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| Old Post Chapel, Ft. Myer |
Yesterday, November 14, I was at Arlington National Cemetery attending a funeral service for U.S. Army corporal Joseph Spagnoli, 93, a World War II veteran, the father of a good friend of mine. I’ve been to funerals at Arlington before—some funerals for friends or colleagues, one funeral for my own father. Some of the funerals drew national attention and incorporated the full-honors trappings accorded veterans of high rank, lofty political office, or ultimate sacrifice on the battlefield. Most, however, were quiet affairs, like the one I attended yesterday.
Joe Spagnoli, laid to rest in one of Arlington's columbarium niches, was an Army corporal during the war. He was drafted at age 18, trained to be a radio operator, and served for three years in Burma and China as what can best be described as a lookout—a watcher tracking the movements of Japanese forces, and radioing headquarters with his observations. Unlike many soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines of his time, Joe's duty was virtually solitary, isolated, far from supply lines, hot chow, and reinforcements. He received three bronze battle stars for his service.
After the war, the young veteran returned to Illinois, took on the mission of becoming an educator, received his Ph.D, and, for several decades, dedicated his life to teaching and improving schools systems in Illinois and Michigan. Like so many veterans of wars past and wars present, Joseph Spagnoli never stopped helping his fellow citizens—taking off one uniform of service to country and putting on the uniform of dedicated citizen, still in service to his community and country.
I mention the Joe Spagnoli's background—which is much fuller than I have summed up—to note that veterans interred or inurned at Arlington are drawn to service—either as draftees or volunteers—from all walks of life, from all ethnicities and skin tones, representing myriad religious beliefs (or none), from big cities, modest townships, island territories, or rolling farmlands. It is fair to say there could be no greater cross section of America’s best and beloved citizens than those who repose in eternal rest across Arlington’s sweeping hills and columbaria.
What always strikes me as emblematic of any memorial service at Arlington is the absolute “fairness” of care and dignity accorded to every man or woman laid to rest there. From the moment a family member, friend, or colleague of the veteran enters the Old Post Chapel on Ft. Myer, the soldiers, chaplains, and staff create an environment of trust and dignity—assuring one and all that the United States military is receiving one of their own into their care, and, regardless of rank or station, the veteran being honored is a coequal in grateful admiration with all of his or her peers who have been laid to rest before.
The honor guard bearing the casket or urn, clicks down the Chapel aisle with atomic-clock precision, escorting the remains of their comrade with no variation in the respect they show a corporal, a sergeant, a captain, a colonel, a general, an admiral…or a president; all are brothers and sisters in their sight.
Joe Spagnoli, laid to rest in one of Arlington's columbarium niches, was an Army corporal during the war. He was drafted at age 18, trained to be a radio operator, and served for three years in Burma and China as what can best be described as a lookout—a watcher tracking the movements of Japanese forces, and radioing headquarters with his observations. Unlike many soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines of his time, Joe's duty was virtually solitary, isolated, far from supply lines, hot chow, and reinforcements. He received three bronze battle stars for his service.
After the war, the young veteran returned to Illinois, took on the mission of becoming an educator, received his Ph.D, and, for several decades, dedicated his life to teaching and improving schools systems in Illinois and Michigan. Like so many veterans of wars past and wars present, Joseph Spagnoli never stopped helping his fellow citizens—taking off one uniform of service to country and putting on the uniform of dedicated citizen, still in service to his community and country.
I mention the Joe Spagnoli's background—which is much fuller than I have summed up—to note that veterans interred or inurned at Arlington are drawn to service—either as draftees or volunteers—from all walks of life, from all ethnicities and skin tones, representing myriad religious beliefs (or none), from big cities, modest townships, island territories, or rolling farmlands. It is fair to say there could be no greater cross section of America’s best and beloved citizens than those who repose in eternal rest across Arlington’s sweeping hills and columbaria.
What always strikes me as emblematic of any memorial service at Arlington is the absolute “fairness” of care and dignity accorded to every man or woman laid to rest there. From the moment a family member, friend, or colleague of the veteran enters the Old Post Chapel on Ft. Myer, the soldiers, chaplains, and staff create an environment of trust and dignity—assuring one and all that the United States military is receiving one of their own into their care, and, regardless of rank or station, the veteran being honored is a coequal in grateful admiration with all of his or her peers who have been laid to rest before.
The honor guard bearing the casket or urn, clicks down the Chapel aisle with atomic-clock precision, escorting the remains of their comrade with no variation in the respect they show a corporal, a sergeant, a captain, a colonel, a general, an admiral…or a president; all are brothers and sisters in their sight.
The chaplains are invariably warm, comforting, and genuinely interested in the man or woman over whom they will pray, about whom they will speak, and for whom they will mourn as all soldiers do for their fallen comrades. At the service I attended yesterday, the chaplain, an Army captain, was so gracious and her attention to my friend and his family, and her remarks about Joe Spagnoli, were heartfelt, as if she had known him all along.
At the end of the service, as corporal Spagnoli's cremains were escorted out to the plaza in front of the chapel, the waiting honor guard came to attention and received the urn and escorted the veteran to his final resting place with all the military bearing of a state funeral, even though our party numbered only a dozen members of family and friends.
