thedrifter
05-08-06, 07:57 AM
A final goodbye to a fallen hero
At the final salute to a Marine, family and friends remember his strength of character and even strangers show up in respect.
JONATHAN ABEL
Published May 8, 2006
Friends say Lea Mills was like the Marine on the recruiting commercial, the one who scales the mountain and turns into a warrior at the top.
But before he was a Marine, he was a boy.
His parents, Rob and Dee Mills, use the word "confident" to describe him.
Dee would start every day by reminding Lea of the ground rules: "Me boss, you not."
You could tell just by looking at him that he was not a boy to be stuck in a mold, his mother said. He wore the tight strangler jeans that cowboys love one day and dreadlocks the next.
His widow, Keesha Mills, said Lea's repertoire of looks was extensive. He could alternate among skater, biker, prep and redneck depending on his mood.
Few people realized that the man who loved motorcycles, hunting, fishing and the Marine Corps was also an artist.
His parents' house in Masaryktown is decorated with metal sculptures of a dolphin, an alligator and even a shrimp.
At Hernando High, art teacher Roxanne Campbell still uses his clay pieces as models for her students.
Lea's maternal grandmother, Peggy Blanchard, lives in a small brick house on Pine Drive in Ocean Springs, Miss., a few blocks down the street from the National Guard armory. The one-story house with a driveway full of cars is close to the coast. That's where Blanchard rode out Hurricane Katrina and that's where the family gathered after Lea's death.
On Friday, she introduced Dee to a friend whose son had just come home from Iraq. "That's so great," Dee said as she hugged the lucky woman.
Of course she could feel jealous, she said later, but she doesn't - Dee hopes that all the soldiers come back. "That's what Lea would have wanted."
About 90 minutes before Saturday's funeral procession, 100 veterans on motorcycles showed up at the funeral home. The bikers came from two groups: the Patriot Guard Riders and the Leathernecks Motorcycle Club.
They parked along an entire block in front of the three-story funeral home, talking about bikes, wars and the impending rain.
Lea loved motorcycles, but that's not why they came.
"We have a fallen Marine - and what better way to honor him," said Terry Toney, a 48-year-old ex-Marine from Poplarville, Miss.
The bike club leaders greeted the family when they arrived for the procession. Then the motorcycles escorted Lea's body up Washington Avenue, west on Interstate 10 and north along the two-lane highways that led to the rural White Plains Cemetery.
At the cemetery, they dismounted and fell into formation: two lines of graying, flag-holding, leather-wearing bikers who had fought in the last half-century of America's wars.
The mourners passed between them on the way into the cemetery.
"These men are saints," Rob Mills said after his son's funeral and the cemetery had emptied of mourners. "A lot of them went through Vietnam and never saw the respect they deserved. I was of that era. It helps to see this outpouring of respect."
Rob Mills served in the Navy. His father, C.R. Mills, was a lieutenant colonel in the Army. Lea's maternal grandfather, Leamon Parker, was an Army corporal. Parker is buried at the feet of his grandson and just to the right.
The Marine Corps wasn't always the plan for Lea Mills. Senior year, he took John Miller's American government and economics classes with his friends, Josh Perdue and Justin Noe.
Perdue and Noe had decided to join the Marines, Perdue remembers, but Lea was leaning toward the Coast Guard.
"I used to kid him and tell him, "Why don't you go freaking save a whale, you and the Coast Guard,"' Perdue recalled. "We would always back and forth in Mr. Miller's class... Then he came in one day and said he was thinking about joining the Marine Corps."
Jimmy Taylor is a big man. He might stick out in any crowd, but among Marines wearing dress blues at Lea's funeral, Taylor's green Army uniform made him impossible to miss.
Taylor's mother died while he was in high school and Lea Mills was there for him.
"Lea didn't know what to say, but he knew how to act," Taylor said. "He didn't abandon me."
At the funeral Saturday, Taylor was returning the favor.
He has fought for a year in Iraq and is scheduled to head back there soon.
After the burial, Taylor stood in the parking lot taking drags from his cigarette: "Lea was a good man," Taylor said. "He didn't deserve this."
--Jonathan Abel can be reached at jabel@sptimes.com or 352 754-6114.
