It has been a while since my last post, things have been really busy around here and the time to write seems never to be gained. I have also been waiting for this story to resolve itself and now that it has, I can write about it.
The last week before Memorial Day we got a phone call from a reporter, Dan Genz of the Washington DC Examiner asking about what plans we had for the first Memorial Day since Scott’s death. Marti spoke to him and on Memorial Day the article ran.
For us, Memorial Day 2008 in Washington DC was one of those perfect late spring days. Crystal blue skies with small puffy clouds and no humidity. It had been that kind of spring here and one of the ten best days of the year. We left the house around 10:30 and drove down the GW Parkway to Arlington. Marti carried a bouquet of our azaleas she had picked and I packed along our bottle of Glenfarclas 12 year old Malt Scotch. When Scott and Christy bought their home in Savannah, GA, Scott called up his mom for many bits of advice, but most of all he was looking forward to landscaping his new yard and he wanted to know if azaleas would grow there. He never got to plant his azaleas so Marti was taking him some. He was taught from a pretty young age by his Uncle Roy to enjoy a good single malt whiskey and we like to share a wee dram of his favorite, The Glenfarclas 12 with him. Yes, we pour a bit on the grass there and pour a bit into us too.
Passing under Memorial Bridge and onto the exit for Arlington traffic stopped. This was not too surprising to us considering the day, so we patiently worked our way up the off ramp…for an hour. Up on the bridge near the entrance to the cemetery was a nexus of car and foot traffic from the city, the exit, RT 110 and the cemetery itself. It was a very busy day at the cemetery and no police were directing traffic. Just then, a Metro Transit Police SUV passed all of us with its lights and whoop-whoop going heading up to the intersection. Finally, we thought, we would make some headway. After all their rush to get there, two rather stereo-typical cops (I grew up in the 60’s, all they were missing was donuts) parked in some shade, got out and just stood there watching. Not directing traffic, not helping, not doing anything but standing in the shade behind their sunglasses, jawing 25 ft from where they could be useful. I had a few words and a suggestion for them once I got within speaking distance. Most cops would just ignore me but these two actually got defensive and argued with me. I merely suggested they do their jobs but they said they had orders to stand there and do nothing and how I must have never been in the military so I didn’t understand about taking orders. They were sure obeying orders today and at double-time pay All this time, Marti is in the passenger seat behind me hissing, “Edward! Shush!” She grew up in the 60′s too and is afraid of cops.
Anyway, a break in the traffic took us past these guys, ending that exchange and then we were just a few feet from the entrance. Here were two rent-a-cop security guys with orange vests labeled “Security”. They were directing traffic into the Visitor’s Center where most people have to go to get a pass allowing them onto the grounds. As a family with someone buried there we have a permanent pass so we can just drive by them and into the cemetery. The pass was in our window where it belongs.
All of a sudden these guys start waving their arms jumping up and down shouting, “Everybody has to leave! NOW!! The President is coming, the President’s motorcade is coming, GO! GO! GO! Come back in three hours!” and they pointed to the exit back to RT. 110. Well, none of us who just spent an hour getting to where we were, just feet from the entrance, wanted to move anywhere. The littlest of these guys got positively apoplectic. In hindsight he was pretty funny. This moment was surely the highpoint of his career as a rental and maybe the most exciting of his life. I thought he was going to pop a gasket. The President’s motorcade is coming?, so what? This is Washington DC and we are used to this so just let him pass and let’s go! Unh-uh, the cars right in front of me were starting to edge toward the exit (must be tourists) and I got pinched out much to my great disgust and disappointment. I am sure the air around my van was blue with all my words and suggestions to the security guys, but I wasn’t ready to give up yet. I drove on around to where I knew there were other entrances to Ft. Myer and the cemetery, had a nice chat with a real soldier guarding the entrance where he politely informed me I could not gain entrance to the cemetery for the 45 minutes the President was on site. We were angry, emotionally exhausted and so we went home. We did not return.
On the drive home I remembered the article in the Examiner had a comments section afterward so I went online and left this comment:
“Ed and Marti Kirkpatrick said:
We did go to Arlington today to visit with our son, Scott. Marti picked some flowers from our yard, his favorite azaleas and I carried his favorite bottle of Malt Scotch to share a wee dram with him. We got there and spent nearly an hour in traffic because the Metro police were just standing around instead of usefully directing traffic and once we got within five cars of the entrance everyone was turned away and told to come back three hours later because the President’s motorcade was coming. We never did get to visit with Scott. Hundreds if not thousands of families were denied this sorrowful pleasure for the convenience of the man who sent them to their deaths. Simply outrageous.”
The next day the phone rings and it’s Dan Genz calling to follow up on my comment. I explained to him what happened and he wanted to write a follow-up piece. Dan called back that same day to say he called Arlington National Cemetery for an explanation and the Cemetery spokeswoman Gina Gray was very upset that the incident happened at all and wanted to know who sent us away. He asked what the brand of Scotch was and I told him it was the Glenfarclas 12, Scott’s favorite. The next day the second article appears with the Glenfarclas story.
By now it’s midweek and Marti gets an email from Dan Genz forwarding a message he received in response to the second article. Dan did not want to pass out our information so he was sending this email on to us to do with as we liked.
This is the message:
Dear Mr. Genz,
I have recently been sent the article you wrote about the Kirkpatrick family being unable to visit their son’s grave on Memorial day and share a dram with him.
I would very much appreciate if you could give me the Kirkpatrick address so as I may write to them and send them a bottle of Glenfarclas Single Malt whisky so to share with their son in their future visits to Arlington.
I am the 6th Generation of my family to own and work at Glenfarclas, and it has always been important for our family to be able to share a dram with the other generations of our family.
I understand that you may not be keen to give me their address, but may be you could forward my details to them and they could get in contact with me.
Many thanks,
Best regards,
George Grant
Brand Ambassador
J. & G. Grant
Glenfarclas Distillery
Ballindalloch
Banffshire
We did.
A couple of weeks later a package arrives with a beautiful bottle of 21 year old Glenfarclas. Thank you Mr. Grant, your kindness has brought a great ending to what was a terribly disappointing experience. We will share that first dram and many others with Scott and always remember your “cup of kindness”.
