Chapter Eight

Shortly before Michael’s coffin was closed, his brother and sisters each placed a small envelope in Michael’s crossed hands. None of the children ever revealed to their parents what they had written, nor did their parents ask. The coffin was sealed and taken to La Porte City.

Estep Motor Company, the local Ford dealer, provided three automobiles to transport the Mullen family to the Sacred Heart Church. Peg and Gene, their son John and his cousin Kathy Partridge rode in the first car. Mary and Patricia, Mary’s boyfriend, Rick DeJana, and Patricia’s fiancé, Alan Hulting, rode in the second. The third car carried Michael’s uncles and aunts.

It was overcast, damp and chilly at ten o’clock when the Mullen family pulled up at the church and walked inside the vestibule. Tom Loomis had stationed three attendants from his funeral home on either side of the wheeled coffin truck upon which Michael’s flag-covered casket rested. He then positioned the six honorary pallbearers chosen from among John’s and Michael’s friends behind the casket. Tom Hurley, in uniform with a black armband upon his sleeve, was one of them. As soon as the processional cross bearer saw the coffin brought into the church, he hastened up the aisle toward it.

The mass was concelebrated by Father Shimon, Father Ronald Friedell of the Don Bosco faculty, Father William Schwartz, a former Don Bosco teacher and a longtime friend of the Mullens, and Father Robert Hirsch, principal of the Don Bosco High School, who had been invited to deliver the homily. Father Hemesath was not present; Father Shimon had never been in touch with him. The Don Bosco Chorus, led by Sister Richard, were standing around the portable organ she had brought from the school. Mr. Loomis nodded that he was ready, the young boy carrying the cross positioned himself at Michael’s casket’s head, facing down the aisle toward the altar, and the four priests, wearing the vestments indicative of a Black Funeral, entered from behind the sacristy and gathered in the sanctuary. With their entrance the congregation rose to their feet, the Don Bosco Chorus began “How Great Thou Art,” a hymn chosen by Gene, and the cross bearer led the procession down the aisle toward the altar. Michael’s family followed the six honorary pallbearers, and when the coffin reached the altar, Peg and Gene were guided into the frontrow center pew directly behind the casket. John, Mary and Patricia filed into the second row behind their parents, and the uncles and aunts were directed into the row behind that.

Father Shimon made the sign of the cross and said, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.…”

The congregation responded, “Amen.”

Shimon extended his arms out from his sides. “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.”

“And also with you.”

“The grace and peace of God our Father and the Lord Jesus be with you all.”

“And also with you.”

Peg suddenly stiffened and poked Gene in the ribs.

“What’s the matter?” Gene asked.

“The Lord be with you,” Shimon was saying.

“And also with you,” the congregation responded. Peg dipped her head toward Captain Ralph T. Pringle, who was standing in uniform all alone in the front-row right-hand pew.

“I told him to sit there,” Gene told Peg.

“You did?” Peg said. “Oh, I was going to blame it on the undertaker.”

“Peace be with you,” Shimon was saying.

“And also with you.”

“My brothers and sisters,” Shimon said, “to prepare ourselves to celebrate the sacred mysteries, let us call to mind our sins.”

There was a moment of silence; then the congregation together prayed, “I confess to almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault”—they struck their chests—“in my thoughts and in my words … in what I have done … and in what I failed to do; and I ask blessed Mary, ever virgin, all the angels and saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God.”

“May almighty God have mercy on us,” Father Shimon prayed, “forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life.”

“Amen.”

When it was time for Father Hirsch to deliver the homily, he smiled at the congregation, most of whom he knew, and as he spoke, he leaned forward comfortably to rest his elbows on the lectern. He talked about Michael’s school record, the scholarships and fellowships he had received, his assistantship at the University of Missouri and the project he was working on there. Father Hirsch spoke of Michael’s 4-H Club activities, the interest and enthusiasm evidenced in all his work. He tried to show how Michael’s twenty-five years had been rich years, filled with joy and love for his fellowman. And then, to Peg’s astonishment, Father Hirsch gave her a little wink, launched into a short speech in behalf of the need for continued support of parochial education, and the homily ended.

The congregation stood as the priests together spoke the general intercessions and the Don Bosco Chorus sang the offertory hymn, “Shalom.”

When the last communicant had been served and while the chorus sang another of Gene’s favorites, “The Impossible Dream” from Man of La Mancha, Father Shimon, assisted by the altar boy, cleaned the silver paten and chalice used in the celebration of the eucharist. Father Shimon then faced the congregation, saying, “Let us pray.” He paused a moment and asked, “O almighty God, may this sacrifice purify the soul of your servant, Michael, which has departed from the world today. Grant that once delivered from his sins, he may receive forgiveness and eternal rest.… Through Christ our Lord.…”

“Amen,” the congregation answered.

