You won't see this reported in the regular media!!

Joe Galloway - Co-author of "We Were Soldiers Once.... And Young"

FRIDAY MORNING AT THE PENTAGON
By JOSEPH L. GALLOWAY
McClatchy Newspapers

Over the last 12 months, 1,042 soldiers, Marines, sailors and Air Force
personnel have given their lives in the terrible duty that is war. Thousands
more have come home on stretchers, horribly wounded and facing months
or years in military hospitals.

This week, I'm turning my space over to a good friend and former roommate,
Army Lt. Col. Robert Bateman, who recently completed a yearlong tour
of duty in Iraq and is now back at the Pentagon.

Here's Lt. Col. Bateman's account of a little-known ceremony that fills the
halls of the Army corridor of the Pentagon with cheers, applause and
many tears every Friday morning. It first appeared on May 17 on the
Weblog of media critic and pundit Eric Alterman at the Media Matters for
America Website.

"It is 110 yards from the "E" ring to the "A" ring of the Pentagon. This
section of the Pentagon is newly renovated; the floors shine, the hallway
is broad, and the lighting is bright. At this instant the entire length of
the corridor is packed with officers, a few sergeants and some civilians, all
crammed tightly three and four deep against the walls. There are
thousands here.

This hallway, more than any other, is the Army' hallway. The G3 offices
line one side, G2 the other, G8 is around the corner. All Army. Moderate
conversations flow in a low buzz. Friends who may not have seen each
other for a few weeks, or a few years, spot each other, cross the way
and renew their friendships.

Everyone shifts to ensure an open path remains down the center. The air
conditioning system was not designed for this press of bodies in this area.
The temperature is rising already. Nobody cares.10:36 hours: The
clapping starts at the E-Ring. That is the outer most of the five rings of
the Pentagon and it is closest to the entrance to the building.. This
clapping is low, sustained, hearty. It is applausewith a deep emotion behind
it as it moves forward in a wave down the length of the hallway.

A steady rolling wave of sound it is, moving at the pace of the soldier in
the wheelchair who marks the forward edge with his presence. He is the
first. He is missing the greater part of one leg, and some of hiswounds
are still suppurating.. By his age I expect that he is a private, or perhaps
a private first class.

Captains, majors, lieutenant colonels and colonels meet his gaze and nod
as they applaud, soldier to soldier. Three years ago when I described one
of these events, those lining the hallways were somewhat different. The
applause a little wilder, perhaps in private guilt for not having shared in
the burden. Yet.

Now almost everyone lining the hallway is, like the man in the wheelchair,
also a combat veteran. This steadies the applause, but I think deepens the
sentiment. We have all been there now. The soldier's chair is pushed by,
I believe, a full colonel. Behind him, and stretching the length from Rings
E to A, come more of his peers, each private, corporal, or sergeant
assisted as need be by a field grade officer.

11:00 hours: Twenty-four minutes of steady applause. My hands hurt,
and I laugh to myself at how stupid that sounds in my own head. My hands
hurt.. Please! Shut up and clap. For twenty-four minutes, soldier after
soldier has come down this hallway - 20, 25, 30. Fifty-three legs come
with them, and perhaps only 52 hands or arms, but down this hall came
30 solid hearts.

They pass down this corridor of officers and applause, and then meet for
a private lunch, at which they are the guests of honor, hosted by the
generals. Some are wheeled along. Some insist upon getting out of their
chairs, to march as best they can with their chin held up, down this hallway,
through this most unique audience. Some are catching handshakes and
smiling like a politician at a Fourth of July parade. More than a couple of
them seem amazed and are smiling shyly.

There are families with them as well: the 18-year-old war-bride pushing her
19-year-old husband's wheelchair and not quite understanding why her
husband is so affected by this, the boy she grew up with, now a man, who
had never shed a tear is crying; the older immigrant Latino parents who
have, perhaps more than their wounded mid-20s son, an appreciation for
the emotion given on their son's behalf. No man in that hallway, walking
or clapping, is ashamed by the silent tears on more than a few cheeks.
An Airborne Ranger wipes his eyes only to better see. A couple of the
officers in this crowd have themselves been a part of this parade in the
past.

These are our men, broken in body they may be, but they are our brothers,
and we welcome them home. This parade has gone on, every single
Friday, all year long, for more than four years.

Did you know that? The media hasn't yet told the story. And probably
never will.