What I saw at President Reagan’s Funeral

5/10/04 – I’m on the plane flying home from DC, trying to mentally digest the last 24 hours. Dad and I were able to make this trip together to honor President Reagan and attend his funeral procession. As I made plans to attend, I fully expected everything to go wrong. I assumed dad would be unable to get a flight and I would be unable to extend my trip to the northeast (I was in Lancaster, PA on Tuesday). I just knew the event would be hot, crowded, and impersonal. I assumed we’d end up with major logistical problems such as never finding a parking space or a cab. I was afraid we’d end up so far in the back of the crowd and away from the street that we wouldn’t even be able to see the caisson carrying our beloved leader and taking a picture to share with my family would be impossible. With 150,000 expected to attend, we knew there was a chance we would stand in line all night and literally all day and still not get into the Capitol Rotunda to pay our respects.

None of these worst case scenarios mattered to me and nothing was going to keep from honoring, in whatever way I could, the man whom I consider the epitome of leadership and the embodiment of all that is good about America.

Much to our surprise, not one of the above mentioned problems became reality. It was as if the Lord parted the way at every turn we made. His favor allowed us to be in the right place at the right time for an experience I will never forget and will cherish sharing with my grandchildren and beyond.

It’s really quite surreal and very difficult to express in words, so I’ll just tell the story as I remember it…

First of all, you’ve got to understand why I would have been willing to stand in that line for the full 36 hours even if I knew I would be told at the doorway that no one else would be allowed inside. To say that I love and respect Ronald Wilson Reagan is a bit of an understatement. My 2nd son is named Reagan Kyle Green, after the President. My 4th child, much to my delight, was born on February 6, 2003, the 92nd birthday of President Reagan. To top things off, my dog is named Dutch, the nickname given to the President by his father.

My first memory of President Reagan is from the day he was shot in 1981. I was barely nine years old, but the surroundings of our living room and the sight of my mother crying as we watched the breaking news are crystal clear in my mind.

In the fall of 1993, my friends and I had become so tired of the distortions of Reagan’s legacy that we decided to do something about it. Clinton/Gore had repeated “worst economy in 50 years” and other lies so many times that the public was buying into the revision of history. Along with two of my friends from College Republicans (we were only 22 at the time of the project), Debbie Mundt (now Debbie Pabian) and David Guenthner, and the man who would later work at my side in the Legislature, Greg Tolen, I produced “The Legacy of President Ronald Reagan: The Truth About the Eighties” and also put together a compilation of his greatest speeches. As part of the project, we went to Washington, DC to interview Dick Cheney and Trent Lott. While there, we attended President Reagan’s birthday gala. It turned out to be the very last public speech he would give and I was able to meet him for a very brief moment backstage. It was that night that I dedicated myself to becoming a student of freedom and working to preserve it and pass it on to future generations.

Now back to our story… Dad was with me at that dinner in 1994 and here we were, a decade later, making our way to the Capitol to see President Reagan again.

A friend, who happens to be a Congressman, offered to take me in with his sons to the private ceremonies at which Vice-President Cheney was speaking in the Rotunda. But since they were only allowed to bring family, we figured my dad would never pass for his son like I would. I knew I could watch the ceremony on TV when I got back home…but I would never have the chance to experience this day with my father again, so my decision was easy.

Dad was unable to book a flight that would land any earlier at BWI than 4:30, so we assumed we would miss the 6:00 PM processional wherein President Reagan’s remains would be carried down Constitution Avenue on the horse drawn carriage. Just in case, dad got to the airport at 5:30 AM and was able to fly standby and arrive at BWI at Noon, which changed everything for us.

I picked dad up in my rental car and we started talking about how hot it was going to be and what to wear. Those of you that know me, know that you will not catch me in a coat or tie unless it is an absolute must and we were about to be in 95 degree weather for at least 7 hours and possible for two full days. But we kept thinking about President Reagan not taking his jacket off in the Oval Office and decided that we’d sweat this one out for the Gipper (there’s nothing in the folk lore about a tie, so you can bet the jacket was my limit!).

We arrived in DC pretty early and decided to park as close to the new WWII Memorial as possible so we could see it on our trip. I wanted to take pictures of specific sections of the memorial to take back to two of my heroes, Bill Johnson and Jim Roddie of Wimberley, Texas. Knowing that more than 100,000 people were descending on this area in the next couple of hours, I assumed there would be no parking spot in sight. But I also had heard that the Metro would not be running after midnight, so we really didn’t have a choice. Much to our surprise, we drove maybe two blocks past the monument and found a perfect parking spot.