Father Shimon stepped down to Michael’s casket, where he was joined by the other priests and the processional cross bearer. The Don Bosco Chorus began their final hymn, “America the Beautiful.” It, too, had been specially requested by Gene Mullen, and Sister Richard’s heavy stressing of the bass chords lent the hymn an almost martial air. The cross bearer moved to the head of the procession, and the funeral director with the help of the six Loomis Funeral Home attendants turned Michael’s casket around so that it now faced up the aisle. The four priests arranged themselves behind the cross bearer. The Loomis attendants took up positions on either side of the casket, and the six honorary pallbearers lined up directly behind Michael’s body. Next came Peg and Gene, followed by Patricia and Mary and John, and the uncles and aunts after that. As soon as everyone was ready, the cross bearer stepped off and the procession moved slowly up the aisle. As the chorus now sang the third verse, a young tenor’s voice cracked, and Sister Richard saw the boy had begun to cry.

The small well-kept Catholic cemetery at Eagle Center is about ten miles from La Porte City. The cars slowed, then entered the drive and continued up the slight hill past the Mount Carmel Catholic Church,* past the Case backhoe machine used to dig Michael’s grave, and then, at the crest of the hill, the hearse stopped. The Mullens’ cars pulled in behind it. The other mourners parked their cars as best they could nearby.

During the journey from La Porte the sun broke through the overcast and now shone brightly down upon the cemetery. The sun remained out throughout the burial service.

Michael’s grave was at the top of the slight hill within the Mullen family plot. Father Shimon waited while the family gathered around the open grave, then said, “Let us pray.…”

Peg slipped her arm through Gene’s, and he gently rested his hand on hers. As the first prayers were spoken, Gene began to cry. Peg had wept only at the beginning of the church service. She had pulled herself together and remained dry-eyed through the rest. Now, as she stood at the graveside, the bright sunlight added to her strength, and when she felt Gene’s hand tremble on top of her own, she squeezed his arm in sympathy.

“Give our brother peaceful rest in this grave,” Father Shimon was praying, “until that day when you, the resurrection and the life, will raise him up in glory. Then may he see the light of your presence, Lord Jesus, in the kingdom where you live for ever … and ever.…”

“Amen,” Peg said. Gene had to clear his throat, and his “Amen” followed a little after.

The honorary pallbearers held the American flag taut as Michael’s casket was slowly lowered beneath it into the grave.

“Since almighty God has called our brother, Michael, from this life to Himself,” Father Shimon continued, “we commit his body to the earth from which it was made.… Christ was the first to rise from the dead, and we know that He will raise up our mortal bodies to be like His in glory.… We commend our brother to the Lord; may the Lord receive him into his peace and raise up his body on the last day.”

The flag was awkwardly folded by Michael’s friends with Father Shimon’s help while Captain Pringle stood by. The triangle was not crisp, bits of flag stuck out, the folds and the stars did not end up quite right, but it was presented to the Mullens anyway. There were no middle-aged men in VFW or American Legion uniforms with polished rifles to fire a salute over the grave. No bugler played “Taps.”

Michael Eugene Mullen was buried in his Army uniform near the gravestones of John and Ellen Dobshire (1852–1886); Patrick J. and Mary Ann Dobshire Mullen (1886–1927); Oscar L. and Mary Ann Mullen (1927–1951); Gene’s sister, Lois Wenner; Daniel Mullen, Peg and Gene Mullen’s second child; and the stone reserving the plot for Peg and Gene: Oscar E. and Margaret E. Mullen (1951– ).

The dates on the stones are not those of the family’s life spans, but of their title to their Iowa lands.

From Michael’s grave only the Mount Carmel Church and a few parish buildings are visible nearby. Everything else is farmland, and when the sun sets, the shadows rush across the rolling hills like an incoming ocean tide.

After the burial the family returned to the Sacred Heart Church in La Porte for the lunch. There Captain Pringle neatly refolded the flag before saying good-bye. Tom Hurley, too, had to leave and drew Peg aside. All he said was: “Mrs. Mullen, whatever you do, don’t stop fighting this war!” There was one other young man besides Hurley and Captain Pringle who attended the service in uniform. The Mullens never found out who he was, but they believe he was a soldier home on leave.

By late afternoon the uncles and aunts had departed, the friends had gone back to their own homes, and Peg and Gene and their three surviving children were finally alone on their farm. It was the first opportunity Peg had had to open the mail; a new letter had arrived that morning from Washington. The letter read as follows:

WASHINGTON

25 February 1970

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Mullen:

Please accept my deepest sympathy in the loss of your son, Sergeant Michael E. Mullen, on 18 February in Vietnam.

I know that the passing of a loved one is one of life’s most tragic moments, but sincerely hope that you will find some measure of comfort in knowing that your son served his Nation with honor. His devoted service was in the finest traditions of American soldiers who on other battlefields and in other times of national peril have given the priceless gift of life to safeguard the blessings of freedom for their loved ones and for future generations. In Vietnam today brave Americans are defending the rights of men to choose their own destiny and to live in dignity and freedom.

All members of the United States Army join in sharing your burden of grief.

Sincerely,

s/W. C. WESTMORELAND

General, United States Army

Chief of Staff

With a look of disgust, Peg skimmed the letter over to Gene.

*The first Catholic church, completed in 1868, was destroyed by a tornado the following year. The present building, constructed upon the foundations of the first, has stood since 1870.