A grieving father offers his presence
By Tim Gallagher Journal staff writer | Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2008
Lonnie Ford stands in a former bedroom in his home at Pender, Neb. The room has become a shrine of sorts to his son, Sgt. Joshua A. Ford, who was killed in Iraq on July 31, 2006. (Photo by Jerry Mennenga)
PENDER, Neb. -- Lonnie Ford catches himself day-dreaming.
Often in the dark.
"I sit here at night watching TV and my mind wanders," Ford says, tears building in reddened eyes. "I see a shadow or something moving in the yard and I think maybe he'll walk right in the house."
He speaks of his only son, Joshua, who was killed July 31, 2006, when an improvised explosive device struck his vehicle as it moved on a convoy mission in south central Iraq.
Though he's been gone for nearly 20 months, the father visits the son's grave in Pender. Every single day.
"That's where I see him," Ford says. "And it lets me know Josh is there. He's not coming back."
Closure is difficult when a son dies 10,000 miles from home. It comes slowly for Lonnie Ford, 56, who passes the time, alone with memories, at Rose Hill Cemetery west of town.
This isn't the only cemetery he's seen since Josh's death. Ford has taken up visiting cemeteries across Nebraska and western Iowa, offering his presence on a motorcycle to parents of soldiers like Josh.
Parents like him; moms and dads who for years might straighten for shadows in the dark.
Fateful day
Linda Ford awoke at 11:30 p.m. July 31, 2006, as a police car pulled up and parked across the street from their home on Slaughter Ave., on Pender's west end. She nudged Lonnie, who walked downstairs, stepped outside and caught a glimpse of two chaplains and a military officer approaching the house.
"I saw them and I started pounding on my truck," Ford says. "I knew. I knew."
Josh, 20, was killed at 1 p.m. Nebraska time that day. Once word reached the Nebraska National Guard headquarters in Lincoln at 9 p.m., the chaplains and two military personnel were dispatched to inform the family.
His death capped the deadliest month to date for Nebraska soldiers fighting in the war in Iraq.
Lonnie and Linda Ford consoled one another and gathered what details they could. They headed immediately for nearby Wayne, then North Bend, Neb., and on to Omaha to inform other family members. They arrived back at Pender at 9 a.m. the next morning.
By 10 a.m., mourners began stopping by offering sympathy.
"From the time you're told your child has been killed to the funeral, it's just mass confusion," Lonnie Ford says. "Your mind races 1,000 miles per minute and you've got a house full of people."
Funeral services for Josh were held 11 days later at St. Mark's Lutheran Church in Pender. Lonnie Ford spoke at the funeral, thanking all for their support of Josh and the entire Ford family.
He then climbed into a vehicle for a sad procession to Rose Hill, following Josh's body, his son's empty boots and helmet on a trailer that crept behind more than 100 motorcycles from the Patriot Guard Riders; a unit formed to shield family members from those who choose such a tragic occasion to show their protest of the war.
The Patriot Guard Riders' genesis can be traced to the Vietnam era, a time when soldiers were insulted, sometimes slapped or spat at upon their return.
Lonnie Ford was deeply moved by the members of the Patriot Guard Riders, many of them veterans, who came to offer their respects. They rode in from all over Nebraska, Iowa, South Dakota and Kansas, standing guard at the gates of the church, forming a tunnel of reverence for a young man struck down half a world away.
Building with what son left
Lonnie Ford, a 31-year teaching veteran, returned to his government classroom at Pender High that fall. He collected his son's belongings and erected a shrine in a vacated bedroom at home. Every inch of the room is still covered with awards, citations, pictures and personal mementoes. The display has Sgt. Joshua Ford's dress uniform, a flag left at his grave and signed by fellow soldiers. It also features Josh's golf glove and putter, two items he used to while away hot afternoons in a war zone.
The urge to hit the road gnawed at the elder Ford that winter. Thirty-five years before he'd ridden a 650 BSA, but sold the bike to pay college tuition costs.
Around Memorial Day 2007, he and Linda headed south for a memorial service to honor fallen soldiers of Nebraska and Iowa. They stopped at a cycle shop along the way.
"I found this cycle with the plastic still wrapped around it," Ford says, a smile widening. "Linda, who is a nurse, wasn't sure about it. I remember as we walked out I stayed behind her and whispered to the salesman I'd be back."
