A Touching Salute

Sheeler honors the Marines, fallen soldiers and their families through quiet moments.

My first encounter with Jim Sheeler’s story, “The Final Salute,” came not from the written story but from the award-winning photographs that ran with the story. I don’t recall where or when I saw the photo story, but the pictures certainly made an impression on me. They showed caskets and family members, poignantly demonstrating a young widow’s grief after losing her husband in the Iraq War. I remember them even now, a few years after having first encountered the photographs. The images of Katherine Cathey rubbing her swollen belly on her husband’s coffin and keeping vigil at the mortuary during her last night with him have been etched in my mind. When I began to read “The Final Salute,” then, I was skeptical that Sheeler could tell the story as movingly as the pictures had. Fortunately, I will remember this story now as much—if not more—for its words as for the photographs.

The primary method by which Sheeler produced such a memorable piece is through telling the story in a respectful and intimate manner. Sheeler easily could have made this an exposé on the ways in which the military fails grieving families, highlighting funerals that haven’t been paid for or tactless ways in which they are informed about their loved one’s death. While Sheeler mentions these, he certainly does not focus on them. The focus of the piece is instead the emotional process of Steve Beck and the families he encounters. Again, Sheeler could have exposed their tribulations by bluntly describing their sorrow. Instead, however, he creates quiet, touching moments that display the families’ grief while hinting that life goes on. While the Burnses are going through Kyle’s belongings, for instance, we see their happy memories as well as their sadness. Sheeler treats Beck the same way, juxtaposing his love for his wife and children with the desolation he shares with the families. Through these poignant moments that—rather than expose grief—allow us to experience it with the families, Sheeler brings us into this story to create a connection between readers, Beck and grieving military families.

Today, we continually debate and doubt the current battles being fought by the United States military, and we often look at the armed forces through the lenses of controversial policies and scandals overseas. In the middle of this turmoil, Jim Sheeler has written "The Final Salute," weaving a moving and memorable story that allows us to escape the controversy and see some of the real people involved in these conflicts. By focusing on the support and brotherhood of the Marines and their families, Sheeler challenges us to look at the military through new eyes and, if nothing else, to remember the true sacrifices made daily for the rest of America.

The Sound of Discomfort

Our instruments may be different, but as a pianist I read the same notes as Bell.

On May 2, 2010, “60 Minutes” on CBS aired a story called “The All-American Canal.” It was an exposé on a California waterway that many illegal immigrants try to cross to get into the United States. Hundreds of human beings have died in the canal, yet the government does nothing to make it safer. The people interviewed clearly were of the opinion that the lives of illegal immigrants simply do not matter. I watched this story with my mouth open, gaping in disbelief at the TV. I couldn’t accept that this type of injustice—this level of indifference—could occur within my own country. Why did my fellow citizens think it was all right to continue to let people die in this canal? Though the piece aired just before my final exams while my mind was occupied with other activities, the story stayed with me. Even now, six months later, the details still disgust me.

Sometimes discomfort signifies good journalism. Though “The All-American Canal” may not have been the best piece of journalism to come out of “60 Minutes” and may not win any awards, it is one of the few stories that has not left me even after half a year. Likewise, I expect Gene Weingarten’s “Pearls Before Breakfast” to stay with me for quite awhile. I had already heard the tale of Joshua Bell’s experiment in the Washington D.C. subway station, but Weingarten’s use of description and provocative questioning made me look at the story in a new way.

Throughout the piece, Weingarten uses flowing, precise description that, though perhaps flowery at times, painted a complete picture of this artistic experience. Though the readers were not present in that subway, we get a true sense of how Bell’s playing looked and sounded. In a mere three sentences, Weingarten compares Bell’s appearance to Donny Osmond, Zorro and the Beatles, miraculously yet effortlessly connecting the three ridiculous images. As to Bell’s abilities, Weingarten writes, “He played with acrobatic enthusiasm, his body leaning into the music and arching on tiptoes at the high notes. The sound was nearly symphonic, carrying to all parts of the homely arcade as the pedestrian traffic filed past.” He even beautifully describes the passers-by as engaging in a “grim danse macabre to indifference, inertia and the dingy, gray rush of modernity.” These perfect details bring the readers into the subway, inviting us all to be members of Bell’s early-morning audience.

As listeners, then, Weingarten presses us to think about various questions he poses. He draws on various sources—philosophy, poetry, filmmaking, even the band The Cure—to ask us why so many people simply walked past Bell without taking notice of his music. Why did these commuters ignore this phenomenal musician? He points to some possible answers, such as Americans’ busy lives, our depreciation of beauty and even the prevalence of technology. The most important question Weingarten asks, however, is not stated in the piece but rather implied. If you, the reader, were at L’Enfant Plaza that morning, would you have stopped to listen?

This is where I get uncomfortable. Weingarten’s details and philosophical musings up to the end of the piece convinced me that I certainly would want to stop and listen; it seems like a beautiful experience, and I do not want to be someone who ignores beauty in everyday life. As a woman who played the piano for 10 years, I should appreciate Bell’s music, efforts and courage even more than most others would. This is not reflective, though, of how I actually act. I rarely give money, or even stop to listen, to musicians on the streets of Omaha, Kansas City or any other city in which I may be. This summer, I walked past hundreds of street musicians all over Europe. Saxophonists, guitarists, violinists and even organ grinders serenaded me through Europe, yet I paid them little mind. Instead, I made a mental note that there was music in the air and walked past.

My indifference upsets me. Perhaps it does not bother me as much as the deaths that take place in “The All-American Canal,” but I still regret my own disregard for the beauty around me. Through details and provocative questions and references, Weingarten uses “Pearls Before Breakfast” to not showcase his writing skills but to make readers feel uncomfortable with their own habits. Hopefully I can ease at least this discomfort, taking time to listen to the music.

An organ grinder entertains Parisians and tourists on the Rue Montorgueil.