We toured the monument and many tears and two rolls of film later, starting making our trek to the Capitol. I thought the staging area for the transfer of President Reagan from the hearse to the caisson was on the other side of the Capitol (a full 30 blocks from where we were), but as we were walking up Constitution, we ran into a ton of metro cars and found that we were right at the staging area and it was about 3:00 PM. Three hours from now, there would be tens of thousands in this very spot to watch the transfer and the beginning of the procession, but as we looked around, there were very, very few people and we could pick virtually any spot we wanted and be in the very front row. We had to decide whether to take a spot here or move on closer to the Capitol so that we could immediately get in line for the viewing after the procession (we were still 16 blocks, over a mile and a half, from the Capitol). We opted to keep moving. As we walked up Constitution, tracing the very route President Reagan’s casket would take in a few hours, people were sporadically beginning to take places along the road. We kept going until we got to the corner of the Capitol grounds where Pennsylvania and Constitution converge. The line for the viewing had begun early that morning and was right around the corner, so we knew we could go right to the line after the procession.

We picked a spot where there was a bend in the road so our view of the procession was unimpeded by those standing next to us and we literally stood on the front row, right next to the barricade.

The two and a half hour “wait” flew by. On our right was a fellow Texan from Dallas, Jim, with his brother and sister who lived in Maryland. On our left was a 12 year old girl named Megan and her mother, Karey. They had flown all night long on Tuesday night from Oregon, arriving in DC at 7:00 AM without sleep. Megan had just written a paper and given a speech on President Reagan. This Twelve year old was breaking down President Reagan’s 93 years for me into the six major “lives” that he lived from radio to Hollywood to politics. Absolutely amazing. I exchanged photographs with other parents who had named their children after President Reagan and we all shared how he had touched our lives and changed the world. Colby, the brother from Maryland on my right, is an Army veteran and he told me that he could think of no more important way to be serving his Country at this moment than to be standing on that sidewalk honoring the Commander and Chief that had restored our nation’s heart, soul… and backbone.

We were all calling home and getting reports on what was happening around us. Jim said he was just told that we were standing in the very spot between 4th and Pennsylvania where the 21 Fighter Jets would be flying over. About that time, there was an evacuation of everyone just to our right… some kind of security concern, but everything settled down within twenty minutes or so.

After the transfer had been made from the hearse to the caisson (which we could not see at all and were more than a mile away from), my wife, Kara, called and described it to me over the phone. They were still a mile away, but the tears already started and the magnitude of the moment began to hit me.

As the procession approached, the crowd became completely silent. Once the first band had passed, all you could hear were camera clicks and the soldiers marching. Each service was represented and it was an awesome, awesome site to see. Such a massive military presence was a fitting tribute for the man that respected and honored them more than any since Eisenhower and for whom their was a mutual level of respect between he and those in uniform.

Following the military was the motorcade leading the caisson. As the motorcade passed, you could see the flag draped coffin atop the caisson as the horses rounded the corner. What had been near silence seemed to grow even more hushed as the atmosphere transformed from one of anticipation to something I can only describe as surreal.

As the caisson approached us, the moment was forever powerfully etched into each of us as the silence was broken by the roar of the first jet flying overheard. Twenty more jets flew over us in groups of four. The final group screamed by and a wingman broke away and rocketed upward to signify the loss of a comrade. The last group went overhead literally at the very moment the men leading the caisson reached the point where we stood.

To be anywhere near this procession was powerful by itself. To have the jets fly directly overhead at the very moment President Reagan’s coffin was reaching us is an experience impossible to describe with words.

With tears running down my face, I was trying to keep my hand over my heart while also taking pictures for my children to share this moment in years to come. My father was like a statue next to me… standing at erect attention with his hand over his heart. Somehow, I think we had the same thoughts as most everyone around us.

Our memories of President Reagan raced through our minds, as we tried to measure the impact of this man, now reduced to dust as we all will be someday. My first thoughts were how he had impacted me personally. While producing the documentaries, the words of his speeches became imbedded in my mind and a passion for this nation was ignited in my heart. I kept hearing the final words of his 1981 inaugural speech. After extolling the virtues of America and the importance of tackling the issues we faced, he challenged us to “believe in ourselves” and “believe that together, with God’s help, we can and will resolve the problems which now confront us.” He closed with the timing of his words as only he could deliver by saying “…after all, why shouldn’t we believe that? We… are Americans.”

With President Reagan, it was always “we” and hardly ever “I.” The man that passed before me was best summed up and most honored with exactly the same description he honored and inspired each of us twenty-three years ago. He… was an American.

