhett of the Army’s Old Guard. “They’re a fallen soldier, and they deserve the highest respect and honor we can give.”
For years, the ritual of welcoming the war dead back to U.S. soil at Dover has been performed in private by the various services. Sunday night’s was conducted by an Air Force team based at Dover. And now that the Obama administration has lifted the ban, the event was broadcast across the globe. Under the new policy, families of the deceased decide whether the arrival will be open to the public.
Soldiers of the Army’s Old Guard who perform what’s known as the “dignified transfer” say they are ready.
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The worldwide attention “won’t change anything we do,” said Spec. Johnny Bowers, 26.
Each service branch has its own honor guard that is sent to Dover to welcome service members home. For the Army, which has suffered most of the casualties in Iraq and Afghanistan, members of the Old Guard, based at Ft. Myer, Va., are given the task.
Once the plane lands, an officer inspects the flags to make sure they are secure and have no rips or ruffles. A chaplain says a blessing, using whatever personal information is available.
Old Guard members also are assigned to the funerals at Arlington National Cemetery. To make it into the Old Guard, they’ve already survived a sort of basic training in which, instead of climbing walls and crawling under barbed wire, they learn to stand as still as a marble column.
Their three-week orientation training ends with a grueling task: Standing at attention a full 90 minutes. It can be difficult, given that the instructors do everything they can to break the soldiers’ concentration. They tell dirty jokes. They dance. They play peekaboo behind their berets. They sing ridiculous songs: Barry Manilow in falsetto, “A Whole New World” from Disney’s “Aladdin.”
Having survived the “Aladdin” test, Pvt. Kyle Brower, 18 and just a few months removed from civilian life, was able to stand still and stare into the middle distance during his first dignified transfer last week.
“I tried not to let it get to me, all my nerves,” Brower said. “I tried to breathe and just go with it.”
Afterward he was worried that he blinked too often because the wind had dried his eyes. But his commanders gave him good reviews.
Members of the Old Guard are infantry soldiers, too, trained to search and destroy as well as to honor. Some have served in war and know its consequences, which makes what they do all the more important, they said.
“You kind of have to detach yourself from everything else,” Rhett said. “If you don’t … ” he paused for a moment. “It’s such an emotionally draining job. That doesn’t mean you stop thinking about everything. We just have to step back and provide honor and dignity.”
Some days, several bodies come through Dover. Other times, it’s quiet. It all depends on the level of violence in Iraq and Afghanistan. Most times the soldiers won’t know the identity of the fallen, or maybe they’ll catch a name or some tidbit of information from the blessing the chaplain says over each coffin. But that’s it.
“And to be honest, I like to keep it that way,” Spec. Jason Roberts said.
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What do you think?
Online readers, about showing military coffins:
Cate wrote: “Each family makes the choice as should be their right.”
My respect: “I can now shed tears along with their families [who allow public viewing].”
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