We received the following from Veteran, Brian Alm after the Honor Flight #59 returned from Washington DC. Thank you, Brian – it’s an honor to do this for all veterans.
Yesterday, April 23, was in its own unique way the most remarkable and moving experience I can recall, and very much unexpected — in fact, the unexpected was the essence of the experience, and it kept coming: just when you thought they couldn’t top this, they did.
It was the Honor Flight of the Quad Cities, from here to Washington, D.C., for a charter planeload of military veterans to tour the monuments of the District in the loving care of so-called guardians, each one assigned to a veteran for the full day, from 5 a.m. to after 10 p.m.
I suppose we could have expected some well-wishing from a few people who were there as we departed, and I suppose we could have expected some warm greetings from family members and perhaps a few others on our return. What we could not have expected was an airport concourse packed solid with hundreds of strangers, cheering, shaking hands, smiling broad and genuine smiles, thanking us for our service, in warm choruses of “Welcome home!”
I was speechless, strangely overwhelmed, literally unable to utter more than a weak “Thank you” as one hand after another was thrust out to me, or a salute was rendered from a man in uniform, as a bagpiper played the anthems of all four-armed services. A sea of faces, all strangers, hundreds of them, old and young. It was not like it was in 1969.
Most of us were veterans of Vietnam. A few were there from Korea. Two were from World War II. There were plenty of wheelchairs, plenty of stiff, creaky and unsteady bodies — and plenty of guardians to answer every need.
But all that was upon our return. We should have guessed, but we could not have guessed the size of that reception, nor its warmth.
We should have had a premonition from the time we arrived at Dulles International outside Washington. The concourse there was loud: thundering applause, a drumline of a couple dozen kids, an honor guard at stiff attention, an army of volunteers to guide us, again with smiles and expressions of thanks.
Or when we got to the World War II Memorial, and another throng — all kids this time — formed another double line of welcome: cheering voices, beaming faces, thanks for our service.
Or when two members of the Old Guard, which maintains watch over the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier 24/7 year-round, rain, shine or snow, came out to greet us and answer questions about this ultra-elite honor guard — no one typically gets such attention.
Or when we walked into the Air and Space Museum and were waved through, with thanks, or indeed when we boarded our private jet in the first place, sweeping past security and the unexpected warm smiles of the TSA.
Or when, on the flight home, they held “Mail Call,” and handed each of us a large envelope that turned out to be stuffed with letters from friends and family, wishing us well, sending love and words of gratitude. As I said, whenever you thought nothing could top this, the next thing did.
We should have guessed. But who could have guessed the reality of our homecoming? It is a rhetorical question. No one could. Coming off the ramp, I was stunned to see probably sixty uniformed soldiers, formed up in two lines to greet us at the gate, all clapping and cheering. I thought that was great; it was late, after all, nearly 10:30— I thought that was it. It wasn’t; that was only the appetizer.
Once past the security station, the roar started. Actually, the shrill of the bagpipes came first. We couldn’t see what was coming, just the tops of flags that for some reason kept moving, erratically. Soon the mystery was clear: the flagbearers were shifting their loads so they could shake hands with us.
Next we were enveloped by the hundreds, all ages, races, genders, hundreds, stretching all the way to the baggage claim. The experience was too profound to be contained in words, so I will quit trying to do that. Suffice it to say that those who organized this Honor Flight and brought it off so perfectly — who thought how to top each unexpected moment with yet another — deserve blessings beyond measure. They managed to replace the sorrows and pains of fifty-plus years with new memories of care and honor that we can take to our graves instead.