The most powerful site to me was the empty horse with President Reagan’s actual boots backwards in the stirrups. It was a site that would send chills up any spine.

As the caisson continued making its way past us and out of sight, I began to realize that even as momentous as this ceremony was, it barely touched the surface of measuring the impact of this great man. Around me were members of the WWII generation, my parent’s generation, my own, and then there was little Megan, all of twelve years old. Not even born when he left office, barely two when he gave that very last public speech in 1994, here she stood as living proof that President Reagan’s impact would be felt for many generations to come.

Nancy Reagan’s car approached and she waived out the window to all of us. Though it had been probably twenty minutes of continual procession passing before us, the ceremony seemed to suddenly disappear.

We made our way to the line, preparing to wait three hours before it would even begin to move as the first of the public would enter the Rotunda. The line was positioned directly in front of the West steps, though at a considerable distance. We were able to watch as the Honor Guard carried the casket up the 99 steps and we could even see Ms. Reagan at the top of the steps.

Once the entire procession was inside the Capitol, we began what would turn out to be a five hour tribute as we made our way through the line to the Rotunda. Somehow the line continued to move forward, even during the hours prior to the person first in line entering the Capitol. We met people from around the country. Everyone was polite, even sharing their snacks and passing out bottles of water. Little Miss Megan gave interviews to television reporters from around the world. No one complained or questioned as people slipped out of line for restroom stops and slipped back into their original places.

Five hours later, as we passed through the last security checkpoint and made our way up the ramps to the Capitol entrance, I thought of how I wished my wife and children could be with me. At the same time, I was both comforted and honored that I would be standing there with the man who had first instilled in me a respect for the things I would grow to love about President Reagan.

As we entered the Capitol, we were warmly greeted by a highly decorated member of the Capitol Police. He was so genuine as he thanked us for attending and we thanked him for his service.

We made our way up the steps inside the Capitol and as we approached the entrance to the Rotunda, we could hear the echoes of steps being taken. Every sound reverberated throughout the room. There was an obvious desire on everyone’s part to linger as a long as possible, but our pauses in front of the casket were brief. A few steps in front of me, a marine in plain clothes stopped for a formal salute. A few steps behind me, a naval officer in full dress uniform did the same. The Honor Guard stationed around the casket was a magnificent sight that I will never forget.

We were handed an embossed card memorializing the ceremony, a treasure for my family for generations to come. We made our way outside and to the street, struggling to let the moment register in our hearts and minds.

We were physically and emotionally exhausted and had a two mile walk to where our rental car would hopefully still be parked. Megan and her mother had no way to get to their hotel as the metro was about to shut down and neither of them had slept in twenty-four hours. Proving chivalry is not dead for Texans, dad waited with them on a bench and I started the hike to the car. Before I could get one block, in what could only be an answer to prayer, a taxi approached from out of nowhere and I had a ride to our car, which was still where we had left it.

We took Megan and her mother to their hotel, found our own, and got a few hours sleep before I did an early morning radio interview and left for the airport. Not one of my concerns had come to pass, yet everything I could have hoped for in the trip had occurred.

If one were to say it was hero worship for so many of us to go to such lengths to watch a casket go by, or to walk by it in the rotunda, they would clearly miss the point. In many ways, this had nothing to do with seeing the procession or approaching the casket. I believe most of us would have done all of this if only to walk by a picture of Reagan or anything that symbolized his contribution to our Nation. In other words, it was not about getting to see or touch or experience anything nearly as much as it was about doing something, though something small, to simply honor him and everything he represented. It was the idea of putting our lives on hold for a couple of days, inconvenient as it may have been, to pay our respects. For hundreds of thousands to do so this week is a small indication of the impact made by the man we honored.

I pray the words and images of this week not only remind us of all that President Reagan accomplished, but also inspire us to pick up where he left off… to accept that torch of freedom he so ably guarded and passed to our generation. There was a common theme to be found in the faces of so many young people that I passed in the lines as we weaved our way back and forth towards the Capitol for five hours. You could see the determination, the inspiration, the desire to be a part of the next wave of the Reagan Revolution.

I could once again hear President Reagan’s words from that first inaugural:  “Well, I believe we, the Americans of today, are ready to act worthy of ourselves, ready to do what must be done to ensure happiness and liberty for ourselves, our children and our children’s children.”

To those of you who were a part of the Reagan Revolution and have been concerned about whether or not my generation would carry on, I would simply ask that you believe in us as you did in President Reagan. After all, why shouldn’t you believe…

WE… ARE AMERICANS!

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