As it happens I have a large number of graves to visit at Arlington, from my Mother and Father to my paternal Grandparents and those parents of my girlfriend, Ellen, as well as several buddies and one female friend. My daughters both sets of grandparents are buried there. What is not generally known is there is a pass system where blood relatives can request a special Handicapped-type windshield hanger, which allows the user to bypass the Visitors Center and drive directly to the gravesites in the Cemetery. It was mildly amusing to see a bunch of the Rolling Thunder types, waved to the side of the road and, as I had most of my family with me (and my girlfriend), when the guard asked for the pass he was shown six (anyone was good enough for the group). My grandparents are in old section 7 along with one of my buddies from Nam. My folks are in section 68 looking down on both the Arlington and the Pentagon 9/11 memorials, and the new Air Force monument on a hill directly behind them. (As a Marine, it is starting to grow on me). My daughter's maternal grandparents are in section 70 over near the Columbarium, which now has 5 other buildings surrounding it, and Ellen's parent's ashes are entombed there.

It is not a moment of sadness but rather of remembrance and sometimes old stories are told as mementos are laid on or near the graves. I leave Cheese-its on Dads grave, and am secretly growing wild violets on Moms side of the grave stone.   Butch Harvey gets a half of a small vodka bottle, while I drink the other half. And thus it goes.

The saddest part of the whole scenario is the political uses the living make of the dead. Many years ago I got arrested after running over an anti war demonstration in which crosses with the names of local dead where placed on the public right of way. Butches name was on one of them, and knowing that if ever a Marine could rise from the dead and kill antiwar protestors it was he, I drove my car over all of them. In court I simply asked the protesters who there to testify against me had they gotten permission from any of the families to use the names they had placed on the crosses? They said no, and not only was I released, they were charged under Virginia law for littering and obstructing traffic. 1973 was a good year.

And the Veterans Affairs hospitals have gotten much better at treatment and detecting scumbag fakes who still try to get a disability payment for non-existing wounds or pretend PTSD. I also work with the local Service officers who call me about Navy/Marine Corps cases they have doubts about. The scumbags don't know about such things as Unit Diaries, and the location of Ships Logs, and with my retirement free time, its fun to run down to the Navy Yard or to Quantico in order to get the proof to drag these liars into the open. And it the process I was able to help a woman who had been raped while in the Navy by a shipboard Marine, and verify her "fresh complaint". It was too late to get the rapist who had died in the meantime, but I got her some pretty decent benefits.

And when its my time to be buried at Arlington I will be in the best company I could hope for (except if they have their own chapter of the Navy Wives Club…)