Observer photo by Mark Maathuis
Sgt. Bowy (center) leads the changing of the guard ceremony in front of the Tomb of the Unknowns.

by MARK MAATHUIS

It is supposed to be an honor, but the look on 17-year-old Corday Pieterson’s face does not show it. His eyes flash nervously up and down as he listens to the instructions Sergeant Bowy is giving him. It is impossible to overhear what he is saying, but Pieterson seems to understand as he nods his head in agreement. Then again, Sgt. Bowy, an athletic man dressed in a spotless Army 3rd U.S. Infantry uniform and wearing reflecting sunglasses, does not look like the kind of man you want to contradict.

Pieterson is one of the four seniors from Minnesota’s Lanesboro High School who are laying a wreath in front of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington Cemetery. Lanesboro’s senior class is one of many classes that travel to Washington, D.C. each year to perform this ceremony. To participate in today’s event, they had to send their “wreath-laying request” 18 months in advance.

The students, two boys and two girls, stand at the top of the stairs in front of the honorary guard plaza. A chain separates them from the public and guarantees an open passage to a soldier at the bottom of the stairs, who is holding the wreath, decorated with orange flowers and a black ribbon emblazoned with “Lanesboro” in silver letters.

The soldier is dressed in the same black jacket, black cap and blue trousers as Sgt. Bowy. His immaculate white gloves must be a required part of his uniform, because with temperatures in the 70s, there seems no other reason to wear them.

Next to him stands another soldier, also dressed in a black jacket, but wearing a red cap. In his right hand, he holds a trumpet. Unlike the other soldiers, he is not wearing sunglasses. He has a careful smile on his face as he looks at the crowd without moving his head.

Approximately 150 people are gathered on the stairs — mainly tourists in shorts and families with small children, but also a group of international soldiers, armed with cameras. Some have the name of their country on their uniform — Canada, Germany, Ghana. The only thing all the soldiers have in common are their polished black shoes, glistening in the sun.

As soon as the soldier with the wreath starts to speak, cameras switch on, all with their own melody or beep. “Ladies and gentleman, the ceremony you are about to witness is the laying of a wreath by senior students of Lanesboro High School,” the soldier says. “Military personnel, you will bring a salute during the Taps. For other people, it is appropriate to place your right hand on your heart. Please be silent and standing.”

Immediately, everyone rises. This is the signal for Sgt. Bowy. He marches down the stairs, followed by the four students. They keep their arms to themselves and look down at the ground, as if they are about to face a firing squad.

They reach the soldier, who hands the wreath to Pieterson and one of the girls. They take a step forward and, together, place it on a stand. With their backs to the public, they make sure it is in its place and then they take one step back.

The bugler brings the trumpet to his mouth and all the soldiers, American and foreign, bring their hands to their hats in salute. Spectators who aren’t in uniform place their hands on their hearts. A little boy in a blue NYC T-shirt puts his left hand on the wrong side of his chest. “The other way round, dear,” his mother whispers while she re-adjusts his arms. The “Taps” tune fills the plaza as the wind plays with the black ribbon on the wreath.

In less than a minute, the musical ceremony is over and Sgt. Bowy yells, “Order halt!” Everybody takes their hands down, and as he marches around the four students, they turn around, too. The five of them walk back up the stairs. Sgt. Bowy’s face is emotionless, but the students look relieved, and this time they hold their heads up. Pieterson seems taller than when he walked down the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, they shake hands with Sgt. Bowy. He smiles, but without seeing his eyes, you cannot tell if he means it. He walks down again, and together with the bugler, marches away from the plaza. As soon as they are gone, the honorary guard on duty comes out of his guardhouse where he stood during the ceremony and starts his usual routine: the 21-step march down the black mat behind the tomb.

As the crowd disperses, some of the soldiers take pictures of the guard. “They do this every day?” a soldier from Belgium asks a Croatian colleague. “They do this 24 hours a day, all the year round,” the Croatian man answers. “These guys are really dedicated to the job.”

At a safe distance from the plaza, the four students are talking to their chaperone. “It was intimidating, with all those people watching,” Pieterson says with a serious face. “But it felt like doing something important.”

His expression changes when the rest of his class joins them. They hit him on the shoulders, they laugh and give him high-fives. “You looked great, man,” a fellow student in shorts says, handing him a camera. A broad smile appears on Pieterson’s face as he looks at the tiny LCD screen. The ceremony took less than three minutes; the photos will undoubtedly last longer.