22–24 August 2018
THE WHITE HOUSE, PENTAGON HALL OF HEROES,
AND AIR FORCE MEMORIAL—THROUGH LORI’S EYES
Sixteen years ago, I knew. I knew that my brother John’s actions were greater than we were told. I knew he didn’t die right away. My intuition was finally validated when John was awarded the Medal of Honor at the White House. It’s been a long and emotional roller coaster, these last sixteen years, but to witness my brother being awarded our nation’s highest military honor left me speechless. To think it all began when then Secretary of the Air Force Deborah Lee James asked a simple question, “What does it take for an airman to receive the Medal of Honor?” The answer took more than two frustrating years of intense investigation, culminating in a week of extraordinary celebrations of John’s life, the first of which was the 22 August 2018 White House ceremony.
I was struck by the elegance of the East Room. The white walls, golden curtains, and crystal chandeliers made it regal, the perfect room for a special honor. Soft light filling the room through the front windows of the White House lent a timeless air. Row after row of gold chairs curved around the stage, each one with a beautifully crafted program laid upon its white cushioned seat. The silence of the room was solemn, but not sad. The small stage was equally fitting, with another golden curtain serving as the backdrop for three flags: our American flag, the congressional flag, and that of our United States Air Force.
As our family gathered, the mood became more celebratory when the realization set in that we were finally going to see John honored appropriately. We talked and laughed, nervous excitement pouring from us. Tears filled my eyes as I stole a moment to take in the entire space. Dozens of media cameras stood silently on tripods at the back, poised to capture this historic event. White House staff and Air Force protocol were buzzing around, making sure everything was perfect. And as the guests started filing in, I could feel the energy in the room rise as each person found a seat and chatted excitedly with those around them. The room was filled with people John loved; people who loved him back. So many of his childhood friends came to watch him be honored, marveling that the little boy they grew up with, the young man they shared laughter, tears, and secrets with, was an American hero. His Special Tactics brothers were there en masse. Men in blue dress uniforms—the Controllers obvious in their parachute wings and rows of medals—and former CCT in crisp dark suits sat shoulder to shoulder, just as they had when they served with John at one time, a lifetime ago. They, more than many, understood the magnitude of what was about to happen.
I sat between my son, John, and husband, Kenny, in the front row to the left of center stage and kept checking my watch, excited for the ceremony to begin. I looked back at my brother, Kevin. He and his wife, Connie, were beaming with anticipation while my nephew and niece, Jake and Sierra, smiled with moistened eyes, eager to be witness to their uncle’s honor.
As I turned toward the front, my mom, Brianna, Madison, and Val were escorted to their seats. They had just met with President Trump and their smiles spoke volumes. (Mom later told Kenny she was ecstatic that the president had signed the medal certificate and the citation in front of them, and after Val presented him with the photo of John and the Afghan girl, he looked at the photo, then at Mom, and said, “He looks like you.” Those four little words meant the world to her.) The first notes of “Hail to the Chief” signaled for all to rise as the president’s arrival was announced. My heartbeat quickened as I rose. It wasn’t the president who spurred my heart, but the knowledge that his presence beckoned John’s medal ever closer. When he stepped onstage and turned to the audience, I was in awe, being only feet away from him, the man who signed John’s Medal of Honor package and who was about to present what I knew John earned. President Trump stood at the podium and spoke in soft, soothing tones. I dropped my gaze. I knew the story he would tell; I knew how John’s citation would read; and I didn’t want to hear it again…not then. My mind drifted off to happy times with John; fun times that I hold dear in my heart; times when the four of us got silly; times when I thought we would all grow old together and reminisce. It was a quick interlude, but one that filled me with happiness and peace. I felt John with us in that room. As the reading of the citation came to an end, I released those memories to the Heavens so I could be present in the moment of the presentation.
Watching Valerie accept John’s Medal of Honor did not make me any prouder of him than I already was, but it was a moment that filled me with immense delight and satisfaction after sixteen years of wanting it to happen. It felt surreal. There we were…in the White House…witnessing my brother being honored by the president, his actions fully acknowledged. What I’d wanted and fought for was finally happening! At times, I couldn’t focus on what was being said; it was somewhat a blur, but I watched with a jubilant heart. Val was gracious as she accepted John’s medal and thanked the president, who motioned for Madison, Brianna, and my mom to join them on the stage. Every guest rose for a standing ovation, but they weren’t standing for those onstage; they were standing for John, for what he earned…and they were standing because he couldn’t. The applause, the standing ovation, and the gratitude were all for John and what he meant to each one of us.
I was joyous at having witnessed my brother being awarded our nation’s highest military honor. As his sister, I wanted his actions acknowledged; I wanted people to know that he died how he lived…selflessly. John was a hero to countless unnamed people throughout his life, but it was his actions on 4 March 2002 that propelled him into American hero status. I’ve always been his proud big sister, but 22 August 2018 wasn’t about pride in him, it was about being grateful that his selfless actions on that fateful day had finally and forever been recognized. He wouldn’t have cared about recognition, but I do. I care because of my mom; I care because it’s right; and I care because of truth.
Witnessing John being awarded the Medal of Honor gave me the greatest satisfaction, but it was the ceremonies at the Pentagon’s Hall of Heroes and the Air Force Memorial that deeply touched me emotionally, because they were to celebrate John, not just acknowledge his actions. At John’s induction ceremony into the Hall of Heroes on 23 August, I saw countless men who trained and worked with John, men who were there because they wanted to see him being honored the way they have honored him all these years. I was thrilled to finally be able to talk about John—about my brother—and when my mom and I spoke, I saw how our words affected them all. As my husband said afterward, many of them must have been passing around an onion, because there were quite a few tears filling the eyes of those tough men, and it touched my heart that they care so deeply about John.
The 24 August ceremony at the Air Force Memorial was even more incredible. As our motorcade made its way to the memorial, I saw countless people, many in uniform, hurrying to get there on time. One officer stopped and saluted as we passed…an officer! It made me cry to see such respect and honor. The Air Force had expected seven hundred airmen and other military personnel to attend the ceremony, and I later found out there were over 1,200 in attendance. As I turned to look behind me, the sea of red berets, blue uniforms, and excited faces extended past my line of sight. And when John’s name was unveiled on the memorial wall—the sole name listed for Afghanistan—my heart burst with pride and I couldn’t hold back the tears. What I wouldn’t give to have him there instead of his name, but I am so proud.
As if the previous honors weren’t enough, after John’s name was unveiled, the ceremony continued as he was posthumously promoted to the rank of Master Sergeant. He would be humbled. And as the ceremony concluded, the throng of John’s military brothers and sisters made their way to the foot of the Air Force Memorial to perform not only the very first memorial push-ups at that location but also probably the largest contingent. The mass of brave men and women were, quite literally, side by side by side as they rose and fell to the called cadence. Who would have thought the boy I grew up with would someday be honored in so many ways?
If John were alive today, he would quietly say, “I was just doing my job, what had to be done.” Well, my dear brother, you went above and beyond “just doing your job.” You deserve this honor. You earned it. It makes me sad that we won’t be able to sit around when we’re old and gray, beers in hand, talking about things you couldn’t tell us, but I am honored to have grown up with you, one of the Chapman Four. Echoing Tammy’s words at your funeral: You have always been my hero; now you’re America’s hero too. And though I’m in no hurry, I look forward to seeing you again so we can finally have that talk. My heart aches as I miss you every single day. I love you forever.