Ellie
At the final salute to a Marine, family and friends remember his strength of character and even strangers show up in respect.
JONATHAN ABEL
Published May 8, 2006
Friends say Lea Mills was like the Marine on the recruiting commercial, the one who scales the mountain and turns into a warrior at the top.
But before he was a Marine, he was a boy.
His parents, Rob and Dee Mills, use the word "confident" to describe him.
Dee would start every day by reminding Lea of the ground rules: "Me boss, you not."
You could tell just by looking at him that he was not a boy to be stuck in a mold, his mother said. He wore the tight strangler jeans that cowboys love one day and dreadlocks the next.
His widow, Keesha Mills, said Lea's repertoire of looks was extensive. He could alternate among skater, biker, prep and redneck depending on his mood.
Few people realized that the man who loved motorcycles, hunting, fishing and the Marine Corps was also an artist.
His parents' house in Masaryktown is decorated with metal sculptures of a dolphin, an alligator and even a shrimp.
At Hernando High, art teacher Roxanne Campbell still uses his clay pieces as models for her students.
Lea's maternal grandmother, Peggy Blanchard, lives in a small brick house on Pine Drive in Ocean Springs, Miss., a few blocks down the street from the National Guard armory. The one-story house with a driveway full of cars is close to the coast. That's where Blanchard rode out Hurricane Katrina and that's where the family gathered after Lea's death.
On Friday, she introduced Dee to a friend whose son had just come home from Iraq. "That's so great," Dee said as she hugged the lucky woman.
Of course she could feel jealous, she said later, but she doesn't - Dee hopes that all the soldiers come back. "That's what Lea would have wanted."
About 90 minutes before Saturday's funeral procession, 100 veterans on motorcycles showed up at the funeral home. The bikers came from two groups: the Patriot Guard Riders and the Leathernecks Motorcycle Club.
They parked along an entire block in front of the three-story funeral home, talking about bikes, wars and the impending rain.
Lea loved motorcycles, but that's not why they came.
"We have a fallen Marine - and what better way to honor him," said Terry Toney, a 48-year-old ex-Marine from Poplarville, Miss.
The bike club leaders greeted the family when they arrived for the procession. Then the motorcycles escorted Lea's body up Washington Avenue, west on Interstate 10 and north along the two-lane highways that led to the rural White Plains Cemetery.
At the cemetery, they dismounted and fell into formation: two lines of graying, flag-holding, leather-wearing bikers who had fought in the last half-century of America's wars.
The mourners passed between them on the way into the cemetery.
"These men are saints," Rob Mills said after his son's funeral and the cemetery had emptied of mourners. "A lot of them went through Vietnam and never saw the respect they deserved. I was of that era. It helps to see this outpouring of respect."
Rob Mills served in the Navy. His father, C.R. Mills, was a lieutenant colonel in the Army. Lea's maternal grandfather, Leamon Parker, was an Army corporal. Parker is buried at the feet of his grandson and just to the right.
The Marine Corps wasn't always the plan for Lea Mills. Senior year, he took John Miller's American government and economics classes with his friends, Josh Perdue and Justin Noe.
Perdue and Noe had decided to join the Marines, Perdue remembers, but Lea was leaning toward the Coast Guard.
"I used to kid him and tell him, "Why don't you go freaking save a whale, you and the Coast Guard,"' Perdue recalled. "We would always back and forth in Mr. Miller's class... Then he came in one day and said he was thinking about joining the Marine Corps."
Jimmy Taylor is a big man. He might stick out in any crowd, but among Marines wearing dress blues at Lea's funeral, Taylor's green Army uniform made him impossible to miss.
Taylor's mother died while he was in high school and Lea Mills was there for him.
"Lea didn't know what to say, but he knew how to act," Taylor said. "He didn't abandon me."
At the funeral Saturday, Taylor was returning the favor.
He has fought for a year in Iraq and is scheduled to head back there soon.
After the burial, Taylor stood in the parking lot taking drags from his cigarette: "Lea was a good man," Taylor said. "He didn't deserve this."
--Jonathan Abel can be reached at jabel@sptimes.com or 352 754-6114.
Ellie