Wilted Roses and Twenty-One Guns
I don’t know if you can even call it a funeral, but we had one for Dean. The Buhne family had a lot of experience with funerals, so Jean talked to Kob and found out what we needed to do. She helped me make all of the arrangements. Dean never talked about his family or friends. I didn’t even know if he had any, so I had no way to contact them if he did. The funeral director placed an obituary in the local newspaper. We decided on a one-day viewing of just four hours between 12:00 to 4:00. Dean was to be cremated after that. Jean and I arrived early to be sure everything was laid out and in order. We walked around the parlor. Were there enough chairs? Should we move anything? There was a single bouquet of wilted dying roses beside the casket. I wished I could make them un-die. A plaque hanging over the parlor entrance door read “James Dean.” The guest register was placed on a standing lectern with a pen in place. Jean and I agreed that this would be a good time for each of us to sign the book. We stood in the doorway for the first hour. Linnie, Kob, and Merrit arrived together. I was glad to see them after such a long time. They kindly and sympathetically expressed their condolences. They didn’t stay long. Merrit said a prayer as we all held hands. Then they paid their respect at the casket before leaving. After they left, Jean and I stood in the hallway for the second hour. Nobody came. For the third and fourth hours, we sat in folding chairs in the corner of the viewing room. Late into the fourth hour, I heard the funeral director’s voice in the hallway talking to someone. I turned toward the doorway. In walked a tall man in a bright white Navy uniform, adorned with dozens of medals. I recognized him immediately. I stood up to meet Captain Mann at the center of the room. He shook my hand while offering his condolences. “Beatrice I am so sorry for your loss. I had lost touch with Jim over the years until about a month ago when he called me. We talked a little bit about our time serving together and about you. He was happy living with you, Jim loved you. He seemed to be at peace.” I broke into tears. Captain Mann put his arm around me as we walked over to the casket. He let go of me and then stepped two steps to the side and snapped to attention. He raised his hand and saluted Dean. He took a box out of his pocket and unfolded the hinged top. I saw that it was the Navy Cross medal. Captain set it on the casket, stood back, and saluted again. He once again put his arm around me and we turned and walked away. “Beatrice, he said, when Jim and I served together, I knew him well. We were very close. like brothers. Thank you for saving him.” I was speechless. Captain Mann then turned me toward Jean and said that he wanted to meet my family. We walked over and I introduced him to Jean. He shook her hand and then he gave her a brief polite hug and said, “Jim told me a lot about you, Jean. It is an honor to meet you Ma’am.” Jean and I stood there listening to Captain Mann as he went on to say “Not many people know this, but Jim was the bravest of the brave war heroes. He took out an entire enemy platoon with his machine gun before he lost consciousness from his own multiple wounds. Jim was a friend and an honorable man whom I respect greatly and I trust his word unquestionably. When I spoke to Jim about a month ago, he told me that you two ladies are both true heroes. I believe that unquestionably. You were an inspiration to him. God bless you.”
Captain turned back to face the casket one more time and then shook our hands again before turning to walk out of the room. Jean and I were left standing there looking at each other not knowing what to say. Maybe nothing needed to be said. There were no words, no words came. At precisely 4:00 we heard loud bangs outside. Alarmed, we ran over to the window to see what happened. We saw seven uniformed sailors with rifles standing shoulder to shoulder in a line formation. Captain Mann raised his hand and yelled out “Fire!” We heard the bangs again. Captain Mann raised his hand again and commanded “Fire!” We heard a third round of shots.
The funeral director walked into the room. I asked him, “What the hell was that all about?”
“21-gun salute” he replied. “It’s the highest honor given to our deceased Veterans.” He walked over to the casket and asked us if we would like to pay our last respects now. Jean and I held hands and bowed our heads in silent prayer. After which we stepped aside as the director’s assistants closed the casket. One of them folded the Navy Cross medal case closed and handed it to me. It was over and time to go home. I couldn’t believe that my Dean, my Mate, was gone.
RUCKSACK GRUNT - A Vietnam Veteran's Memoir 