A Flag for Dad
An old sailor made a last wish. His son was determined to see that it came true
Fourth of July, 1995, should have been a happy day for me. It was not only our nation’s birthday, it was mine as well. I turned 45 that day. But it was also the day my father died.
In the week prior to his death, my wife, Pat, and I visited my parents. While Mom and Pat chatted, Dad and I did the same. At 77, he wasn’t well, suffering from diabetes and congestive heart failure. After some small talk, Dad looked into my eyes and said, “Joe, my road is short. I’ll be leaving here soon.”
The words hurt, but I tried not to show it. Then he came to the point, as was his way: He wanted his casket draped with an American flag. That right, he said, is due every American service member. And, he wanted his burial flag to be one that had flown over an aircraft carrier.
Dad was a quiet, unassuming man who had raised his six children on a factory worker’s salary. But among his proudest memories was serving in the South Pacific during World War II as an electrician’s mate aboard the aircraft carrier USS Bunker Hill, CV-17.
Dad never spoke about the battles he’d seen. He preferred to talk about the camaraderie and the friends he made. And the pranks they pulled on one another. Dad always liked a good prank. I told him I’d see to it. Dad smiled and changed the subject.
It was an easy promise to make, but not so easy to fulfill. I could buy a flag, but it would never have flown over an aircraft carrier. No, it wouldn’t do. That afternoon I called the local Navy recruiter’s office and spoke with an officer. I explained Dad’s wish. He couldn’t help me, but he suggested I call my congressman. I did and spoke with a receptionist at the congressman’s local office, telling her that my father was very ill and that he had requested an aircraft carrier flag for his casket. She told me I would need to speak directly with the congressman. She asked me for my phone...
Fourth of July, 1995, should have been a happy day for me. It was not only our nation’s birthday, it was mine as well. I turned 45 that day. But it was also the day my father died.
In the week prior to his death, my wife, Pat, and I visited my parents. While Mom and Pat chatted, Dad and I did the same. At 77, he wasn’t well, suffering from diabetes and congestive heart failure. After some small talk, Dad looked into my eyes and said, “Joe, my road is short. I’ll be leaving here soon.”
The words hurt, but I tried not to show it. Then he came to the point, as was his way: He wanted his casket draped with an American flag. That right, he said, is due every American service member. And, he wanted his burial flag to be one that had flown over an aircraft carrier.
Dad was a quiet, unassuming man who had raised his six children on a factory worker’s salary. But among his proudest memories was serving in the South Pacific during World War II as an electrician’s mate aboard the aircraft carrier USS Bunker Hill, CV-17.
Dad never spoke about the battles he’d seen. He preferred to talk about the camaraderie and the friends he made. And the pranks they pulled on one another. Dad always liked a good prank. I told him I’d see to it. Dad smiled and changed the subject.
It was an easy promise to make, but not so easy to fulfill. I could buy a flag, but it would never have flown over an aircraft carrier. No, it wouldn’t do. That afternoon I called the local Navy recruiter’s office and spoke with an officer. I explained Dad’s wish. He couldn’t help me, but he suggested I call my congressman. I did and spoke with a receptionist at the congressman’s local office, telling her that my father was very ill and that he had requested an aircraft carrier flag for his casket. She told me I would need to speak directly with the congressman. She asked me for my phone number and said she would ask him to return my call.
The phone rang less than an hour later. First and foremost, the congressman offered his condolences in advance. Then he said that he would be honoured to help and that he would keep us in his prayers. He gave me the name and telephone number of an admiral at the naval base in Norfolk, Virginia. The congressman asked me to please keep him informed and to call his Washington, D.C., office directly if we needed anything else.
After we hung up, I called the telephone number in Norfolk, which apparently was the admiral’s personal line because he answered the phone himself. I identified myself and said my congressman had given me this direct number. I told him my father had served in World War II on an aircraft carrier. I told him my dad was terminally ill and had made his wishes known to me—an American flag that had flown over an aircraft carrier to drape over his casket at the funeral. “Can you help me?” I asked the admiral.
In the gravelly voice of an old salt, he bellowed, “Now you listen to me, young man! Those brave people who served in World War II kept us free! This is one admiral in the United States Navy who intends to see to it that those old sailors receive the honour and gratitude of our country! I’ll give you the name and telephone number of a captain here at Norfolk Naval Base. You call him and tell him I said to get you an aircraft carrier flag in the mail today!” Calming down, he asked on which aircraft carrier Dad had served.
“The Bunker Hill, CV-17,” I said.
There was a brief silence. Then the admiral said he knew some of the history of that old carrier. “Kamikazes,” he said softly. “Two of them. It was bad. I am telling you, your dad’s flag will be on the way to you today.” Then he asked me to call him again if there was any delay.
I thanked him profusely. “No, Son, I thank you! You’ve given me the opportunity to thank that old sailor and provide him with the flag of our country. He deserves it, and I intend for him to have his flag.”
I immediately called the captain and told him the admiral had given me his name and telephone number. I then explained Dad’s impending death and request for an aircraft carrier flag to drape over his casket. The captain asked for my address and told me that these requests are not unusual. He said he would see to it, today, that an aircraft carrier flag was on the way to me.
Two days later, Dad’s flag arrived.
We went to see Dad and Mom that afternoon. I showed Dad his aircraft carrier flag, which was accompanied by a personal letter from the captain thanking him for his service to our country. Dad smiled, thanked me, and held the American flag lovingly in his hands. I could swear I saw tears in that tough guy’s eyes.
At 2:43 p.m. on 4 July—Independence Day—Dad gained his independence from pain and suffering. On the day of his funeral, the American flag, which had flown over an aircraft carrier, draped Dad’s casket. As taps played, the flag was trifolded and presented to my mother.
Dad never sought attention. But that day was all about him. We honoured him as a husband, a father and a grandfather. And thanks to that flag, as a sailor in the United States Navy.