Calm Photos

The following is an excerpt from one of the finest examples of print journalism that I’ve come upon in recent months, not only in how well it is written but also in the talent and respect for subject displayed in the photography. This is a special report recently published by the Rocky Mountain News in Denver. It’s something everyone should read, regardless of how each of us feels about the war in Iraq and those who choose to serve. The full series of articles, with printable PDF’s, audio-visual commentary and photographs, can be found at http://denver.rockymountainnews.com/news/finalSalute/.

(Take note Dayton Daily News. This is how it’s done and done right.)

Farewell brothers. On Eagle’s Wings:

Near 11 on Saturday night, the gymnasium fell silent. Along with his first and last eagle feather, Cpl. Lundstrom was about to receive something even more enduring.”This evening I want to take a few minutes of your time to name my grandson,” said Birgil Kills Straight, Cpl. Lundstrom’s great-uncle. “Before he enters the spirit world, it’s important for him to have an Indian name, because that’s how the ancestors will know him,” he said.

Earlier that night, Kills Straight had gone to an Inipi, a sweat lodge, to pray for the name, and to ask the spirits to guide the fallen warrior.

After the ceremony, long after midnight, the Marines would take Lundstrom’s body into the tepee, where Lakota beliefs hold that the spirits of Lundstrom’s ancestors would communicate with his.

First, Kills Straight said, they needed to know who he was.

“His name is Wanbli Isnala,” Kills Straight said, and then translated: “Lone Eagle.”

With that, he took the eagle feather, walked to the open casket, and placed it on the Marine’s chest.

 ”He, alone, above everything else, is an eagle,” Kills Straight said. “He will fly to the highest reaches of the universe. He may bring back news to us in our dreams.”He looked to the stands of the stadium, and spoke of Lundstrom’s well-known warrior ancestors.

“The blood of these people you’ve probably heard of runs in the blood of Brett . . . this is who Brett is,” Kills Straight said. “He is a warrior.”

After placing ceremonial grasses in the casket and offering prayers in Lakota, he turned again to the crowd.

“Now I want to name my other grandson,” he said.

From the back of the room, Pfc. Eddy Lundstrom walked in wearing his desert camouflage uniform, the one he was wearing only a week earlier in Tikrit, when told of his brother’s death. As the only surviving son in the family, he had the option to spend the rest of his tour stateside.

Instead, he plans to leave Tuesday to go back to Iraq.

In the days leading up to the naming ceremony, as Birgil Kills Straight searched for the proper names to bestow on the two brothers, he said he specifically wanted a name that might help ensure Eddy’s safe return.

As the 21-year-old private stood at attention, his shoulders straight, his fingers curled slightly at his sides, Kills Straight took out another eagle feather.

“His name is Wicahci Kailehya,” he said finally.

“Shining Star.”

Anguished cry wonders why

American Indians have the highest per-capita participation in the armed services of any ethnic group. According to the Web site icasualties.org, 23 American Indians and Alaska Native Americans have died in Iraq as of the end of last year.

“People always ask, why do the Indian people, who were treated so badly, step forward to serve their country?” said James Shaw Sr. during one of the ceremonies. “It’s that good old nation pride.”

For John Around Him, an Army combat infantry veteran who served in Vietnam and whose son recently returned from Iraq, the bond is more tangible.

“In 1876, the Lakota Sioux took that flag from Custer,” he said, nodding toward the U.S. flag near the casket. “So that flag is ours, too.”

Still, after so many centuries of battle, they also know the consequences all too well.

“I saw his name on CNN and I let out a war whoop,” said Velma Killsback - whose daughter served in Iraq - as she looked at the casket that held Cpl. Lundstrom. “I sat here in disbelief, wondering why. For a war that shouldn’t go on.”

On the reservation, where registered Democrats outnumber Republicans 9-1, the war in Iraq is largely unpopular. The men and women fighting it, however, never are.

“When we would have late-night talks, he would tell me how he was fighting for me to do the things I do in everyday life,” said Brett’s cousin Amanda Munoz. “No matter how much I was against it, I gradually understood. No matter how much I hated it, and said, ‘Please Brett, don’t go,’ he was doing what he wanted to do. It was his calling.”

Generosity of the star quilts

By the time the wake entered its 30th hour, eyes had begun to sag, clothes had rumpled and stubble covered the faces of many male mourners. The energy level never waned.

Periodically, drum groups formed circles that pulled the drowsy from the bleachers. Visitors ate buffalo soup and fry bread.

While most tribe members left each night to return home, some slept near family members on the floor of the gym, or under the bleachers, refusing to leave the man few of them had ever met.

