There were three men in the group, an older black man in the uniform of a police officer of some sort, wearing a Smokey Bear campaign hat, a white Army officer about my age, and a young black man wearing the gray cadet uniform of the Corps of Cadets of the Military Academy. Him I knew. He was Roscoe Buckminster. As I approached Roscoe and the officer came to attention and saluted, and the police officer at least stood a little straighter. I approached a little closer and then stopped and came to attention and returned the salutes.
As soon as we broke I reached out and took Roscoe’s hand. “Oh, Roscoe, I am so sorry for this. How’s your mom doing?”
“Thanks, Uncle C… Mr. President. She’s fine. They’re inside already. I just needed to get out in the air for a bit.”
“You can still call me Uncle Carl, I won’t mind. If it’s official, though, it’s Mister President or you get drummed out of the Army,” I said with a grin.
Marilyn came up and gave him a hug. Roscoe was now quite a bit bigger than she was. She began talking to him. I looked at the other two men. “Gentlemen, Carl Buckman.”
The black man spoke first, saying, “John Brown, Sheriff of Buckminster County. I’ve known Harlan’s family for years.” He looked over at the mob of reporters with disgust. “They’re like a pack of hyenas.”
I shook the Sheriff’s hand. “Sheriff, hyenas have morals. If any of them get out of line, you have my blessing to lock them up and throw away the key. Hell, shoot them and I’ll write you a pardon! It’s nice meeting you.” I turned to the officer, an artillery colonel. “Colonel?” I shook his hand as well.
“Avery, sir. William Avery. I served with Harlan quite a few times over the years. We stayed in touch after he got out. Anna Lee called and invited me and my wife. I was just chatting to Roscoe here about my days in Beast Barracks.”
I smiled and nodded. “Harlan and I managed to avoid that personal torture. We served together several times, also. I’m glad you’re here. They need familiar faces.”
Roscoe looked over and said, “Sir, Mom said that she’d like you to be one of the pallbearers, if you could. I mean, if you can do that sort of thing now. If not, don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of cousins.”
“I’d be honored. Let’s just hope we bought your father a cheap and lightweight casket.”
He smiled. “I heard him say the same thing once.”
“They’re heavy suckers, that’s for sure.”
“You two are awful, and I am telling your mother, Roscoe,” commented my wife. “We should be going in.”
I smiled and took Marilyn’s hand, and Roscoe ushered us inside. We were in a reserved pew a few back from the family, and Roscoe whispered, “Mom says you need to be on the aisle, so you can get up and speak.” I nodded, but then broke free and went forward with Marilyn to hug Anna Lee and Mary Beth. It was obvious they had been crying, but were calm now. After that we sat down in our pew and Roscoe sat with his family.
The liturgy was fairly simple to follow along with. It was somewhat longer and a bit more rambunctious than I was used to, but that was the style, so go with the flow. The church was fairly large and was packed, though how much that was because of Harlan’s attendance and how much was because of my attendance was debatable. Eventually it was my turn to speak, and the minister called me to the lectern.
“Thank you, Pastor Carmichael. It was with a great deal of sadness that I learned that Harlan Buckminster had passed from us. We only learned Friday evening, and our entire family felt the loss deeply. We rushed to Anna Lee’s side as soon as we heard, because that is what family and friends do, and what you here have done.
I knew Harlan Buckminster for well over twenty years, since I was a teenager in fact, and we were friends since just about that first day. We met our first day in basic training in the Army. Buckman — Buckminster — the Army is nothing if not efficient, and we were assigned to the same barracks and to the same bunk. I was on the top bunk and Harlan was beneath me. For the rest of our time that summer, when one of us was assigned to do something, the other one would be right next to him.
We had not a single thing in common. Harlan was a black kid from Mississippi, the son of a mill worker and the descendant of slaves. I was a privileged white kid from one of the richest suburbs in the country. The only thing we shared was our color, not white or black, but green, Army green. We were soldiers, and that was plenty good enough for the both of us. We became fast friends.
Two years later we attended artillery school together at Fort Sill, and we bunked together again. We went our separate ways afterwards, as you tend to do in the Army, but we would often link up again, as you also tend to do in the Army. One time, when Harlan finished jump school and was assigned to Fort Bragg for a few weeks, Marilyn and I had him stay with us rather than let him live in the barracks. Many years later we worked together again when I was on the Armed Services Committee in Congress, and Harlan was assigned to be my assistant. Over the years we vacationed together; sometimes we stayed with the Buckminsters, and sometimes they would vacation with us. Our children called the Buckminsters Uncle Harlan and Aunt Anna Lee, and we were Uncle Carl and Aunt Marilyn to their children.
In every way, Harlan Buckminster was a good man, a brave man, a proud man, and a fun man. He was a good man, in that he always took care of his family and friends, and could always be counted on in a time of need. The people here in this church knew him from when he was a little boy, and I have met several of you over the years, and have heard some of the stories about him. Most of the time I ended up laughing over the stories, and then we would sit there and swap lies for a while.
Harlan was a brave man. He spent twenty years defending our country. He was a lieutenant colonel in the United States Army, and in that time saw combat and smelled gun smoke. He paid a price, as all soldiers do, in frequent absences from home, frequent moves, and not enough pay for the responsibilities which were his. His love for his country was as great as his love for his family.
Harlan was proud, too. He was the first member of his family to ever go to college, and he ended up a professional officer. His wife was a nurse, and his children would all go to college. He knew the great leap he had taken but he was always proud of his family and background, and he always cherished the burden of making his family proud of him.
Harlan was funny. He was a guy you could sit down with and have a drink with, and we routinely did. When I went into politics he had more than a few pithy comments to make, and the longer I stayed in, the more fun he made of me. As I was telling Anna Lee the other night, if he’d lived long enough to see me become the President, he’d have died laughing and we’d all be back here anyway!
Harlan and I were friends, and we often talked, not just about what the kids were up to and what our favorite teams were doing, but about history and politics. I won’t lie to you and say we agreed on everything. Harlan was a Democrat and I’m a Republican. Sometimes we’d get to chewing on each other pretty good. It didn’t matter. In the end we would always come back to the fact that Army green wasn’t red or blue, it was red, white, and blue. No matter what we would argue about, in the end we were both Americans.
And now we do what has to be done with all good men, we have to give him back to God, with thanks for letting us borrow him for too short a time. Harlan, your family will miss you, and your friends will miss you, and I will miss you. So, it’s time to send you now to your final reward. I strongly suspect you’re going to Heaven, but I might be wrong. I suppose there’s a chance you might be heading somewhere south of there. Don’t worry, though, because if that happens, when I get there we can bunk together again.”