lite & lucid

The American Open was simply fantastic, we just dove right in and had a blast in the first four days, hardly leaving the hotel grounds. After that it was time to set our sights on the city.  We were like little kids again, lose with money in a big playground.  Since we stayed around Dupont Circle, Steven had the bright idea to walk around checking in on facebook at various embassies as if we were beaming ourselves to different countries.

I actually received a message from a friend abroad who thought I was seriously in the Sudan, or wherever else we checked in to.  Good idea, Steven.  Giggling, we made fun of ourselves, did it a few more times, then walked down the street to find another adventure.

We visited the National Zoo, the Museum of Natural History, the American History Museum, the Udvar-Hazy National Air and Space Museum Annex,
saw of course the Capital and the White House, the Phillips Collection of Fine Art, and I’m sure some other important sites that are captured on my Nikon which I wore proudly around my neck.

It floated just above my jacked that, yes, I tied around my waist when I didn’t need it, just to emphasize that I was, in fact, a tourist. This, despite Steven’s jarring! We visited the Women’s Military Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial, National Mall, Lincoln Memorial, MLK Memorial and Vietnam and Korean War Memorials. We saw what we could at a manageable pace for the time we had left. We ate a lot of good food, and laughed even more. At the incredible Russian Restaurant across the street we made as many Russian jokes as we could think of. When he asked our server what a Russian weightlifter would eat off the menu, I couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious. I wasn’t surprised that she listed almost all of the items. I had caviar and fois gras for the first time at 33. They were delicious but maybe still an acquired taste.

Before we took in the museums and fine art though, we did something else that was Steven’s idea. On Monday after we adjusted to not watching barbells swung around by insanely muscled people, we walked (the long way – about 4 miles) to Arlington National cemetery.

“A Marine killed by a suicide bomber last week…” reads a news release from February 2007 regarding the death of Sergeant Major Joseph J. Ellis, 40, from Ashland Ohio. It goes on to say “…had planned to retire in North Carolina this summer after volunteering for three tours in Iraq”.

This Marine was my Brother’s former Seargent Major in Iraq in 2007. I have had the sobering honor of air lifting several out of country beginning their long repatriation home to grieving families in the back of a C-17. My heart sunk each time our ramp door was lowered, lights turned off, and hundreds of shadowy figures crowded the flight line at Bagram AF, Afghanistan to ceremoniously load the fallen and pay respects. This Marine was carried out of Iraq though, not Afghanistan, before I ever set foot in either country.

Sergeant Ellis died deployed with and in charge of my Brother, Lance Corporal Steven J. Franke, then 20 years old, from Columbia, Missouri. I woke up in more than one cold sweat during each of his deployments. I had nightmares of a myriad of things happening to him, the worst of course, was him not returning alive. I was fortunate enough to receive a few letters and even phone calls from him while he was there. Other than that I didn’t know much about that deployment, or most of the rest of his time in the Marine Corps except what he looked like when he graduated from MCRD San Diego Marine Basic Training, which was an exoskeleton.

Sergeant Major Joseph J. Ellis, was my Brother’s Sergeant Major during his time in the 2nd Battalion, 4th Marine Regiment based at Camp Pendleton, California. I saw Steven march in line with his fellow Marines, and get released to their relieved families before he drug us over to get his heavy gear and watch him carry it to his austere barracks. On the way to his room, I walked past a water fountain assembly that looked more like a trough and above it was written, “We Don’t Promise You a Rose Garden”. Sounds about right, I thought. I knew some Marines, and I knew what they promoted and stood for, and I mostly liked them, but it reminded me that I was glad I was in the Air Force.

Steven got to do all those things that day, without his Sgt. Major watching over him. I will not even attempt to name the grief Sgt. Ellis’s family and Battalion felt that day returning without him, looking forward to retiring after three volunteer tours. “I pray that Marines like him are out there for the upcoming generations. Ooh-Rah devil!” Steven said. It is one of the first things I’ve heard him talk about since his time in the Marines over 7 years ago.

