Shane Austin laid to rest

Framed by waving American flags, mourners left Gardner-Edgerton High School on Friday.

They had just attended the funeral of Army Pfc. Shane Austin, an Edgerton native, who died in Iraq on Oct. 8.

Austin's family followed the Army honor guard carrying his casket draped in the American flag, and watched in silence as the guard placed his casket inside the hearse. His mother, Debbie Austin, Spring Hill, crossed her arms as her son's remains went into the vehicle. Moments later, family members hugged and consoled each other, along with the many attendees at the funeral.

Austin, 19, joined the Army in January. He attended Gardner-Edger-ton High School and family and friends remembered him in a service in the school auditorium.

The Patriot Guard, an organization of motorcyclists - most of them veterans - who pay homage at military funerals, held the flags outside the auditorium. The held those flags for more than three hours as people joined and left the auditorium.

The guard snapped to attention and saluted as the family and casket came out of the funeral services. Bagpipe music filling the midday air. The guard also led the funeral procession to Fort Leavenworth for Austin's burial.

Austin died in Ramadi, Iraq, fighting in Operation Iraqi Freedom during one of the bloodiest months during the war. Austin died of wounds suffered after an Iraqi insurgent threw a grenade into his tank. He served with the 1st Battalion, 35th Armored Regiment, 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 1st Armored Division, Baumholder, Germany.

Austin received the Purple Heart on Friday for his actions in combat.

Terry Austin, his father, joined Debbie in eulogizing their son during the service. The Rev. Dave Bray led the service.

After the funeral, people lined Gardner's downtown to pay respects, including people from businesses and City Hall.

Many held American flags and red, white and blue balloons lined Main Street.

From the Johnson County Sun

Reminder of war's human cost hits harried passengers hard

The day Pfc. Shane Austin flew home was an ordinary day, as far as life at public airports go. Delays and cloud cover. Passengers scuttling to make their next flight. Some were relieved when they did. Others were peeved at the frustration of it all, even after they were safely aboard, their bags checked and stowed.

The pilot broke the routine with an announcement.

A special flight, he advised. Please do the honor, wait to de-board.

Wait because Austin, a 19-year-old from the tiny town of Edgerton, Kan., boarded the flight in a casket. He was below the passengers, as cargo. He died in early October in Iraq, trying to throw an enemy hand grenade from his tank.

Posthumously, Austin was given a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star. Posthumously, Austin silenced a planeload of people. He made them pause in a way that all Americans should, daily.

This is not a political statement. There will soon be enough of that. The fact that October is now the deadliest month for U.S. troops will be discussed by both parties, each hoping for election gains. Proper times and places for such political preening exist.

But not the day Austin came home. Not during his flight between Atlanta and Kansas City. With two to three deaths announced each day, the Army regularly uses commercial flights to send the bodies of soldiers home. The Army's goal is noble; get the bodies reunited with their families as quickly as possible. It is the right thing to do, the expedient thing to do. And it happens right under our noses.

The pilot of Austin's flight, a former Navy man, addressed this in his intercom remarks to the passengers. He noted that people's lives cross all the time, intersecting in ways that most of us are unaware of. He asked his passengers to be aware that day. By boarding the flight, they became a part of a young soldier's final journey.

When the plane landed, the passengers complied. They waited as the military escort for Austin got off the plane first, along with the captain. Then, instead of rushing for their baggage, nearly all lined up along the glass wall of the terminal and looked down to the tarmac. They watched as the uniformed color guard unloaded the casket off the conveyor belt. A U.S. flag draped it. Pfc. Austin's mother hugged family members. Some passengers saluted. Some put their hands over their hearts. Many cried.

A colleague of mine was on the flight. He felt ashamed for his own grumblings about airport delays before the captain described the flight's precious cargo. He was returning from a weekend spent with his son, who was very much alive and well.

Austin's funeral was held in the auditorium where he had attended high school.

The death of soldiers like Pfc. Austin is the fodder of small-town newspapers. There, they are above the fold, front-page news. In one Kansas community paper, Austin's mother described her son as a daredevil. She told how she first assumed the military officials at her doorstep were there to recruit her two other sons, not to inform her of the death of her middle boy.

Austin's death raises the question, ``What if we were aware of every soldier's casket?'' A nation at war should feel more at war. Yet for most of us, this is not the case -- not without a draft, rations, other wartime efforts of past conflicts.

Even with the unending commentary about the war on terror by both those supportive and critical of it, the lives of most Americans resumed pretty much unchanged after Sept. 11, 2001. The very least we can do is pause when we board an airplane. Aboard might very well be another soldier such as Pfc. Austin, returning home to his family.

From the San Jose Mercury News

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