'The true Soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because He loves what is behind him.' -G. K. Chesterton

08 January 2010

Honor Restored

Ashes Found in Trash Led to Proper Burial

January 05, 2010

St. Petersburg Times

The two teenagers got to the cemetery first. He wore his dark green
dress uniform from the National Guard. She wore a long black dress. They
stood on the edge of the road, across from rows of matching military
headstones, waiting for the funeral of the man they had never met.

Mike Colt, 19, and his girlfriend, Carol Sturgell, 18, had driven more
than an hour from their Tampa homes last month to be at Florida National
Cemetery in Bushnell.

They weren't really sure why they had come. They just knew they had to
be here.

"It's kind of sad, huh?" asked Sturgell, scanning the sea of white

Colt nodded. "Yeah, but it feels kind of important."

At 12:20 p.m., a Tampa police car pulled up, then a white Lincoln Town
Car. Another police cruiser followed. Two officers stepped out.

"Thank you for being here," Colt said, shaking both of their hands.

"No, thank you," said Officer Dan College. "If it weren't for you guys,
none of us would be here."

More than a month ago , on the last Saturday of November, the young
couple was hanging out at Sturgell's house when her brother rode up on
his bike, all excited. He had found two fishing poles in this huge pile
of trash. Come check it out, he said. So they did.

At the edge of the trash mound, sticking out from beneath a box,
Sturgell spied a worn green folder.

She pulled it out, brushed off the dust. Across the top, bold letters
said, "Department of Defense." Inside, she found retirement papers from
the U.S. Army; a citation for a Purple Heart issued in 1945; and a
certificate for a Bronze Star medal "for heroism in ground combat in the
vicinity of Normandy, France ... June 1944." In the center of the
certificate there was a name: Delbert E. Hahn.

Why would anyone throw that away? Sturgell asked.

And who is that guy? Colt wanted to know. Must be old, a World War II
vet. Looks like he served at D-Day!

That night, they took the paperwork back to Sturgell's house and
searched Delbert E. Hahn on the computer. Nothing. They talked about who
he might have been, the life he might have led.

The next morning, they went back to the trash heap and searched for more
clues. They rummaged through boxes, overturned furniture, picked through
piles of the past. Colt moved a ratty couch - and something fell out. A
metal vase, or box, some kind of rectangular container about a foot
tall. On the base was the name: Delbert E. Hahn.

"It's him," Colt told his girlfriend. "This must be him, in his urn."

Sturgell screamed. She didn't want to touch it. It was kind of freaky,
she said, discovering the remains of some dead guy.

"He shouldn't be here," Colt said. "No one should be thrown away like
that, just left in a parking lot."

The dead man wasn't alone. Under the couch, the couple found two more
sets of remains: a cylinder-style container with Barbara Hahn printed on
the bottom and another urn, which had no name.

Tampa police Cpl. Edward Croissant had just reported for the night shift
that Sunday when his officers showed him the urns. This kid and his
girlfriend had found them and brought them to the station.

Then an officer told Croissant about the Purple Heart. The Bronze Star.
And the Normandy invasion.

And Croissant became irate. He had served eight years in the Navy. He's
in the Coast Guard Reserve. "I had three uncles in World War II. That
was the greatest generation. If it wasn't for those men, we would have
nothing," he said.

"That man saw combat. And someone just dumped him there? He deserves a
better ending."

Police called the Department of Veterans Affairs and learned Hahn had
died in 1983, at the age of 62, -and was a highly decorated war hero.
The staff sergeant had served in the infantry and been honored with five
Bronze Stars and two Purple Hearts.

Barbara Hahn, they learned, was the soldier's wife.

So how did their remains end up in that mound of garbage? Where was the
rest of their family, or friends, anyone who would want their ashes? And
who was in that third urn?

Neighbors filled in some of the story: Barbara Hahn had been a widow
forever, they told police. For years, her mother had lived with her. Her
mother's name was Barbara, too.

The elder Barbara had lived to be more than 100. They thought she died
around 2000. That third urn, neighbors told police, must be her.

The younger Barbara, the soldier's wife, got sick in 2003. A couple came
to care for her, and she wound up willing them her mobile home. When she
died, the couple moved in, took out a mortgage, then didn't make

The bank foreclosed on the trailer late last year.

In November, officials sent a maintenance company to clear it out. The
workers must have just dumped everything behind the vacant building on
Busch Boulevard, neighbors told police. Including the remains of three

Just before 1 p.m. Dec. 16 , the two teenagers led the car line through
Florida National Cemetery. Police followed, then the funeral director
who had the urns. Outside a wooden gazebo, two rows of National
Guardsmen stood at attention.

The funeral director handed the first soldier a flag, the next one the
cylinder with Barbara Hahn's remains, the third one the brass urn with
Delbert Hahn.

(Barbara's mother's remains are still in the evidence room of the police
station. Since she wasn't a veteran or married to one, she wasn't
entitled to be buried in the military cemetery.)

"Let us open the gates of the Lord," said a military chaplain, who led
the procession of strangers into the gazebo. "Let us remember," said the
chaplain, "none of us lives only unto himself."

The teenagers sat on the front bench. Three officials from Veterans
Affairs sat behind them. They had spent weeks searching for the Hahns'
relatives, any distant kin or friend, someone who might want their ashes
- or at least want to come to their burial.

They couldn't find anyone. Even the couple whom Barbara Hahn had willed
her home to didn't show.

By the time the chaplain lifted his head from the Lord's Prayer, a long
line of men had wrapped around the gazebo.

Wearing blue denim shirts and work boots, they clasped their caps in
their hands and bowed their heads. Dozens of groundskeepers from the
cemetery had left their Christmas party to come pay respects to the man
who, in death, had been so disrespected.

A bugler played taps. The riflemen fired three shots. And 56 people
watched the honor guard fold a flag over the urns of the man and woman
they never knew.

Note: The next generation still understands the concepts of honor, decency and fidelity. They renew our faith in the tenent of always having your brother and your sisters back.


Daphne said...

Six, I have tears running down my face right now. That is an incredible story.

daphne said...

Can you email asap me, please?

daphnek at mac dot com

The Six said...

Thanks Daphne. I was very moved as well. It's nice to see the younger generation really stepping up.
I saw your post this morning and just sent off an e-mail. Please forgive my tardiness.

pdwalker said...

The US is still capable of producing some fine, fine people.

Robbie Cooper said...

As a member of the Patriot Guard Riders, I've attended so many of these funerals for our Nation's fallen heroes, whether they be from our current wars or from generations past, such as Sgt. Hahn.

Each one touches me immeasurably, and so did this one. Thank you for sharing, and RIP at long last, Sgt. Hahn

Daphne said...

Six, my apologies for not posting to this fine story earlier. It kind of got lost somewhere in the middle of my life.

It's a beauty of a catch.

Anonymous said...

I'm not crying.... It's just something in my eye... I swear

Borepatch said...

The kids are all right.

Anonymous said...

If this were a movie there would be swelling music & scenes from the past at the end. We would all feel uplifted, our hearts surging. I don't feel this way. I feel dirty. The sad thing is that who ever dumped those urns had a choice. They made the wrong one.