WHY I WON'T BE BURIED AT ARLINGTON by Tim Siggia

WHY I WON'T BE BURIED AT ARLINGTON

By Tim Siggia

May 30, 2007

As we have all been told too many times, there are only two certainties in this life. One we are already dealing with on a daily basis, and much space has been allotted to the discussion of that. The other is the one which, on this Memorial Day, is the proper one to discuss. As we remember on this sacred day the brave men and women who paid the highest price for our freedom, it gives many of us, especially those of us who are getting on in years, to consider the aspect of our own mortality. I, for my own part, am just egotistical enough (as all writers are, to some degree) to want my descendents to know where my remains are after I am gone from this world. Therefore, cremation and burial at sea are not options for this old sailor, though I do not begrudge those who choose those options.

It is my privilege, as a military retiree, to be buried at Arlington National Cemetery. I, however, will not be buried there. Where my mortal remains will be laid to rest is a matter yet to be decided, for a number of reasons. My reasons for not wanting to be buried at Arlington, however, are quite specific.

Arlington has a long, proud history as a final resting place for those who, in the words of Abraham Lincoln, gave their last full measure of devotion in the service of their country (though that phrase originally referred to a parcel of land at Gettysburg). It was originally the property of the Custis family, the family into which George Washington, and later, Robert E. Lee had married. It is often mistaken for having been Lee's property, but Lee, in fact, never owned any property, the property which his family had once owned having been gambled away by Lee's father, Harry "Lighthorse" Lee. Whether out of spite or simple convenience, the Arlington property, having passed into Union hands toward the end of the Civil War, was used as a resting place for Union soldiers killed in combat. In time, it became the resting place of veterans of all wars, U. S. presidents, and others who had made significant contributions to our country.

Now I spent 23 years of my adult life as a U. S. Navy sailor, and in that time rose through the ranks from seaman recruit to chief petty officer. My service took me to places most people would rather not be: Morocco, Guantanamo Bay, the Middle East, and seemingly interminable stretches at sea. It also took me to some very desirable places, places I never would have seen and experienced had it not been for the Navy. There is one aspect of service at sea that is the same for all sailors, whether they be stationed aboard destroyers, aircraft carriers, or any other type of combatant ship. It is called General Quarters.

Navy sailors serve in a multitude of ratings, or occupational specialties, most of which have civilian counterparts. But above all of that is the first mission of the Navy, which is to engage and defeat enemies at sea during wartime. When an attack is imminent, the call to General Quarters is sounded, at which sailors immediately stop whatever they are doing, don battle dress, and proceed to battle stations. During drills, the general alarm, which is a succession of "bongs" sounded over the 1MC, or ship's public address system, is sounded, followed by the announcement, "This is a drill, this is a drill, General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations!" If the general alarm is sounded without any announcement, it is assumed to be an actual attack.

During General Quarters drills, most sailors don Mark V gas masks, except for those designated to don oxygen-breathing apparatus. All ship's fittings are set to Material Condition Zebra, the highest state of readiness. At their battle stations, sailors await instructions to fight fires and make cursory repairs to whatever damage the ship may entail in battle. Drills are taken very seriously, and are critically graded by the commanding officer afterward. During my time in the Navy, I participated in many such drills.

This is as close as I ever came to actual combat, engaging in a constant state of training for a job that, as it happens, I was never actually called upon to do.

Let me contrast that now with the experience of a friend of mine from work, who, at age 82, is now retired. Unlike me, with 23 years of service under my belt, my friend spent only two years in the Army, and was honorably discharged as a corporal. During those two years he was sent to Normandy as an Army medic, having arrived in 1944 on "D-plus-100". Being a medic, he was officially considered a non-combatant, and was therefore unarmed. His job was to give treatment to wounded soldiers on the battlefield, and he did this under enemy fire. While tending to one wounded soldier he became wounded himself, and could have, with full justification, withdrawn from the battlefield. Instead, despite his own wound, he did his best to make his way to another wounded soldier before he finally could go no further and had to be taken from the battlefield. He received the Purple Heart for his wound, and for his actions that day he received, fifty years afterward, the Bronze Star. This friend of mine saw infinitely more action in his two years than I did in my entire 23. Though he will probably not be buried at Arlington himself, Arlington is full of soldiers, sailors, Marines, airmen and others just like him -- men and women who, in their time of trial, did extraordinary things.

And this is exactly my point. During the vast majority of my time in the Navy, I faced hazards no greater than those faced by most civilians. Yes, there were things like long hours, low pay, and family separation, but at no time did I ever feel my life was threatened. Though today I am a proud member of Vietnam Veterans of America, I am in fact not a Vietnam Veteran in the sense that I actually went there. I am eligible for membership by virtue of the fact that I served during the Vietnam era. The truth is that cruising in the Indian Ocean is as close as I ever got to Vietnam. During those General Quarters drills I weathered attacks by imaginary missiles, fought imaginary fires, and repaired imaginary damage to the ship. Never once did I ever encounter the real thing, and, though I took it all as seriously as I was supposed to, I was yet secure in the knowledge that it was all a game -- a game with a deadly serious purpose, mind you, but still just a game. It was not the real thing.

The Arlington National Cemetery is replete with the graves of people who faced the real thing. Some survived that experience, while others made the ultimate sacrifice. The United States Government says that I, as a Navy retiree, am worthy of being buried with these who proved themselves genuine heroes. I disagree. I faced no attacks, dodged no bullets, never even entered a war zone. What I might have done had I been sent into harm's way is immaterial. As any combat veteran will tell you, nobody knows for sure how he will react under fire until he actually is under fire. The John Wayne look-alike might well freeze, and the normally timid guy could turn into a Medal of Honor winner. The truth is, we just don't know. And I, in my own case, never will.

This is not to downgrade my own service, of which I will always be proud. But every month I get a retirement check from the Defense Accounting and Finance Center for the years I spent in the Navy, and for me this is recompense enough. The Arlington National Cemetery is a special, sacred place, intended for the most special of people, and I, for my part, have too high a regard and too deep a reverence for these people to consider myself worthy of joining them.