Remembering My Father, Lt. Col. Alfred K.B. Tsang, At Arlington National Cemetary

It was a bright, sunny morning, but a somber day for us.  Our motorcade was led by the Patriot Guard - - riding motorcycles and bearing U.S. flags flowing in the breeze.  We slowly proceeded down the final three-mile journey:  from St. Mary’s church, past the Lincoln Memorial, onto the Arlington Memorial Bridge, crossing the Potomac River to Virginia, and on to Arlington National Cemetery.  In the motorcade were family, relatives, and friends, including Herb Small – the bombardier and last living member of Dad’s B-29 crew, and Rita Huang – Dad’s childhood friend from his village in China. 

Our father was buried with full military honors.  His remains were carried in a horse-drawn caisson draped with an American flag and accompanied by an Air Force honor guard, military band, escort platoon, and rifle squad.  With the cadence of muffled drums in the background, we proceeded on a solemn march down a hill to the gravesite.  At the gravesite ceremony, we prayed for, remembered, and honored our father.

                                                  Icarus II

                                                  (after John Gillespie Magee, Jr.)

In service to the nation of my birth,

I crossed the sky on duty-driven wings.

A sunstruck child, I’d joined the bitter mirth

Of warriors and done a hundred things

You never dreamed of -- balls of fire we flung

To earth in heedless fervor.  Fleeing there,

We chased the guiding stars back home and swung

Our birds of steel to land on streams of air.

But down the long, delirious, burning blue,

I searched my darkest depths and came to face

My shame for those who perished as we flew

Away.  And then, with humble heart, I trod

A high, redeeming, sanctifying space,                                           

Laid bare my soul, and felt the grace of God.                               

Across the field and to the right, a rifle squad fired three rounds.  The shots echoed in the quiet reverence of the moment.  A lone bugler, standing in the far meadow to the left and in the shade of a tree, played the long, mournful notes of “Taps.”  The honor guard ceremonially folded the flag that had accompanied our father.  One of them knelt and presented it to my mother:  

“On behalf of the President of the United States, the Department of the Air Force, and a grateful nation, we offer this flag for the faithful and dedicated service of Lieutenant Colonel Alfred K. B. Tsang.  God bless you and this family.”