We stood at attention as the rifle salute was fired. Another old soldier lowered into the ground. this one an old and dear friend, a long time retired but not long enough on earth. A big man in body and spirit, a sergeant major of the old school and deserving of the honors given him today. Watching the burial detail go through their moves, I was silently going through the commands and the timing of the shots. It took me back to Fort Ord in the middle seventies when I was the NCOIC of the rifle salute squad of a burial detail. There were six pall bearers who doubled as the flag detail, an NCOIC, an OIC and the eight man rifle detail. Each team had one or two extras just in case. It was a pain-in-the-butt duty, but it was important to do it right. We practiced two or three times a week when we were on call. We were on call one week out of the month...it was a busy buryin' time, it was. Get a call, hop on the bus...do the deed...hop on the bus. Sometimes there would be three or four burials on a trip. But I was lucky, my team was pretty good so we got selected to be the standby-for-General of the Army-Bradley-to drop team. An honor to be sure but it meant that we had to be around all the time whenever he left his home in Texas and headed west of El Paso...which was often. That is why I didn't get in on this incident...but one of my good friends did.
When the call comes in to do a burial, there are several things that must be coordinated and accomplished before heading out. The OIC, usually a junior lieutenant, is responsible to make all the arrangements...motel rooms...meals...weapons storage (usually the nearest police substation) and points of contact with family and funeral homes and cemetaries. The NCOIC inspects all the gear and everyone's uniforms and all...and draws blank ammunition and a flag....and his most important duty is to check on the OIC to make sure he has done HIS job. Then everyone loads up on the bus, final checks and headcounts, and head for whatever town is the latest destination. Everyone travels in grubbies...cut offs, sweats, levis, sandals, whatever...gotta save those uniforms for the show.
The call came...a retiree fell in North Hollywood...good news, bad news...the families of retirees are not as likely to be upset about their soldiers' death as young soldiers' families and a lot less likely to take it out on the burial detail (it did happened A LOT)...bad news...North Hollywood...one of the worst areas of Southern California.
It was just after dusk the night before the burial...the bus pulled into the parking lot down the street from the police station and the rifle team stepped down with their rifles and headed up the street to turn them in to be secured for the night. The next five minutes has to be etched in the memories of the rifle team AND the North Hollywood cops. The police were in the station doing whatever cop things they do when someone comes roaring into the station screaming that the Symbionese Liberation Army was coming into the station...and the first of the GIs came in close behind, a large black Spec4 in sweat pants and tank top with his M16 at port arms. The cops went into scramble mode, papers flew, chairs toppled, desks were thrown on their sides and about twenty pistols were out and aimed at the front door. The rest of the rifle team had no idea what was happening and kept moving in, pushing the frozen Spec4 ahead of them. Cops on the verge of slaughter were screaming, "FREEZE" and "DROP YOUR WEAPONS"...and I suppose a bunch of other less family oriented things. The GIs were totally bumfuzzled...they froze...but training prevented them from dropping their rifles...and it took a good tense five minutes to sort it all out....after a lot of salty phrases and I suspect some changes of underwear. Fortunately, no one got shot.
Well...the Lieutenant forgot one...only one...of the coordinations he was supposed to make...calling the substation. The sergeant in charge of the burial detail or at least the sergeant in charge of the rifle team should have walked in ahead of the team to give the cops a heads up. Because even if you told them you are coming, it is NEVER a good idea to walk into a cop house with a crowd of young men carrying rifles.
The jingle was, "Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust, Plant this ****er and get back on the bus !" You practiced so much and did it so often that they all run together in memory...except the one in North Hollywood.