Riverside Veteran's National Cemetery: Peace, Pomp and Purpose

Special thanks to Amanda Straight, Security Officer; Jim Reuster, Public Affairs Officer; The Memorial Honor Detail, Team 21; Gander, the Goose;  Doris the Duck.

A couple of years ago, right around Memorial Day, I took a random, road trip, driving northbound on the 215 from Murrieta.  Our enviable, SoCal weather was so crystal clear I desired to capture landscapes on my Canon appendage.  Situated most comfortably in my Surf-Mobile, with a diet soda in one cup holder and hot coffee in the other, I noticed a large, rumbling formation of about 101, Harley Davidson motorcycles slowly exiting at Van Buren Avenue.  I couldn’t help but follow the coterie of leather-clad riders because each lacquered, polished, chrome-laden Hog had a small, American flag, attached to the sissy bar, claiming staunch patriotism in the wind.

As they neared the Riverside Veteran’s National Cemetery (RVNC), turning into the 923-acre resting place, another, vast entourage of Harley Davidsons approached, entering the main gate from the east. Serendipitous pomp literally flagged me into this occasion.

Circumstance? Well, I’m not quite sure how to address the prevailing, ceremonial reasons for my following the host of post-war veterans in attendance of the Memorial Day tribute to our nation’s fallen soldiers, other than to say that I occasionally frequent the RVNC simply to take photos while swimming in serenity.

With the advent of the fall season, the trees lining Van Buren Avenue, the trees shading some of the headstone markers and the ornamental shrubbery providing landscaped symmetry, suddenly bursts into full, brilliant color. The leaves on each come together like a mosaic, cloaking the limbs with a Technicolor dream coat of muted yellows, fiery reds and deep browns; the variant hues, singing in harmony, along a Pantone spectrum. Thus, it surprises me when the branches forfeit their foliage in signaling their dormant, rejuvenating state for the winter.  

It’s just as visually captivating catching the trees’ strong, barren arms silhouetted against the setting sun to the west, or the snow-capped, mountains to the north.  Standing in the midst of nature awakening from a good night’s sleep, the ensemble of chortling birds, the gaggles of honking geese, the overhead, whooshing sound of jet engines passing above the clouds at mach speed, I deeply inhale the sweet, damp smell of honeysuckle lacing my meditative experience with joyous  gratitude.  The passing vehicles’ sputtering engines and skidding tires emanate from the adjacent thoroughfares; sounds of life, dotted with intermittent silence. Sssshhhh. Be still. Do you hear it? A moment’s peace.

Peace in walking on the cushion of lush, deep, manicured grass.  Today, from a distance it looks as though the gardeners have carved out vertical and horizontal, artistic lines, but for the perfect pattern of embedded rectangles. The hills and dales appear as sort of a deep, green-colored quilt, pieced together with headstones.  On closer look, names and ranks, duties and obligations conveying that a human being was born and then passed on.  But, it’s really the dash in between birth and death validating one's spirit, one's presence and one's life journey; a person who gifted Earth with many a distinguished purpose. Is there anything indicating more glorious valor than having served in the U.S. military? Possibly, as destiny dictates and as inadvertent heroes are called upon in a moment’s notice.

However, our United States military, so often vehemently derided and vocally scoffed, always safeguard’s our nation’s soil, in part, so that those folks openly expressing such....foolish disdain, can continue to do so, as long as the rebellion doesn’t threaten to overthrow the government nor harm the masses.

Admittedly, I’ve been rebellious in certain forums, so how can I thank the men and women, from time, immemorial, for their respective gallantry in preserving national security, all so that I might enjoy day-to-day, democratic freedom, as I’ve known it to be, for over 50 years? I do so in my thoughts and prayers.

In my thoughts, I was appreciating the numerous, American flags taking residence on the RVNC premises most everywhere, when Amanda Straight, a security officer, intercepted me taking photos of a grand, oak tree.  Her kindness was exceeded only by her professional inquiry as to my purpose, given that this weekend is a ceremonial hallmark for the cemetery.  She asks for my business card to give to the public affairs officer, Mr. Jim Reuster, whom she called just so he could come out to greet me.

