Oops, we started a Veterans Day tradition

Ever make a mistake and think, "Maybe something good will come of this?" While putting to bed the first edition of the Observer last week, I noted an entry on the To-Do list for a Veterans Day service at noon on Nov. 11. To double-check, I called the courthouse to make sure noon was the time. Not that there was a service – just that it was at noon.

I was told they'd check and get back to me, so I carried on with putting the finishing touches on the newspaper and did not give it a second thought. A few hours later, I uploaded the file to the printer. Even after the paper was printed, it never crossed my mind. There was a Veterans Day service at noon on Nov. 11.

On Tuesday, when I pulled into the post office with a load of first-edition papers in the 10-foot box truck, the phone rang. There is no Veterans Day service at noon on Nov. 11. Lynchburg has a Memorial Day service.

Panic set in: The inaugural edition – and a major screw-up. There's no coming back from this. The mistake consumed my thoughts while I was driving to return the box truck.

Once I returned to my desk, I could only think of a way to own the mistake. It had to be straightforward and leave an impression – something unforgettable.

So, I whipped up an image to share on social media. And I stewed in my stupidity.

But I could not bring myself to post the image.

On Thursday, I reached out to the mayor and explained that I'd painted myself into a corner. Having met the man once in my life for maybe five minutes, Sloan Stewart showed the grace that Moore County is rooted in.

"Mayor, I want to host a Veterans Day service," I said. After being peppered with a few questions, the mayor asked that we not trample the grass, stay out of the road, and otherwise have a good time saluting the vets.

The next call was to Woodye Bedford. He was another fella that I had met exactly one time, but I remembered his business card: "CWO-4 Gunner USCG (Ret.)" Not only did he agree to show up, but I also learned what "I'll bring my flag" means.

That night, I searched for an appropriate Veteran pin on Amazon, and the Prime membership paid dividends with Saturday delivery. It was a small token, but who doesn't like a nice pin, right?

I called Prince's Parlor on Saturday to ask if they would be open on Monday. (Being a holiday, you never know.) After a quick check of the calendar – yes, the doors will be open – I asked if I could bring some veterans in for ice cream after the Veterans Day service.

I phoned my cousin, Kelly Cunningham, who is also a local pastor, and asked if he would say a prayer with his fellow vets. "I'll be there," he said. I felt it coming together, somewhat, even though I knew the window had closed on getting the word out to a large group of folks.

Monday rolled around, and the angst and anticipation were tugging at my gut. I checked with Prince's Parlor to follow up on the ice cream; Ciera Holder was all-in (and thanks for the discount, too!).

I grabbed a seat on the double bench in front of the courthouse and waited, but not for long. Price Womble pulled his pickup truck into a parking spot, ambled over, and asked, "Is this where the Veterans Day service is?"

At least one hero was going to be celebrated for his service!

Soon after, Woodye rolled in. John Leavitt walked up. Then Carl Lunderstadt, who had regaled the Moore County High School students earlier in the morning during the National Honors Society program.

Five veterans, a handful of men with connections to Moore County who selflessly decided to serve this country, planted a seed. There will be a second annual Veterans Day service in 2025 – with 100% more marketing and promotion.

I respect the Memorial Day service; never forget those who died in service of this nation. But I believe in honoring the living, while they can bask in the appreciation.

Woodye unsheathed a flag and began A Toast to the Flag. Yes, this was his flag – and every veteran's flag:

Here's to the red of it –
There's not a thread of it,
No, nor a shred of it
In all the spread of it
From foot to head.
But heroes bled for it,
Faced steel and lead for it,
Precious blood shed for it,
Bathing it Red!

Here's to the white of it –
Thrilled by the sight of it,
Who knows the right of it,
But feels the might of it
Through day and night?
Womanhood's care for it
Made manhood dare for it,
Purity's prayer for it
Keeps it so white!

Here's to the blue of it –
Beauteous view of it,
Heavenly hue of it,
Star-spangled dew of it
Constant and true;
Diadems gleam for it,
States stand supreme for it,
Liberty's beam for it
Brightens the blue!

Here's to the whole of it –
Stars, stripes, and pole of it,
Body and soul of it,
O, and the roll of it,
Sun shining through;
Hearts in accord for it,
Swear by the sword for it,
Thanking the Lord for it,
Red, White, and Blue!

So, we started something bigger than ourselves. It was simple, much like Lynchburg, and a success, just like Moore County. When we first met at the benches, Mr. Womble asked which branch I served. I was a Fortunate Son – college and a job led me away from the service. However, listening to those men share similar tales of their time in uniform made me jealous for a moment. That moment was fleeting; I don't have the guts. After all, a man's got to know his limitations.

As we salute veterans for their service to the county, I'm thanking five men for stepping into the breach and saving my ... well, ass.

Duane Cross is the publisher and editor of the Moore County Observer.