I was surprised when Steven suggested getting up the next day, getting ready and walking to Arlington as a tribute to his Sergeant Major. That was the first time I had heard of him, and certainly didn’t know he was buried at the National Cemetery. Absolutely, I told him. Let’s do it. We looked at a map and took a bridge over the Potomac that made sense, but we didn’t know that it exited north, and so did the walkway. This caused an extra mile or two of a detour. No matter though, because it brought us in through the North of the cemetery where the National Marine Corps Memorial is; the breathtakingly gigantic statue of young men raising the flag at Iwo Jima. As soon as we got there I saw my Brother in reverence. He broke away soberly and took photos with his phone. We spent a long time looking at that Memorial, and we both focused our lenses on the American Flag flying above it. It was late afternoon and on the northeast side of the statue the flag was backlit magnificently. I thought about my Brother, two cousins, Michael and Derrick, and Grandfather Tom, who were all Marines.

Down through the cemetery we walked, and looked up the section and grave number of his Sergeant Major. Finally we came to it. It was just before dusk and the thousands of identical white gravestones had real evergreen wreaths placed on them with red ribbons. It was brisk, and we found his grave. Steven read his biography to me, including the account of a letter Lance Corporal Justin Norris left as his grave along with his Purple Heart. (photo of Steven, the nice shot of several grave sites with the sun and trees, and Sgt. Major’s). It is all too small of a military world when the grave I was looking for was only adjacent to Steven’s Sgt. Major by one row and one gravesite. Airman First Class Leebenard E. Chavis was also killed in Iraq but in 2006. He was 21. Sadly one section over lay my good friend’s Father, Lt Col Charles Love, USMC, a Vietnam Fighter Pilot. I had the pleasure of meeting him on several occasions, including her wedding. I will never forget him giving a speech in his dapper Marine Uniform despite fighting lung disease. He was holding a beer and an oxygen tank. That’s the last time I saw him.

We left the cemetery almost at dark. We looked down the street to the Lincoln Memorial and grabbed a taxi to go get dinner. It felt right to pay respects to the fallen heroes that lay there in our National Cemetery, and I was even more honored to be able to share it with my Brother, a hero of mine. In the taxi I drifted back to the thoughts and dreams when he was deployed and I was a brand new 2^nd Lieutenant on active duty, not yet trained in what would be my role in the two wars. I felt so thankful for his life being preserved, and for his leaders like Sergeant Major Ellis who were taking care of him when my family and I could not. This nation does owe him our very soul, and if not, I at least do. My brother, busy finding the best place to eat in Georgetown on the way back to the hotel, will always be my kid brother, four years younger, always tagging along, the only true keeper of my childhood. I’ve seen the destruction divorce, custody battles, basic training, deployments, PTSD, and alcoholism and addiction have wrought on him. I have seen him overcome those immense challenges to become the beautiful, intelligent person he is today with a heart that has never changed. The trip to Arlington was reverent and healing for both of us.

During my almost 10 years on active duty, I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to visit dozens of countries. What I was fortunate enough to experience definitely lit a fire to seek more, but I do feel that in the four years I spent flying around the world I saw a lot. I’ve walked down the Roman Forum, touched the Great Pyramids, looked down over Masada and the Golden Dome in Jerusalem and pondered at the Parthenon. I’ve snorkeled with nurse sharks in Belize, walked the hallways of Cambridge where Sir Isaac Newton spent time thinking about important stuff, and visited mosques and Roman ruins in Turkey. I’ve had the chance to gaze down at the vast expanses of the Sahara and the Outback, and my favorite, watched the sun rise over the Himalayas, including the unreal silhouette of Everest. I’ve landed in many other capitals often getting time to sightsee. Oh, and I spent plenty of time flying into and out of sandy places where we had lots of troops. However, during my service and all the life I had before that, I have completely neglected visiting my own nation’s capital until now. The December D.C. visit served as somewhat of a finale for myself to wrap up the service I paid to my nation. It was the best beginning of finally doing all those things I’ve always wanted to do, and I loved sharing it with my brother. I couldn’t imagine a more serendipitous trip.