Ford stopped to see his parents that day in North Bend and told them of his urge to buy a cycle. They visited and quickly wired money into his checking account. They wanted him to ride.
On the last weekend of May, he bought a Harley Davidson Soft-tail Heritage Classic, a throwback to styles seen in the 1940s and 1950s.
Trying to help
Following a three-day safety course in early June, Ford hopped on his new cycle and joined the Patriot Guard Riders as they escorted the body of an Omaha soldier through Nebraska's largest city. It was the first of six such funerals in which he'd serve in that capacity.
"I was so impressed with how the men and women of the Patriot Guard Riders handled Josh's funeral," Ford says. "I just thought that if you can help, you should try."
He is one of four or five fathers of fallen soldiers now participating in funerals with Patriot Guard Riders in the region. There have been as many as 400 riders at funerals in Nebraska, he says.
"I've got to help other families deal with it," says Ford, who sends every fallen soldier's family a card to let them know if they need to visit, he'll always be available. Day-time. Night-time. Anytime.
And he gives every dad like him a tiny Gold Star lapel pin. When he hands them a pin, their reddened eyes meet and they bond immediately, perhaps for life.
"I give them the pin," Lonnie Ford says, studying a tiny star that rests atop a picture of his only son. "And I tell them it's from one father to another."
INSIDE
U.S. troops may be in Iraq for a decade or more. What does that mean for us and the world? A3
Wars often are defined by new technologies. This one is no different. A3
Five years in Iraq: a timeline. A3
COMING MONDAY
For many Americans, this war is anything but a far away news report.
More than 4 million Iraqis have been displaced by fighting.
Photographs form the narrative of the past five years.
COMING TUESDAY
Allen Kokesh Jr. is the only Siouxland soldier injured in Iraq who died stateside
Yankton Guardsman to testify in D.C. on Guard readiness, funding.
Often in the dark.
"I sit here at night watching TV and my mind wanders," Ford says, tears building in reddened eyes. "I see a shadow or something moving in the yard and I think maybe he'll walk right in the house."
He speaks of his only son, Joshua, who was killed July 31, 2006, when an improvised explosive device struck his vehicle as it moved on a convoy mission in south central Iraq.
Though he's been gone for nearly 20 months, the father visits the son's grave in Pender. Every single day.
"That's where I see him," Ford says. "And it lets me know Josh is there. He's not coming back."
Closure is difficult when a son dies 10,000 miles from home. It comes slowly for Lonnie Ford, 56, who passes the time, alone with memories, at Rose Hill Cemetery west of town.
This isn't the only cemetery he's seen since Josh's death. Ford has taken up visiting cemeteries across Nebraska and western Iowa, offering his presence on a motorcycle to parents of soldiers like Josh.
Parents like him; moms and dads who for years might straighten for shadows in the dark.
Fateful day
Linda Ford awoke at 11:30 p.m. July 31, 2006, as a police car pulled up and parked across the street from their home on Slaughter Ave., on Pender's west end. She nudged Lonnie, who walked downstairs, stepped outside and caught a glimpse of two chaplains and a military officer approaching the house.
"I saw them and I started pounding on my truck," Ford says. "I knew. I knew."
Josh, 20, was killed at 1 p.m. Nebraska time that day. Once word reached the Nebraska National Guard headquarters in Lincoln at 9 p.m., the chaplains and two military personnel were dispatched to inform the family.
His death capped the deadliest month to date for Nebraska soldiers fighting in the war in Iraq.
Lonnie and Linda Ford consoled one another and gathered what details they could. They headed immediately for nearby Wayne, then North Bend, Neb., and on to Omaha to inform other family members. They arrived back at Pender at 9 a.m. the next morning.
By 10 a.m., mourners began stopping by offering sympathy.
"From the time you're told your child has been killed to the funeral, it's just mass confusion," Lonnie Ford says. "Your mind races 1,000 miles per minute and you've got a house full of people."
Funeral services for Josh were held 11 days later at St. Mark's Lutheran Church in Pender. Lonnie Ford spoke at the funeral, thanking all for their support of Josh and the entire Ford family.
He then climbed into a vehicle for a sad procession to Rose Hill, following Josh's body, his son's empty boots and helmet on a trailer that crept behind more than 100 motorcycles from the Patriot Guard Riders; a unit formed to shield family members from those who choose such a tragic occasion to show their protest of the war.
