Buses started arriving at 7am for what was billed as the “First Time in a Century” that the public would be allowed on the plaza before the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. This isn’t quite true, but that’s how the media portrayed it.
The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier is the central focus of Arlington National Cemetery. As seen in this early photo of the public on the plaza placing wreaths, the Tomb was originally a simple marble slab. During its early years, thousands of visitors came to Arlington National Cemetery to honor those who had sacrificed their lives and pay their respects to the Unknown Soldier and the military personnel he represented. But this presented its own difficulties, as there was nothing to prevent visitors from touching, marking or even climbing on top of the tomb. Only in 1926 were soldiers from Fort Myer assigned to guard the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. You can see how easy it was to access the original tomb when it was unguarded. The first guards were present only during daylight, and their mission was to discourage visitors from climbing or stepping on the Tomb. Only in 1937 where guards assigned around the clock, standing watch over the Unknown Soldier.
Since April 6, 1948, the 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment, known as “The Old Guard,” was designated as the Army’s official ceremonial unit. It is considered one of the highest honors in the U.S. Army to serve as a Sentinel at the Tomb of the Unknowns. (Fewer than 20 percent of volunteers are accepted for training and only a fraction pass training to become Tomb Guards.) Soldiers of The Old Guard also serve as escorts to the president and conduct military ceremonies in and around Washington, D.C., including military funeral escorts at Arlington National Cemetery.
But today and tomorrow, from 9 am to 4 pm, none will make that familiar, syncopated walk in front of the tomb. The ribbons have been removed, the walking mat gone, the dress uniforms of the Old Guard left in their lockers. They were replaced by a large line of Americans eager to place flowers at the foot of the tomb.
We arrived for our 10 o’clock opportunity, went through the metal detectors and road the tram up to the Tomb. The trolley was full, not a single empty seat. We were let off at the top of the amphitheater entrance to join a line where it said we’d have 80 minutes before we could place our flowers.
But before we got on, we saw two older women leaving with a wagon full of flowers. “We missed our time,” they told the volunteer working at the entrance. “Even if we walked up, we would never get there before the window closed.” The cemetery volunteer encouraged them to take their dozens of roses up anyway. I have no idea if they came up, but they seemed dispirited. I don’t think anyone imagined how many people, from a dozen or more states, would come.
We got in line. There was a family from Palmyra, PA in front of us and the Senior Chief and a Lieutenant from the Coast Guard behind us. The uniqueness of the opportunity was lost on no one. There were all kinds of people, some in uniform, some in suits, some in shorts, children, men and women of all ages.
Standing at the 70 minute sign, in front of benches I saw no one use, we saw a congressman arrive by car, escorted by two members of the Old Guard, who took him through the line, into the theater and to the front of the line. Rank has its privileges. But that was true when I was a member of the Obama Administration assigned to the Pentagon ten years ago. Not that I wouldn’t have had to stand in line, just as the two people working at the Pentagon now were standing right behind us. But Members of Congress are always treated as special guests (especially if they sit on the Armed Services or Appropriations Committees!).
Arlington National Cemetery has planned numerous events to honor the centennial of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier(s). For this opening to the public, they placed signs about the history of the tomb in between the signs telling us our wait time. I’ve included them here.
The signs, of course, focused on the history of the decision create this monument to those lost in war. My personal interest, as seen in the initial paragraphs of this diary, was how the tomb has changed over the years and how the structures around the tomb itself have changed. When I first got to the Pentagon, this was explained to me. Many in the General Officer Corps have their offices in the E Ring overlooking the cemetery. And I was told more than once how that view impacted their decisions about sending troops into harms way. Colin Powell could discuss this influence at length. And it is something I remember whenever I am there, or even just passing by. The two officers (one NCO) behind us reminded me of how solemn and revered this place was to those who serve. While others in line were very conversational during the wait, and there were members of the Old Guard and others in uniform there to take questions and talk about this history of the place, those in line were much more reserved. Appropriately.
Thankfully, it was a beautiful day. Anywhere else I would have worn shorts. And many others choose to do just that. Clear blue skies, brisk air, a reverence for all who were there.
The signs telling us how long the wait would be were not precise. Probably took about 2/3rds the time they predicted. And when we left, the lines were even longer. No one took our tickets and if you didn’t use the trolley, no one would even look at them. We surmised the tickets were more of a crowd control device. The lady talking to the two women with the wagon was right. They could just “go right up.”
Before we turned the corner and could get a glimpse of the tomb, we came upon a woman offering us pink carnations. I asked if I could have two (so that my wife would have two to place). “Of course,” she replied. And then I handed it to my wife.
“Do you know what it represents,” she asked her.
“No, ma’am”
“Pink carnations represent the Moms who have lost a child.”
We didn’t tell her that my wife had lost her son (to HCM) or that the reason I had asked for another carnation was so that she could place it at the foot of the tomb in his honor. My kid loved coming to Arlington before Christmas to place wreaths on the headstones with Wreaths across America. At the last one we went to, about a month before he passed, he noticed the woman crying behind us in that line and struck up a conversation with her. She was a new widow of a soldier who died in 2018 and she wanted to place a wreath on his headstone. But it was her first time, the impact was overwhelming and she hadn’t made it earlier when she would have had more guidance.
We accompanied her to his grave after getting wreaths from the truck. When we got there, she walked across these freshly dug graves and fell to her knees. We waited there for awhile (long enough for it to occur to me that i should take a pic -- i wrestled whether that was respectful). It was pouring rain and we were absolutely soaked.
This memory touches me as much as my time with soldiers at the Pentagon. Our 17-year old brat was a good kid, not just the selfish teenager we lived with.
After a bit, this widow she turned around and thanked my kid. "I'm okay." She turned back around and Charlie asked, "does that mean we can go.” "I don't know," I told him. But we left and found one of the golf carts that usually help the military families get to their graves and pointed out where she was. We figured she might need help. We saw her get on the golf cart as we started to leave. I had never been prouder of Charlie.
But we don't often think about soldiers killed in our names. I didn't know anything about this soldier, not even his name. We didn't ask. But everyone of them is loved by somebody, their deaths more than just a national tragedy. for their loved ones, it is a personal tragedy. a really personal tragedy.
I pointed out his grave to my wife as we took the trolley up to the tomb. It was pretty emotional for both of us.
After we turned the corner and could see a line of about 100 yards to the tomb, we came across two different organizations offering up roses and daisies. “Take one, we have plenty.” By that time we might have spent an hour in line (but I think it was less). The family in front of us untied their dozen roses and distributed among the five of them. The two officers behind me chose to keep it simple and didn’t take more flowers to go with the carnations they had in hand. They waited patiently (and held up the line) each time I took a picture of the signs.
The conversational nature of the line ended quickly as we came up to the tomb. It was really amazing watching all these fellow Americans find the peace of this place. No doubt, everyone there had their own reason, their own connection, to this place. But in this day and age, it’s hard to find hundreds of Americans suddenly go silent, no phones, no conversation, just reverence. It was worth the time.
I wish every American could share that experience...