thedrifter
04-27-07, 07:31 AM
Receiving An Unexpected Honor
By Pfc. Andrew S. Keirn, MCB Quantico
MARINE CORPS BASE QUANTICO, Va. (April 26, 2007) -- Six months ago I interrupted my life as a combat correspondent to serve with a group of Marines who sacrifice not only working hours, but also weekends and holidays, to ensure the Marines who have gone before them receive the honor and remembrance they deserve.
Having spent nearly a year aboard Quantico working for the Sentry, I was asked to drop everything I was working on, pack up my wall locker, and move over to a secluded squad bay on the third deck of Building 2006. After pleading my case that my talents would be better put to use by staying with public affairs, I was "convinced" otherwise and "happily" traveled across base to my new "dream job."
After climbing what seemed like 100 flights of stairs and thinking to myself that if a colonel had to climb this Everest every day an elevator would surely be installed, I finally reached my new home. The doorway was covered with awards and photos of sharp-looking Marines dressed in their Blues and a large sign that read "Ceremonial Platoon." Before I opened the door, I took a deep breath and readied myself for my new life.
As a member of Ceremonial Platoon, you are expected to be 100-percent proficient at every task asked of the platoon, which includes being a pallbearer or rifleman for military funeral honors, rifleman or colors bearer on a color guard, and basically any other kind of special ceremony.
After I gained enough skill through training, I took part in my first funeral. I slid on my crisp new set of Dress Blues, medals shining, and drew my rifle from the armory. When we arrived at Quantico National Cemetery, I marched away from the shelter into the field with the rest of the rifle line. As I stood among the rows of headstones of Marines, soldiers, sailors and airmen and waited for the command to fire, I wondered why I didn’t feel the impact of the situation. This was a funeral for a former Marine, and all I could think about was how uncomfortable I was, standing cocklegged on the uneven ground. After we returned to the squad bay, I explained to my corporal what I was thinking and asked him if the funerals ever got to him. He told me that until you act as one of the pallbearers, you won’t really feel the gravity of the whole thing.
I soon learned what my corporal meant. It wasn’t long until I was the one carrying the casket and standing face to face with the grieving family members. The meaning and importance of what I was doing really came to light for me at that moment. What we were doing was not just a job -- it was an honor to put to rest men and women who came before me and fought to make my country and my Corps the way it is today. Not only were the honors for the deceased, but they also brought comfort and pride to the surviving family.
Sometimes being in Ceremonial Platoon can seem like an unappreciated job, doing funeral after funeral and color guard after color guard with nothing to look forward to but spending even more money on medals and ribbons and constantly having your Blues dry cleaned. Then there are those moments that make working long hours and holiday weekends all worth it: the teary-eyed thank you from the widow you just presented a folded flag to; the job-well-done coming from the high-ranking official who actually noticed the flawless 13 countermarch you just performed with a color guard in front of a couple hundred people; the plaque with an engraved thank-you on it that will be forever hung on the Ceremonial Platoon door to show all the hard work that happens on that secluded third-deck squad bay.
As with any major change in my life, I was hesitant to let myself enjoy my new assignment at first. I was good at my job at public affairs and felt comfortable there. After arriving at Ceremonial Platoon, learning my job, and getting to know the new Marines, the importance of my new job came to light. The barriers I had built up crumbled, and respect for my new job and friendships grew in their place.
Now that I am back at public affairs, I am surprised to find myself feeling not at home like I used to. The writing and photography is coming back to me, but as I sit writing my stories in the basement of Lejeune Hall and hear morning and evening colors being sounded, I think of the Marines of Ceremonial Platoon raising that flag. It reminds me that during my short time as a member of Ceremonial Platoon, I might not have wanted to be there at first, but it turned into a meaningful experience and has led me to believe that change is not always a good thing, but you never know until you open yourself up to the full experience.
Ellie
By Pfc. Andrew S. Keirn, MCB Quantico
MARINE CORPS BASE QUANTICO, Va. (April 26, 2007) -- Six months ago I interrupted my life as a combat correspondent to serve with a group of Marines who sacrifice not only working hours, but also weekends and holidays, to ensure the Marines who have gone before them receive the honor and remembrance they deserve.
Having spent nearly a year aboard Quantico working for the Sentry, I was asked to drop everything I was working on, pack up my wall locker, and move over to a secluded squad bay on the third deck of Building 2006. After pleading my case that my talents would be better put to use by staying with public affairs, I was "convinced" otherwise and "happily" traveled across base to my new "dream job."
After climbing what seemed like 100 flights of stairs and thinking to myself that if a colonel had to climb this Everest every day an elevator would surely be installed, I finally reached my new home. The doorway was covered with awards and photos of sharp-looking Marines dressed in their Blues and a large sign that read "Ceremonial Platoon." Before I opened the door, I took a deep breath and readied myself for my new life.
As a member of Ceremonial Platoon, you are expected to be 100-percent proficient at every task asked of the platoon, which includes being a pallbearer or rifleman for military funeral honors, rifleman or colors bearer on a color guard, and basically any other kind of special ceremony.
After I gained enough skill through training, I took part in my first funeral. I slid on my crisp new set of Dress Blues, medals shining, and drew my rifle from the armory. When we arrived at Quantico National Cemetery, I marched away from the shelter into the field with the rest of the rifle line. As I stood among the rows of headstones of Marines, soldiers, sailors and airmen and waited for the command to fire, I wondered why I didn’t feel the impact of the situation. This was a funeral for a former Marine, and all I could think about was how uncomfortable I was, standing cocklegged on the uneven ground. After we returned to the squad bay, I explained to my corporal what I was thinking and asked him if the funerals ever got to him. He told me that until you act as one of the pallbearers, you won’t really feel the gravity of the whole thing.
I soon learned what my corporal meant. It wasn’t long until I was the one carrying the casket and standing face to face with the grieving family members. The meaning and importance of what I was doing really came to light for me at that moment. What we were doing was not just a job -- it was an honor to put to rest men and women who came before me and fought to make my country and my Corps the way it is today. Not only were the honors for the deceased, but they also brought comfort and pride to the surviving family.
Sometimes being in Ceremonial Platoon can seem like an unappreciated job, doing funeral after funeral and color guard after color guard with nothing to look forward to but spending even more money on medals and ribbons and constantly having your Blues dry cleaned. Then there are those moments that make working long hours and holiday weekends all worth it: the teary-eyed thank you from the widow you just presented a folded flag to; the job-well-done coming from the high-ranking official who actually noticed the flawless 13 countermarch you just performed with a color guard in front of a couple hundred people; the plaque with an engraved thank-you on it that will be forever hung on the Ceremonial Platoon door to show all the hard work that happens on that secluded third-deck squad bay.
As with any major change in my life, I was hesitant to let myself enjoy my new assignment at first. I was good at my job at public affairs and felt comfortable there. After arriving at Ceremonial Platoon, learning my job, and getting to know the new Marines, the importance of my new job came to light. The barriers I had built up crumbled, and respect for my new job and friendships grew in their place.
Now that I am back at public affairs, I am surprised to find myself feeling not at home like I used to. The writing and photography is coming back to me, but as I sit writing my stories in the basement of Lejeune Hall and hear morning and evening colors being sounded, I think of the Marines of Ceremonial Platoon raising that flag. It reminds me that during my short time as a member of Ceremonial Platoon, I might not have wanted to be there at first, but it turned into a meaningful experience and has led me to believe that change is not always a good thing, but you never know until you open yourself up to the full experience.
Ellie