The Patriot Guard Riders' genesis can be traced to the Vietnam era, a time when soldiers were insulted, sometimes slapped or spat at upon their return.
Lonnie Ford was deeply moved by the members of the Patriot Guard Riders, many of them veterans, who came to offer their respects. They rode in from all over Nebraska, Iowa, South Dakota and Kansas, standing guard at the gates of the church, forming a tunnel of reverence for a young man struck down half a world away.
Building with what son left
Lonnie Ford, a 31-year teaching veteran, returned to his government classroom at Pender High that fall. He collected his son's belongings and erected a shrine in a vacated bedroom at home. Every inch of the room is still covered with awards, citations, pictures and personal mementoes. The display has Sgt. Joshua Ford's dress uniform, a flag left at his grave and signed by fellow soldiers. It also features Josh's golf glove and putter, two items he used to while away hot afternoons in a war zone.
The urge to hit the road gnawed at the elder Ford that winter. Thirty-five years before he'd ridden a 650 BSA, but sold the bike to pay college tuition costs.
Around Memorial Day 2007, he and Linda headed south for a memorial service to honor fallen soldiers of Nebraska and Iowa. They stopped at a cycle shop along the way.
"I found this cycle with the plastic still wrapped around it," Ford says, a smile widening. "Linda, who is a nurse, wasn't sure about it. I remember as we walked out I stayed behind her and whispered to the salesman I'd be back."
Ford stopped to see his parents that day in North Bend and told them of his urge to buy a cycle. They visited and quickly wired money into his checking account. They wanted him to ride.
On the last weekend of May, he bought a Harley Davidson Soft-tail Heritage Classic, a throwback to styles seen in the 1940s and 1950s.
Trying to help
Following a three-day safety course in early June, Ford hopped on his new cycle and joined the Patriot Guard Riders as they escorted the body of an Omaha soldier through Nebraska's largest city. It was the first of six such funerals in which he'd serve in that capacity.
"I was so impressed with how the men and women of the Patriot Guard Riders handled Josh's funeral," Ford says. "I just thought that if you can help, you should try."
He is one of four or five fathers of fallen soldiers now participating in funerals with Patriot Guard Riders in the region. There have been as many as 400 riders at funerals in Nebraska, he says.
"I've got to help other families deal with it," says Ford, who sends every fallen soldier's family a card to let them know if they need to visit, he'll always be available. Day-time. Night-time. Anytime.
And he gives every dad like him a tiny Gold Star lapel pin. When he hands them a pin, their reddened eyes meet and they bond immediately, perhaps for life.
"I give them the pin," Lonnie Ford says, studying a tiny star that rests atop a picture of his only son. "And I tell them it's from one father to another."
INSIDE
U.S. troops may be in Iraq for a decade or more. What does that mean for us and the world? A3
Wars often are defined by new technologies. This one is no different. A3
Five years in Iraq: a timeline. A3
COMING MONDAY
For many Americans, this war is anything but a far away news report.
More than 4 million Iraqis have been displaced by fighting.
Photographs form the narrative of the past five years.
COMING TUESDAY
Allen Kokesh Jr. is the only Siouxland soldier injured in Iraq who died stateside
Yankton Guardsman to testify in D.C. on Guard readiness, funding.
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Please note: The following are comments from readers. In no way do they represent the views of The Sioux City Journal or Lee Enterprises. We will not edit or alter your comments, but we do reserve the right to not post or to remove comments that violate our code of conduct. No comment may contain potentially libelous statements; obscene, explicit or racist language; personal attacks, insults or threats. Terms of Service
Gene Guidry wrote on Mar 20, 2008 6:03 AM:
I lived for decades with a pall of guilt over me that was very oppressive. I was almost ashamed to admit I was a vet.
Sice I joined the Patriot Guard Riders in Oct. 2006, that guilt has been replaced with pride, honor, and dignity. Riding in these funeral services and welcome homes, visiting wounded soldiers in VA hospitals, have cleansed me and lifted that oppressed feeling. It is such an honor to be invited to attend these services by the families and to know we can offer a circle of protection for them if needed.
The patriot Guard Riders "get it" and I will always be grateful to them for allowing me to be a part of something much greater than myself.
Gene Guidry
Southeast Texas PGR# 63388
"Hate the war, don't hate the warrior" "
Sue wrote on Mar 16, 2008 9:57 PM:
TUG wrote on Mar 16, 2008 6:44 PM: