The Arlington Ladies
ONE AFTERNOON towards the end of March, 200 mourners slowly trekked under a bright blue sky to the plot where 20-year-old Army Pfc. Michael Anthony Arciola was about to become the 123rd soldier killed during Operation Iraqi Freedom laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery. Arciola, a recipient of both the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star, was shot and killed on patrol in Al Ramadi on February 15. The larger than usual crowd was no surprise.
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Dying young carries with it an implicit sense of tragedy that draws people -- emotionally and physically -- to it.
Nevertheless, Pfc. Arciola was not the only one laid to rest that Friday at Arlington. Sixteen other servicemen, most of them veterans many years older than Arciola, were likewise buried.
An average week at Arlington will see between 80 and 100 burials on its 612 acres, and the final week of March was within that margin. Arciola's funeral was the largest the cemetery had held in a few weeks. Others attracted dozens or fewer mourners. A smattering had no friends or loved ones in attendance at all.
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less publicized than the 21-gun salute, but just as important in both a practical and symbolic sense. It comes in the form of a conservatively dressed woman who -- whether amongst a throng of mourners, seated alongside the family, or standing as the sole attendee -- is there to help shepherd the fallen soldier during his final mile.
These volunteer women are known as "The Arlington Ladies." They attend every funeral at Arlington to ensure, first and foremost, that no soldier is ever buried with no one in attendance, and second, to serve the needs of family members, whether they are present at the funeral or not.
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We're here to pay our respects and support the families of those lost," Willey said. "We don't want a pat on the back or any gold stars. This is about something bigger than flaunting what we do for brownie points."
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THE STORY OF THE ARLINGTON LADIES
stretches back to a day in 1948 when Air Force Chief of Staff General Hoyt Vandenberg happened upon the funeral of an airman at Arlington. What he saw disturbed him: There wasn't a soul at the service, save the chaplain and the Honor Guard members conducting it.
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He took pride in defending his men from the enemy and Washington bureaucrats alike. It did not sit well with him to watch a fellow airman make this final journey alone.
When he brought this black cloud of concern home, his wife Gladys worked to soothe her husband's worries by personally attending Air Force personnel burials and founding the Arlington Committee. Thus, an Arlington institution -- eventually to become known as the Arlington Ladies -- was born.
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If family is unable to attend a funeral, an Arlington Lady will send a letter describing the service and the day, right down to the sounds and smells in the air.
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"One of the first things I tell all my families is, 'I am your Arlington lady, not just now but forever, and you can always contact me,'" said Paula McKinley, the chair of the Navy Arlington Ladies. "It's a bond that is built to last."
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"Usually by the end of a service, families have a glazed look," Willey added. "They're gone emotionally. But hopefully they'll have a memory of somebody being there, being kind and touching to them in some way. The feedback we get suggests that's true.
Oftentimes I'll get a letter a few months after a funeral from someone saying, 'I didn't comprehend what you were doing at the time, but thank you for being there.'"
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