At the columbarium, we assembled beneath a green canvas rain cover, and watched as Joe's flag was properly unfolded and held tightly over him. Fifty yards away, the firing team readied their rifles, and three volleys of seven shots each cracked into the grey overcast, the echoes of the salute intensified by the stone walls of the columbaria surrounding us. Before those echoes faded, a bugler, off to our left, played Taps.
With the same crispness of the rifle shots, the honor guard refolded the flag, each turn and tautly-pulled fold just as beautifully, carefully, executed as if the veteran beneath the Colors had been Chief of Staff of the Army. The honor guard’s senior sergeant cradled the flag and, kneeling, offered it to yet another World War II widow, his words of comfort and thanks for her ears only.
It was short and thought-filled walk to the area of the columbarium where corporal/Dr. Spagnoli would be placed in his niche—a location high enough that his tall son would have to reach up to press the urn into its stone interior. For me, the moment was all the more poignant because my father and mother rested in a similar niche in another part of the columbarium not far from the corporal.
With a final prayer, the tribute to Joseph Spagnoli--soldier, veteran, and citizen, a father, grandfather, a husband, a friend and an educator--was complete; another member of the Greatest Generation was enshrined with honor, as are all veterans who rest at Arlington.
I urge every American who can travel to Washington to visit Arlington National Cemetery. If you don’t know by now, Arlington is the final place of fairness, equality, unalloyed dignity, and unquestioned decency for remains of the nation’s fallen servicemen and women. The ceremonies may be large or small, televised or intimate, filled with pageantry or carried out quietly, but in every case, the veteran who will ultimately lie beneath the grass, or behind a marble plaque, is treated with equal respect and sureness of mission by his or her uniformed colleagues—a cadre of honor for all who served.
It is important that I add this: The Department of Veterans Affairs—separate from the Military District of Washington which oversees Arlington—proudly maintains 136 National Cemeteries across the country. Each VA cemetery is a place of great beauty and dignified and honor-filled care for millions of our fellow citizens who served in uniform.
At the end of the service, as corporal Spagnoli's cremains were escorted out to the plaza in front of the chapel, the waiting honor guard came to attention and received the urn and escorted the veteran to his final resting place with all the military bearing of a state funeral, even though our party numbered only a dozen members of family and friends.
At the columbarium, we assembled beneath a green canvas rain cover, and watched as Joe's flag was properly unfolded and held tightly over him. Fifty yards away, the firing team readied their rifles, and three volleys of seven shots each cracked into the grey overcast, the echoes of the salute intensified by the stone walls of the columbaria surrounding us. Before those echoes faded, a bugler, off to our left, played Taps.
With the same crispness of the rifle shots, the honor guard refolded the flag, each turn and tautly-pulled fold just as beautifully, carefully, executed as if the veteran beneath the Colors had been Chief of Staff of the Army. The honor guard’s senior sergeant cradled the flag and, kneeling, offered it to yet another World War II widow, his words of comfort and thanks for her ears only.
It was short and thought-filled walk to the area of the columbarium where corporal/Dr. Spagnoli would be placed in his niche—a location high enough that his tall son would have to reach up to press the urn into its stone interior. For me, the moment was all the more poignant because my father and mother rested in a similar niche in another part of the columbarium not far from the corporal.
With a final prayer, the tribute to Joseph Spagnoli--soldier, veteran, and citizen, a father, grandfather, a husband, a friend and an educator--was complete; another member of the Greatest Generation was enshrined with honor, as are all veterans who rest at Arlington.
I urge every American who can travel to Washington to visit Arlington National Cemetery. If you don’t know by now, Arlington is the final place of fairness, equality, unalloyed dignity, and unquestioned decency for remains of the nation’s fallen servicemen and women. The ceremonies may be large or small, televised or intimate, filled with pageantry or carried out quietly, but in every case, the veteran who will ultimately lie beneath the grass, or behind a marble plaque, is treated with equal respect and sureness of mission by his or her uniformed colleagues—a cadre of honor for all who served.
It is important that I add this: The Department of Veterans Affairs—separate from the Military District of Washington which oversees Arlington—proudly maintains 136 National Cemeteries across the country. Each VA cemetery is a place of great beauty and dignified and honor-filled care for millions of our fellow citizens who served in uniform.
In the years I was a VA employee, and during my service on the House and Senate Veterans Affairs Committees, I had the privilege to visit many VA cemeteries, and at each one there was a loving and giving team of men and women who were no less committed to their mission than are the leadership, staff, and honor guards at Arlington.
Some National Cemeteries are absolutely breathtaking in their design and sweeping vistas; others are less expansive, and often close to major metropolitan sprawl. But in all cases, as at Arlington, honor and dignity are the bywords of those who care for our nation’s very best. Thank you, Corporal Spagnoli, for your service.
Some National Cemeteries are absolutely breathtaking in their design and sweeping vistas; others are less expansive, and often close to major metropolitan sprawl. But in all cases, as at Arlington, honor and dignity are the bywords of those who care for our nation’s very best. Thank you, Corporal Spagnoli, for your service.
