Point of View

Cover of Darkness

It was a mission of honor and remembrance I recall as if it were yesterday. The risk was low but we had built it up to give the participants more of a sense of urgency. Some time ago I had acquired a sixty foot by thirty foot American flag from the car dealership I worked for and up until a few weeks before “D-Day,” I had no clue how I was going to use it. The first anniversary of September 11th was approaching and I cooked up this scheme to hike it to the top of Squaw Peak Mountain where we would deploy it in the cover of night for the city to see by first light.
At the time I was riding with a local motorcycle club called The Rough Riders. We were a veterans club whose name was taken from Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Rider volunteer outfit during The Civil War. The members were mostly Air Force guys, me being the only marine and also the only combat veteran, at the time. Our main purpose was the support of veteran affairs in the valley and we were also the first official motorcycle club to take part in the veteran days parade in Phoenix.
I wanted this to be something we could be proud of so we formed at our club house to discuss the mission and get a list of volunteers who would actually do the hiking. “Chops” and I did a few recon missions during the day to scout possible sights to place our flag, how it would be secured, and which direction it would face prior to D-Day, or night, as it was. A part of being in the bike club was the handing out of “road names.” This took place after our prospect period, or hazing, at which time we were given the patch for our jackets and issued a road name. Usually, road names found you, you rarely chose yours, and mine was “Shadow.” I had been a master of hiding and appearing when everyone least expected it, and based on my marine recon duties, I guess it stuck. There were worse names, like “Trash,” because he worked for Waste Management, or “Raunchie,” because he was just vile. “Chops” got his name from his chop-style side burns he fashioned and then there was “Q-Ball” for being as bald as a new born baby. Here we were, a group of grown men acting like a bunch of teenagers. But, for the most part it was fun and they were a good group of people to know. Back at the club house we finalized the “battle” plan, secured a Navy medic friend to be on stand-by in the event of injuries, some radio communications equipment from another guy we knew and assembled a security team to act as cover from the park rangers. We had no idea how this would be accepted. We were trespassing after all, but as I mentioned, it was in the name of honor and remembrance, so we felt untouchable.
“Chops,” thought it might be a good idea to leave a plaque in the general area of our flag as an added sentiment, so he asked that I write something catchy and patriotic and he would have it etched onto something nice. We purchased some climbers rope and anchors and other climbing paraphernalia and started holding weekly practice sessions and dry runs. The strongest climbers were elected to hike the folded flag using a military duffle bag, while others carried the tools and ropes that would be used to hoist our massive flag into position. Ideas flew across the table for erecting some type of scaffolding or flag poll of sorts, but some fears rose about a low flying aircraft hitting our unlit flag and getting tangled in a huge web of red, white, and blue, so that was out. During one of our recon-scout missions, we found two buttes at the summit of Squaw Peak that would be perfect to stretch our flag across and that became the official plan.

D-Day minus-one, the clan gathered to pack the over-sized flag into the olive-drab sea bag and do equipment checks on our tools and radios. The security team consisted of “Raunchie,” “Shotgun,” and his wife and “Q-Ball’s” wife Melissa. Their mission was to keep visual watch over the climbing team and to act as buffers in the event the park rangers became suspicious. The weather would be perfect for our mission. Cool and clear with a brilliant moon to guide our way up the rocky mountain path.
D-Day had arrived and all was ready. We rallied in the Basha’s parking lot at 2200 hours near 16th Street and Glendale Ave and transferred the flag and equipment into “Shotgun’s” truck. Then the team was transported to Squaw Peak Park where we off-loaded our equipment and started up the mountain. The soft glow of the moon lit our path as our shadows danced before us with each step. “Trash” and “Hillbilly” were suffering from chest colds and found the 1.2 mile ascent a struggle forcing them both to make many unscheduled rest stops. Of course their idea of a rest stop was to sit on an out cropping of rock and have a Red Apple. The rest of the group was making good progress as the sounds of night set in. The soft breeze filtered through the cactus and sage brush and the cries of a distant coyote echoed of the canyon walls. The first of the group reached the summit and started unpacking the tools and equipment while the rest of us labored the last thirty feet or so where we took a head count and received some word from the ground spotters. The park rangers were making their final sweep of the park to clear out parked cars and make certain all hikers were off the mountain, but we had just reached the summit and the park was now officially closed. We were trespassing. “Chops” and I broke out our flash lights for the first time and illuminated our proposed work area while “Hillbilly”, “Hawk”, and “Trash” started stringing up the guy lines and ropes that would support our massive flag. The clank of our hammers echoed down the slop and off the mountain-side homes causing a stir to the residents. I was surprised at how noisy our construction project was in the still of the night and we hurried along making certain all anchors and ropes where in place. Finally, after our frantic efforts the flag was deployed making certain not to let it drag on the earth’s surface. With a group count-down, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1; we let it unfurl and old glory was flying, draped majestically over the south-west face of Squaw Peak Mountain, just over the hiking path for all to see. As an added tribute, the plaque I wrote was placed in a conspicuous grouping of boulders and rocks and we all breathed a collective sigh. Mission complete, we packed our gear and headed down a back trail that took us to a neighborhood cul-de-sac, where waiting vehicles swept us away, never having stirred any suspicion from the park rangers, or so we thought. Operation 9-1-1 was a success and the group couldn’t wait to see our handy work in the morning light. In the excited aftermath of our mission, stories and tales where told once we rallied back by the Basha’s. Apparently, the park rangers were called by one of the residents who reported seeing flash lights and hearing what sounded like “cries” for help, when in fact it was just our not-so-tactful group hanging an American flag. The report came in as stranded hikers, so as an added twist, Phoenix Fire was also dispatched to our “rescue.” Our group of security members did a wonderful job of holding the responding public servants at bay, but eventually were forced to tell all and much to our surprise received a curious smile approval before packing up and giving the “all clear” to headquarters, leaving us to our good deed. 
By day break, the local news media captured our memorial by air and showed all of Phoenix our proud flag as it greeted the valley and gave the residents pause to reflect on the events that occurred one year earlier. We have since disbanded, some having gone to Iraq while others choosing to explore other hobbies. Sadly, “Hillbilly” was killed in a motorcycle crash coming home one night by a car that crossed into his path. He was one of our only non-veteran members, but you would never have known it because as he always told us, “I’m American.” I will never forget our hike with old glory and the pride it gave us all that cool September night.


                                                    The Plaque

          This flag placed here in memoriam to those who lost their lives in New York City,
          Washington D.C, Pentagon, and Pittsburg PA. on 11 September 2001,
                                                  @ 0846 hrs.
                                         
                                            11 September 2002
                                  ROUGH RIDER MOTORCYCLE CLUB
                                              PAPAGO CHAPTER
                                                "We are Patient
                                                We are steadfast
                                                We are resolved
                                                We will not tire
                                                We will not fail"
                                                                        President G.W Bush

                                                Let's Roll