***By** JOSEPH L. GALLOWAY
**McClatchy Newspapers**
Over the last 12 months, 1,042 soldiers, Marines, sailors and Air
Force personnel have given their lives in the terrible duty that is
war. Thousands more have come home on stretchers, horribly wounded
and facing months or years in military hospitals.
This week, I'm turning my space over to a good friend and former
roommate, Army Lt. Col. Robert Bateman , who recently completed a
year long tour of duty in Iraq and is now back at the Pentagon.
Here's Lt. Col. Bateman's account of a little-known ceremony that
fills the halls of the Army corridor of the Pentagon with cheers,
applause and many tears every Friday morning. It first appeared on
May 17 on the Weblog of media critic and pundit Eric Alterman at the
Media Matters for America Website.
"It is 110 yards from the "E" ring to the "A" ring of the Pentagon.
This section of the Pentagon is newly renovated; the floors shine,
the hallway is broad, and the lighting is bright. At this instant
the entire length of the corridor is packed with officers, a few
sergeants and some civilians, all crammed tightly three and four
deep against the walls. There are thousands here.
This hallway, more than any other, is the `Army' hallway. The G3
offices line one side, G2 the other, G8 is around the corner. All
Army. Moderate conversations flow in a low buzz. Friends who may not
have seen each other for a few weeks, or a few years, spot each
other, cross the way and renew.
Everyone shifts to ensure an open path remains down the center. The
air conditioning system was not designed for this press of bodies in
this area.
The temperature is rising already. Nobody cares. "10:36 hours: The
clapping starts at the E-Ring. That is the outermost of the five
rings of the Pentagon and it is closest to the entrance to the
building. This clapping is low, sustained, hearty. It is applause
with a deep emotion behind it as it moves forward in a wave down the
length of the hallway.
"A steady rolling wave of sound it is, moving at the pace of the
soldier in t he wheelchair who marks the forward edge with his
presence. He is the first. He is missing the greater part of one
leg, and some of his wounds are still suppurating. By his age I
expect that he is a private, or perhaps a private first class.
"Captains, majors, lieutenant colonels and colonels meet his gaze
and nod as they applaud, soldier to soldier. Three years ago when I
described one of these events, those lining the hallways were
somewhat different. The applause a little wilder, perhaps in private
guilt for not having shared in the burden .. yet.
"Now almost everyone lining the hallway is, like the man in the
wheelchair, also a combat veteran. This steadies the applause, but I
think deepens the sentiment. We have all been there now. The
soldier's chair is pushed by, I believe, a full colonel.
"Behind him, and stretching the length from Rings E to A, come more
of his peers, each private, corporal, or sergeant assisted as need
be by a field grade officer. "11:00 hours: Twenty-four minutes of
steady applause. My hands hurt, and I laugh to myself at how stupid
that sounds in my own head. My hands hurt. Please! Shut up and clap.
For twenty-four minutes, soldier after soldier has come down this
hallway - 20, 25, 30. Fifty-three legs come with them, and perhaps
only 52 hands or arms, but down this hall came 30 solid hearts.
They pass down this corridor of officers and applause, and then meet
for a private lunch, at which they are the guests of honor, hosted
by the generals. Some are wheeled along. Some insist upon getting
out of their chairs, to march as best they can with their chin held
up, down this hallway, through this most unique audience. Some are
catching handshakes and smiling like a politician at a Fourth of
July parade. More than a couple of them seem amazed and are smiling
shyly.
"There are families with them as well: the 18-year-old war-bride
pushing her 19-year-old husband's wheelchair and not quite
understanding why her husband is so affected by this, the boy she
grew up with, now a man, who had never shed a tear is crying; the
older immigrant Latino parents who have, perhaps more than their
wounded mid-20s son, an appreciation for the emotion given on their
son's behalf. No man in that hallway, walking or clapping, is
ashamed by the silent tears on more than a few cheeks. An Airborne
Ranger wipes his eyes only to better see. A couple of the officers
in this crowd have themselves been a part of this parade in the past.
These are our men, broken in body they may be, but they are our
brothers, and we welcome them home. _This parade has gone on, every
single Friday, all year long, for more than four years._
" Did you know that?
The media hasn't told the story."*
