One of my responsibilities at the Fort Huachuca (AZ) Public Affairs Office from 1982 to 1985 was to give tours to groups visiting the post — many of them from the retirement communities that shot up in Arizona during the 70s and 80s. 

We would go to the Post Museum, drive around historic Brown Parade Field (where a herd of javelinas scared the bejesus out of me early one morning), and visit the Army Intelligence Center & School and Army Communications Command. 

We would stop at Lawson Army Air Field to check out the choppers, have lunch at the Officer’s Club, go to the Post Fish & Wildlife Center to see rattlesnakes, scorpions, and other critters, skirt around Huachuca, Ramsey, and Garden Canyons, then visit the B Troop Buffalo Soldier stables.

We would stop at the cemetery, to pay tribute to the veterans and their spouses who were buried there. On one such tour, the retirees got off the bus at the cemetery, listened to my historical spiel, and then climbed back on the bus. 

It was very hot in the high desert that day. In those situations, I tried to minimize the amount of time we were out of the air-conditioned comfort of the bus for the older folks on the tour.

Once we were back on the bus, the driver proceeded further up the road to Huachuca Canyon before we turned and headed to Reservoir Hill, from where the cavalry in the late 1800s could see across the San Pedro Valley for signs of Geronimo coming and going from Mexico border areas.

At Reservoir Hill, there seemed to be an animated discussion among some of the folks in the back of the bus. I went back to see what might be the issue.

I found out that one of the elderly women on the tour was upset because she was hoping to visit her husband’s grave when we stopped at the cemetery. But when we got there she couldn’t remember where he was buried. 

Her friends on the tour were trying to convince her to ask me to return to the cemetery and find her husband’s grave, but she said she didn’t want to bother me.

I assured her that we would return to the cemetery and I would find her husband’s gravestone. We went back down the hill and returned to the cemetery, and I asked everyone to wait on the bus while I looked for the woman’s husband’s burial place.

Now at the time, the Fort Huachuca Cemetery was not that big. It may be larger now given the passage of time, but with her husband’s name, I was able to find the gravestone within 10 minutes by doing a policing of the cemetery, row by row, front to back. 

Once I found it, I returned to the bus to escort the widow, with her friends following behind.

After she had some time to reflect on the gravestone, I rendered a salute to her husband. After her friends on the tour also paid their respects, I escorted her and the rest of the group back to the bus to resume our tour. 

As we headed to our next stop, you could see in the faces of the group the emotional impact that moment had on all of them. Several of them were dabbing their eyes. It was very quiet on the bus.

A few weeks later, the Garrison Commander, Col. Karl Nehammer, called me down to his office at the other end of Brown Parade Field. He handed me a letter the widow had written to him to thank me for helping her find her husband’s grave. 

To this day, this is one of my most cherished memories in the Army, but not something I have shared with anyone. Until now.

I tell this story here for the first time to remind everyone about the sanctity of the final resting places for those who have served our country. 

These cemeteries — whether they are at Arlington, Huachuca, Lincoln in Illinois, Jefferson Barracks near St. Louis, or elsewhere in the U.S. or overseas — are the most sacred shrines our country has. They are the final resting places for the men and women who served our country, many of whom made the ultimate sacrifice in doing so. 

The woman who was assaulted at Arlington National Cemetery on Monday, August 26, 2024, worked in the same specialty I did. She is one of the most highly trained specialists in that profession. 

She has that job because she is damned good at ensuring the proper reverence is given to ALL who are buried at Arlington during visits — whether the visitors are famous, service members, family, friends, or tourists. 

There are no gray areas here. The cemetery official is one of the most experienced professionals in that field, effectively communicating now for almost three decades at the highest levels in the Army. She was put in that position because she is one of the very best, pure and simple. As the Army noted, the rules were communicated for that visit. And they were violated, egregiously so.

I can’t imagine the weight on this woman’s shoulders when she has to coordinate such high-profile VIP visits. She did not deserve what happened to her on Monday. 

The fact that she declined to pursue charges because she fears retribution against herself and her family is one of the saddest comments on the level of political discourse in our country in recent history — and given all that has occurred in this century so far, that is saying something. Something very sad, something very sinister, something very subversive to the societal norms that we should all be living and abiding by.

I don’t know how we got to this moment and I don’t know where we will go from here. I only know that like on that hot Arizona day at Fort Huachuca back in the 80s, we all need to treat our fallen, and those entrusted with protecting their final resting places, with the utmost dignity, respect, and reverence. 

That didn’t happen last Monday, August 26, and we are all diminished as Americans because of that.

Editor’s Note: Tim Boivin, served from 1979 through 1988 in Army Public Affairs as a photojournalist at Fort Benning (now Fort Moore), GA; 2nd Infantry Division on the DMZ in Korea; at Fort Huachuca, AZ; and European Stars & Stripes.