thedrifter
02-23-09, 06:50 AM
For small towns, war deaths draw residents closer
Large turnouts at funerals show united feeling of loss
By Brian MacQuarrie, Globe Staff | February 23, 2009
The body of Army Private Jonathan Roberge, who was killed in Iraq by a suicide bomber, lay in Leominster City Hall last week as more than 2,000 mourners filed past the flag-draped casket over seven solemn hours.
The same day, another 2,000 people lined the streets of Bridgewater during a funeral procession, rich in military ritual, for Marine Lance Corporal Kevin Preach, who had been mortally wounded in Afghanistan.
For many Americans, the wars now pale in comparison with the onrushing perils of an imploding economy. But in smaller communities like Leominster and Bridgewater, places where no one had been killed in combat since Vietnam, the deaths have shown how searingly painful and profoundly personal each new loss can be.
"I've never seen people lining the streets like that in my lifetime," Mayor Dean Mazzarella of Leominster said of the tribute for Roberge. "There was nothing like this during the Vietnam War."
Small-town patriotism, working-class pride, and special bonds between lifelong neighbors are often used to explain the large, recent funerals for the war dead. But behind these generalities looms another factor that townspeople and the military cite repeatedly: Despite the controversies surrounding the Iraq war, the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, jolted the country with a fear of imminent, random danger that the Vietnam War never created.
And because of that anxious, edgy sense of vulnerability, the sacrifice of today's fallen often carries an intimate immediacy.
"The events of 9/11 united the country. The policies of the Bush administration, especially those related to Iraq, replaced unity with deep division," said Andrew Bacevich, a Boston University professor and former Army colonel who lost a son in Iraq. "Yet one piece of the post-9/11 consensus survived, finding expression in support for those who sacrifice their lives in our defense. That support is genuine, heartfelt, and a source of deep consolation for the families who mourn."
After news of Roberge's death hit Leominster, his grandfather asked City Councilor Claire Freda whether two or three veterans groups might turn out in his honor. Instead, the response in the city of 42,000 people was stunning for its breadth and depth.
An estimated 1,200 people gathered outside City Hall for a vigil last Monday The next day, thousands of people lined the route from Hanscom Air Force Base to Leominster as the 22-year-old's body was carried to a funeral home. And on Thursday, as many as 10,000 people are estimated to have watched live cable coverage of the funeral service at their homes or on a large screen at City Hall.
Later, when a hotel reception was held for the Roberge family, the Leominster business community donated $10,000 to help cover the cost.
"It doesn't matter what you feel about the war. The important thing is that you honor these people," said Freda, whose husband's death in 1997 was linked to wounds from the Vietnam War.
That mindset could also be found in Bridgewater, a town of 25,000 where the shock of combat death had not been felt in more than 30 years.
"I think this has brought an awareness of the war here," said Roderick Walsh, the Bridgewater veterans agent. "I saw it in the young people, who were very solemn, and I saw it in the World War II-era residents, both the veterans and the nonveterans."
Small children asked their parents what had happened as the procession passed, and many young families later visited the war memorial on the town common.
"We'll be adding another name to that," Walsh said of Preach, 21. "Like everything else in life, people move on. But I think this will be something that stays with people for a long time."
The impact of the war appears to be felt disproportionately in less-affluent areas, according to data collected by the National Priorities Project, a nonpartisan organization that studies the effect of federal spending on local communities. In 2008, 63.3 percent of new Army recruits came from neighborhoods with household incomes below the median US level of $51,700, said Suzanne Smith, research director for the Northampton-based group.
"Especially during wartime, when it might be less attractive to join the Army, it's increasingly the low- to middle-income youth who join because they may not have other opportunities to go to college and have other forms of employment," said Smith, whose organization has been studying income data for military recruits since 2004.
While skills training and a steady job have always been inducements for military service, patriotism also plays a big role, particularly in places with a long military tradition like Chicopee.
As the home of Westover Air Reserve Base, and with 2,000 residents who have served on active duty at some point since Sept. 11, 2001, Chicopee knew exactly how to react when three of its service members were killed in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Marine Captain John Maloney, 36, was the first to die, killed in Iraq by a roadside bomb in June 2005. The eldest of three brothers who served in the Marines, Maloney was brought home to a hero's wake at Chicopee High School, where the athletic field is now named in his honor.
"Everybody in this city turned out for the wake," said Kenneth Golash, the veterans' agent in Chicopee, an economically struggling city of 54,000.
In 2007, Army Specialist Christopher Wilson, 24, was killed in Afghanistan, and Staff Sergeant Daniel Newsome, 27, died in Iraq. In the Maloney home, neither John's mother, Lydia, nor his brothers, Captain Jason Maloney and Corporal Justin Clark, expressed any regret about his career choice.
"He loved what he did, he believed in what he did, and he did it to take care of others," said Jason Maloney, who is executive officer for the New England recruiting office for the Marines. "Not everyone will agree with what's going on there, but we're not here to make opinions. In the military, it's what our country wants us to do."
Nearly four years after her son's death, Lydia Maloney, a bus driver, is clearly touched by the support she continues to receive in Chicopee and from strangers on her public bus route.
"The town came together, and I've seen it in the deaths of the other two," Lydia said. "This is the working class of the valley, and the working class takes care of itself."
