Today was the funeral for Marine Captain Justin Peterson. I didn’t know Captain Peterson, but I decided to take the boys to his funeral after we learned that Fred Phelps and his band of misfits intended to picket the Peterson funeral. Captain Peterson was killed in Iraq last week, and I thought it would be as good a time as any for the boys to learn that there are people like Captain Peterson in the world and that they owe him an enormous debt of gratitude for fighting to keep our country safe for them. It was also a good time to point out that although I loathe Phelps more than anyone I can think of at the moment, Captain Peterson died to protect the basic freedoms we all take for granted, most of all the right to free speech, even for people like Phelps. However, we were going to show support for the Peterson family . I don’t agree that Phelps should be using the funerals of servicemen and women as a public forum, so at 6 a.m. we were up and having breakfast so that we could be on the road by 8.
We arrived after the Patriot Guard Riders had set up in the church parking lot. As we pulled into the parking lot, we saw the double row of gleaming bikes parked so close together they looked like a Chinese puzzle. Standing in a long line were the Patriot Guards holding their flags at attention. The line stretched from the street along the entire driveway and down the sidewalk into the church – quite an impressive sight. Of course, as soon as we’d parked, the Horsemen wanted to go and talk to the Patriot Guards. For the two youngest, that was probably the highlight of the day. If you’re a nine year old boy, it doesn’t get much better than getting to talk to real veterans who ride real motorcycles. #1 was his usual very polite self, and before long he’d been invited to join the Guard and bring his university friends to their various missions – ‘missions’ being the term used to describe the way they protect grieving families from the insults and hate speech delivered by the members of the Phelps gang. After reading some of the signs Phelps posts on his website, I can understand why the Patriot Guard Riders are necessary. A family dealing with the death of a young son or daughter should not have to be confronted by a crazy man who applauds IEDs – ‘improvised explosive devices’, the homemade bombs which kill so many of our young servicemen.
After the boys had visited with the Patriot Guards, the local sheriff’s office arrived, eight officers mounted on some very large horses. The officers split off into two groups, one patrolling along a side road and one riding up over a hill near the church. That’s when the nice Patriot Guard man asked me if I didn’t want to take the children on inside the church. He said that it would be much kinder to the ushers if I were to take my large group in before it became too difficult to find seats all together. #1 began to protest, but the man raised his eyebrows, nodded his head toward one of the hills, and then looked at #’s 3 and 4. #1 decided that he agreed, and we all went inside the church.
Now, this post was supposed to be called “The Horsemen hate Fred Phelps”. I had intended to write about seeing the members of the Westboro Baptist Church behaving in the appalling way they do and about the Horsemen’s response to those people. I’d even written down a few notes before we left this morning, after talking with each boy about how they might feel if some nasty people came in to a private family occasion and tried to make them feel worse. For the record, the boys were unanimously opposed to that kind of behaviour. However, the day turned out not to be about hate at all.
We’d barely gotten through the church door when this article had a sudden change of name- and subject. In the lobby was a small basket of envelopes with a photo of Captain Peterson’s three children and a simple note stating that donations would be accepted only for the children’s college funds. The Marine in charge of the basket was so kind to the Horsemen, he leaned down so that even the shortest could say his name to the man. When we got into the church proper, we were led to our seats. As the church was filling up, I was worried that we might be taking seats away from other mourners, and so said to the usher,”We aren’t family, there might not be enough room,” and the usher said kindly,”Yes, you are. Everyone here is family”.
As we waited for the service to begin, we watched as the Marines attending the funeral all came to the coffin to pay their last respects. The serious faces and the slow salutes are something I’ll never forget. Then the funeral service started, and I can honestly say that I’ve never seen anything like this. The grandfather of the family had been a Marine, so that is what young Justin wanted to be since he was three, according to family. He had played Marine as a child, and when he went to university enrolled in the Marine reserves. He came from a military family, and his younger brother was also a Marine. The love for the Corps and country was a theme in every tribute to Captain Peterson, from his father’s to that of his high school principal- who began his speech by saying,”I remember Justin quite clearly. He and I shared an office for several years”, which got a huge laugh from those who knew him.
For all that Captain Peterson’s family and loved ones said wonderful things about him, what was most outstanding about this funeral were the Marines themselves. We were all impressed by the last visitation before the funeral began. However, when one young Marine from Captain Peterson’s unit came forward to talk, I was surprised and moved beyond anything I’d expected. This young Marine held a notecard with the condolence message from the unit written on it. It was his job to express what Captain Peterson’s men wanted to say. He walked up to the podium, clenched and unclenched his jaw, kept adjusting his cap lower and lower, and then, finally, he just stood there. For what seemed like forever but was really closer to five minutes, the young man stood, unable to speak. Finally, he began in a rough voice which kept cracking. He had to stop a few times, and at one point his voice broke entirely. He coughed, wiped his nose and said,”Allergies”. And then stood there trying to regain his composure. Finally, after starting and stopping and invoking ‘allergies’ again, Captain Peterson’s widow walked up the stairs to the podium, placed her arm around his shoulders and clasped his hand with hers, and stood with him. After his speech was over, she walked back down with him, walked him to his seat, wiped his face with her handkerchief and went back to her seat. All, of course, without crying herself. Seeing this enormous act of compassion for another even on the day of her husband’s funeral was more than we mere mortals could bear, and there was not a dry eye in the church. The other Marines were openly crying, and one, the man whom everyone saluted, had Kleenex in both hands, and kept using first one handful and then the other.
All funerals present the departed one in the best light possible. Everyone who dies has had a positive effect on those around him, at least according to the eulogies, whether or not it is true. However, Captain Peterson really was one of those men who seemed to leave a mark on everyone’s life who knew him. His friends from high school openly wept. His best friend from university gave a speech about visiting Arlington National Cemetery with his friend Justin which made everyone in the church sit up just a little prouder and straighter. By the time the funeral was over, everyone was in tears but were also overwhelmed by what a caring and joyful family he’d grown up in. Still, the main themes were still love of family, love of country, loyalty to fellow Marines. That is no longer just a slogan to the Horsemen, something they’ve heard and read about. Now, that philosophy has a very real face – the face of Marine Captain Justin Peterson. Semper fi, Captain Peterson. The Horsemen all say “Oorah!”
When Poe ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
you made me cry Cindy-thank you. 
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