Washington DC is full of monuments. (Yes. I know that is a fairly obvious statement. I get it.) I was there earlier this week and had to pick and choose which ones I spent my limited time appreciating. We hit all of the majors–Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, FDR and MLK.
Probably more moving, though, were the monuments to great events in history—wars. More importantly, those monuments are a tribute to the men and women who offered their lives as part of them—World War II, Korea, Vietnam. These were especially relevant as I have been interviewing veterans of each of these conflicts.
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| Women in Vietnam Memorial |
Where the World War II monument had an almost festive atmosphere (it might have had something to do with the fact that it was 80 degrees and sunny out and that monument is full of water and fountains), the Vietnam Memorial has a much quieter, much more contemplative atmosphere. Both are appropriate to the situation, but it’s interesting to feel the power of each of these monuments. My own feelings and reactions changed while I visited them…influenced by nothing more than stone, water and emotions tied to history.
A place that you might not think of as a “monument” is Arlington National Cemetery. If you’ve never been there, plan to go sometime. I’ve been a couple times and each time I can sense the power of the place. It is beautiful, immaculate and quiet—even with the ever-present gardeners tending to the grounds.
As Bev and I walked up the hill toward the Tomb of the Unknowns, we heard the distinctive crack of a 21-gun salute. And then the second. And finally, the third. Another soldier was being laid to rest. I have no idea if it was a modern solider who died in Afghanistan or one who served years ago and returned home to die peacefully in his sleep. It didn’t matter to the men of the 3rd Infantry Division’s Old Guard. They take their duties at Arlington extremely seriously.
We were fortunate to time our arrival (totally by happenstance) just before the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns followed by two wreath laying ceremonies. It was stirring to listen to a bugler from the Army Band play taps following the laying of the wreaths offered by visiting school children. I was relieved to see the Army sergeant in charge of the ceremony smile when he spoke to the children, because he seemed like he was a moving piece of granite up until that point.
On our way out, we saw a horse-drawn caisson pulling an open hearse with a flag-draped coffin. Another funeral was about to begin. A contingent of the Army Band was on hand to play. I noticed an interesting mix of emotions on the men and women of the band. They stood around waiting for things to begin, laughing and joking, but you could also see the seriousness of it. I watched one man help make sure another’s uniform was perfect, pulling and tugging it to make sure there were no wrinkles –and this was in the back. Everything had to be perfect for the honor they were about to bestow.
A different sort of monument, but one no-less powerful, was the monument to 9/11 at the Pentagon. It honors the men and women and children that died on the plane and in the building on that terrible day. It had a quiet, reflective air about it. We were there in the early evening, just after the sun had set. Lights illuminated each of the benches. Paul Ambrose died on Flight 77 when it crashed into the Pentagon. I didn’t know Paul, but I took several classes from his father at Marshall University. Paul was a Marshall University alumnus and had everything to live for. On that day he was flying to California to deliver a report on youth obesity prevention for his employer, the Office of the Surgeon General.
Each of these monuments served its own purpose and had its own feeling and spirit. And each must be seen in person to be appreciated. Monuments may only be cold stone, water and bronze. But they serve as triggers to something deeper inside of us. That is their ultimate purpose.