Ellie
Large turnouts at funerals show united feeling of loss
By Brian MacQuarrie, Globe Staff | February 23, 2009
The body of Army Private Jonathan Roberge, who was killed in Iraq by a suicide bomber, lay in Leominster City Hall last week as more than 2,000 mourners filed past the flag-draped casket over seven solemn hours.
The same day, another 2,000 people lined the streets of Bridgewater during a funeral procession, rich in military ritual, for Marine Lance Corporal Kevin Preach, who had been mortally wounded in Afghanistan.
For many Americans, the wars now pale in comparison with the onrushing perils of an imploding economy. But in smaller communities like Leominster and Bridgewater, places where no one had been killed in combat since Vietnam, the deaths have shown how searingly painful and profoundly personal each new loss can be.
"I've never seen people lining the streets like that in my lifetime," Mayor Dean Mazzarella of Leominster said of the tribute for Roberge. "There was nothing like this during the Vietnam War."
Small-town patriotism, working-class pride, and special bonds between lifelong neighbors are often used to explain the large, recent funerals for the war dead. But behind these generalities looms another factor that townspeople and the military cite repeatedly: Despite the controversies surrounding the Iraq war, the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, jolted the country with a fear of imminent, random danger that the Vietnam War never created.
And because of that anxious, edgy sense of vulnerability, the sacrifice of today's fallen often carries an intimate immediacy.
"The events of 9/11 united the country. The policies of the Bush administration, especially those related to Iraq, replaced unity with deep division," said Andrew Bacevich, a Boston University professor and former Army colonel who lost a son in Iraq. "Yet one piece of the post-9/11 consensus survived, finding expression in support for those who sacrifice their lives in our defense. That support is genuine, heartfelt, and a source of deep consolation for the families who mourn."
After news of Roberge's death hit Leominster, his grandfather asked City Councilor Claire Freda whether two or three veterans groups might turn out in his honor. Instead, the response in the city of 42,000 people was stunning for its breadth and depth.
An estimated 1,200 people gathered outside City Hall for a vigil last Monday The next day, thousands of people lined the route from Hanscom Air Force Base to Leominster as the 22-year-old's body was carried to a funeral home. And on Thursday, as many as 10,000 people are estimated to have watched live cable coverage of the funeral service at their homes or on a large screen at City Hall.
Later, when a hotel reception was held for the Roberge family, the Leominster business community donated $10,000 to help cover the cost.
"It doesn't matter what you feel about the war. The important thing is that you honor these people," said Freda, whose husband's death in 1997 was linked to wounds from the Vietnam War.
That mindset could also be found in Bridgewater, a town of 25,000 where the shock of combat death had not been felt in more than 30 years.
"I think this has brought an awareness of the war here," said Roderick Walsh, the Bridgewater veterans agent. "I saw it in the young people, who were very solemn, and I saw it in the World War II-era residents, both the veterans and the nonveterans."
Small children asked their parents what had happened as the procession passed, and many young families later visited the war memorial on the town common.
"We'll be adding another name to that," Walsh said of Preach, 21. "Like everything else in life, people move on. But I think this will be something that stays with people for a long time."
The impact of the war appears to be felt disproportionately in less-affluent areas, according to data collected by the National Priorities Project, a nonpartisan organization that studies the effect of federal spending on local communities. In 2008, 63.3 percent of new Army recruits came from neighborhoods with household incomes below the median US level of $51,700, said Suzanne Smith, research director for the Northampton-based group.
"Especially during wartime, when it might be less attractive to join the Army, it's increasingly the low- to middle-income youth who join because they may not have other opportunities to go to college and have other forms of employment," said Smith, whose organization has been studying income data for military recruits since 2004.
While skills training and a steady job have always been inducements for military service, patriotism also plays a big role, particularly in places with a long military tradition like Chicopee.
As the home of Westover Air Reserve Base, and with 2,000 residents who have served on active duty at some point since Sept. 11, 2001, Chicopee knew exactly how to react when three of its service members were killed in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Marine Captain John Maloney, 36, was the first to die, killed in Iraq by a roadside bomb in June 2005. The eldest of three brothers who served in the Marines, Maloney was brought home to a hero's wake at Chicopee High School, where the athletic field is now named in his honor.
"Everybody in this city turned out for the wake," said Kenneth Golash, the veterans' agent in Chicopee, an economically struggling city of 54,000.
In 2007, Army Specialist Christopher Wilson, 24, was killed in Afghanistan, and Staff Sergeant Daniel Newsome, 27, died in Iraq. In the Maloney home, neither John's mother, Lydia, nor his brothers, Captain Jason Maloney and Corporal Justin Clark, expressed any regret about his career choice.
"He loved what he did, he believed in what he did, and he did it to take care of others," said Jason Maloney, who is executive officer for the New England recruiting office for the Marines. "Not everyone will agree with what's going on there, but we're not here to make opinions. In the military, it's what our country wants us to do."
Nearly four years after her son's death, Lydia Maloney, a bus driver, is clearly touched by the support she continues to receive in Chicopee and from strangers on her public bus route.
"The town came together, and I've seen it in the deaths of the other two," Lydia said. "This is the working class of the valley, and the working class takes care of itself."
Ellie