“He’ll be here in about ten minutes, if you don’t mind waiting,” said Amanda.

“Oh, no. I apologize for any inconvenience,” I said, giving her my card. Then she continued patrolling the grounds.

Of course, I was distracted by the waterfall over yonder.  It just so happened that I had a couple of loaves of bread in the car to feed the ducks on Menifee Lake later on.  So, I sat in the carpet of spongy grass, throwing fragments of bread to frenzied geese and gaping ducks as I waited.

When I ran out of bread, I figured it would be wise for me to head on over to the administrative office to meet with Mr. Reuster.  Meandering through the sacred alcoves, I noticed that it was business, as usual, in that funeral services were being conducted in the designated shelters. Every once in awhile, gunfire echoed in the distance and the solo trumpets could be heard playing Taps.  A Memorial Honor Detail Team, donned in their respective, military uniforms were gathered together. I just had to photograph the team because they looked so regal. The gentlemen happily complied, but only for a minute.

“You have to leave, now,” commanded Chuck Parra, a veteran sergeant in the United States Marine Corps. “I can see them coming,” he waved to his comrades, each taking a flanked position.

When I looked to the right, I saw the slow, funeral procession of vehicles arriving.  For some reason, my heart began bounding rapidly, as I quickly looked and walked away from something so indescribably personal and thoroughly final.  Walking in the opposite direction, I felt awkward and out of place. Had I overstepped my bounds in all of my photographic revelry?

I ponder that the cemetery is the last vestige and official revelry for those who have served in the military. As I recall, my initial visit a few years back served to investigate my dad’s veteran’s benefit.  He served overseas in the Navy during WWII.  My dad has chosen Riverside National Cemetery as his final resting place when the time comes.

The time had come for me to enter the doors of the grounds’ administrative building, but once again, I was waylaid by the whispering, evocative, sculpted memorials bearing figures of soldiers: The Missing in Action Memorial in which a soldier is depicted chained, bound, and on his knees in untold distress.  Then there’s the Veteran’s Memorial in which a lifeless soldier, dressed in army gear, is draped atop the 12-foot-high pillar of marble.

Of the memorials, I’ve taken photos of the latter many times because there’s nothing written on the face of the pillar. As a writer, I want to fix that huge, blank space representing (to me) reason; I want to engrave poetic salve across the marble while rendering some consolation; I want to say something in all of the surrounding, philosophical, reflective silence.  When I’m looking through my photos, it occurs to me that it’s not about what I want; I’ve been humbled as many times as it's taken me to fully comprehend -- there are no words.

“You must be Lyn,” says a man from behind me. 

“You must be Mr. Reuster,” I said, extending my hand.

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiled.  “Did you get all the photos you need of our wonderful trees?”

“Yes and then some,” I assured him.  Mr. Reuster was quick and gracious in reminding me that I was standing on tightly-secured, Federal property, given the imminent, Memorial Day services. He gave me his card and spoke of Monday’s slated events.

“Please, feel free to come and take even more photos,” he said.  “It’s going to be a busy day for everyone, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

That’s it? An invitation? He’s not going to confiscate my camera and the disk? He’s not going to write an incident report? He’s not going to interrogate me under hot, bright lights?

“Oh, one more thing. I didn’t want to bother you when you were over by the pond taking photos and feeding the ducks.  You must’ve missed the signage suggesting not to feed the birds. They won’t leave and it poses potential sanitation problems for us,” he said.  He didn’t want to bother me as his iPhone was  furiously blinking and blipping like a corporate switchboard?

“I’m so sorry,” I said, thinking all the while that if I were a fine, feathered friend, I wouldn’t want to leave, either, knowing full-well that my day will come, soon enough, notwithstanding my inability to fly.

On Monday, May 28, 2012, The Riverside Veteran’s National Cemetery is hosting Memorial Day Honors in the amphitheater commencing at 10:30 A.M.  The amphitheater seats about 2,500 guests. Each year, about 7,000 people show up, so bring lawn chairs and umbrellas.  The itinerary is available on the RVNC website: www.rncsc.org.   To be continued…