All the while, the group of 12 young Marines from Colorado - most of whom had never visited an Indian reservation - continued to post watch in 30-minute shifts.

They stood without flinching, listening to relatives cry over the open casket, and as friends and family members placed letters, a rose and sports jerseys alongside his body.

On Saturday night, while many of their friends back in Colorado concerned themselves with the outcome of the Denver Broncos playoff game, the Marines watched as the family showed childhood photos of Brett Lundstrom’s life, projected on a screen next to his open casket.

After the ceremony on the reservation, they would head back to Colorado for Lundstrom’s burial at Fort Logan National Cemetery.

“I hope they will take this message back, that they’ll say, ‘We went to Pine Ridge, and it was one of the greatest honors we’ve ever seen,’ ” John Around Him said. “They’re witnesses, to take this honor and share it.”

According to Staff Sgt. Kevin Thomas, they have no choice.

“I was a history major. I learned about the Western expansion, I learned about the Indians,” Thomas said. “But I never really understood.”

As the ceremony progressed, many of the mourners brought handmade gifts, including elaborate dreamcatchers, miniature illuminated tepees and traditional star quilts. By Sunday night, more than 50 of the quilts - which can take weeks to make and can sell for between $300 and $600 each - lined an entire wall of the gymnasium.

Then, as is customary, the family gave them all away.

“Value doesn’t mean nothing to the family - earthly property, it doesn’t mean nothing right now - it’s life that has worth,” said 82-year-old Sylvester Bad Cob, a World War II and Korean War veteran. “They give it out now, but they’ll get it back someday.”

One by one, the family called up everyone who had helped organize the ceremony, and presented them with one of the elaborate star quilts.

They began with the Marines.

“I had a picture of this in my mind, but to actually see it . . . It’s just overwhelming,” said Capt. Chris Sutherland, shortly after Doyla and Ed Lundstrom wrapped him in one of the quilts, and - as they did with each of his Marines - sealed their gift with a hug.

“If you think about it, in our culture, we give thank-you notes,” Sutherland said, shaking his head. “Just thank-you notes.”

Once the gifting ceremony was over, however, the Lundstroms found out that Sutherland also had something to return.

As the gym once again quieted, Sutherland took out a small red velvet bag, and walked toward the Marine’s parents.

He dropped to one knee and tilted the bag. He then pulled out a watch - the same one that the corporal was wearing when he was killed. He handed it to Ed Lundstrom, who hadn’t slept for the past 36 hours, while remaining near his son’s casket. The former Marine major held tight to the watch, then crumbled in tears.

Sutherland tipped the bag again, and softly folded the remaining contents into the hands of Brett Lundstrom’s mother:

Her son’s dog tags.

Sunday night near midnight, 65-year-old Regina Brave stood up from the bleachers and made her way to the floor.

“As a rule, I don’t go to wakes, I don’t go to funerals. But for some reason, I had to come to this one,” she said. “After I heard about him, I knew I had to be here. I walked for a long time.”

Two days earlier, Brave had hitchhiked more than 100 miles across the reservation to attend the wake. For the entire journey, the Navy veteran carried one of her handmade star quilts, in memory of her son, a Marine who served during the first Gulf War. Earlier that night, the family gave the quilt away with all the others.

“My father told me, ‘Everywhere you go, you’re there for a reason,’ ” she said. ” ‘You’re either there to help somebody, or they’re there to help you.’ “

Inside the gymnasium, Brave joined more than a hundred men and women who lined up behind the Colorado Marines, for the last official ceremony of the wake, the “Final Roll Call.”

She was soon joined by men and women from all services, ages 19 to 90. Some hobbled in walkers, others stood in desert camouflage, some wore the same clothes they had for the past two days. As Sunday stretched into Monday, they came to attention.

For the next 15 minutes, they all waited for their name, and then barked the same response:

“Here, Sir.”

“Here, Sir.”

“Here, Sir . . .” each of them said, one after another, until they reached the last veteran in the building.

“Corporal Brett Lee Lundstrom . . .

“Corporal Brett Lee Lundstrom . . .

“Corporal Brett Lee Lundstrom.”

Finally, Capt. Sutherland answered for the Marine who never would.

“Not here, Sir,” he said.

As the Lakota warrior songs began, John Around Him took the microphone once more.

“This ceremony will continue on - because in the past, in our history with our great warriors, and how they defended our land, their culture and their way of life - it passes on, generation after generation,” he said.

“These veterans, they love us. They care for us.”

He looked over at the groups of old men and women, the groups of young ones, and thought of all the wars in between.

“To all the veterans who are here tonight, welcome home,” he said.

He then looked over at the open casket at the man with a feather on his chest, and said it again, “Welcome home.”

 

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