'A man like this is a hero'
Past the silent row of men and women holding American flags in the rain outside a Bettendorf church stood a casket in a narrow hallway.
And next to the casket stood a little girl, stroking the still face of her uniformed father.
U.S. Army Pfc. Michael Pittman, 34, left behind four children when he died June 15 in Iraq. He left a wife with her heart aching and her hands full, a sister who wept inconsolably through his funeral and two brothers, including one who vowed to “love and think about” Michael every day for the rest of his life.
“Michael told me, ‘No matter what happens, my family will be taken care of,’ ” Kirk Pittman eulogized of his brother. “I knew then that he was a great man.
“Michael, from a little child, loved everyone around him. He was a peacekeeper.”
The peacekeeper perished as many of his fellow soldiers have — when an improvised explosive device detonated along the path of another U.S. Army mission in Iraq. Others in his unit survived the attack with minor injuries.
Pittman had been spared serious injury or death two times during the four months he fought the war on terror, family members said. His mother has said she believes he could not dodge death a third time because God had called him home.
During his funeral Friday, a large video screen inside the church flashed photos that portrayed a man’s life before he became a soldier. There was a smiling boy at Christmas, family snapshots that easily confessed Pittman’s love for his children, wife and siblings.
There were shots of a school boy and, later, a man.
The last screen contained the words: “To love and be loved … one of life’s greatest gifts.”
Some in the crowded sanctuary of family and friends muttered their approval as Pastor Michael Kelly of First Assembly of God told how Americans often confuse the meaning of a hero, misusing it to describe athletes.
“They’re not heroes, they’re celebrities,” he said, adding as he pointed to Pittman’s casket, “A man like this is a hero.”
Pittman’s heroism was publicly recognized by the Army. His wife, Jennefer Pittman, and his mother, Sandra Hughes, were handed three medals: the Bronze Star, Purple Heart, the Army Good Conduct Medal.
As Pittman’s mourners spilled out of the church, it began to look as if all of the Quad-Cities was in line to salute him.
A woman in a house two doors away from the church slipped out of her garage after the services and hung an American flag on her house. As the funeral procession rounded Grant Street in Bettendorf, three firefighters in uniform saluted passing cars.
Other vehicles pulled to the side of the road, some of the drivers getting out, standing silently with their hands behind their backs.
At the Rock Island Arsenal, hundreds of government employees walked away from their jobs long enough to stand shoulder-to-shoulder on the curbs leading to National Cemetery. Some saluted. Many held their hands to their hearts. A few cried.
At the cemetery, the playing of taps overwhelmed the widow. Even the pastor seemed to be wiping tears from his eyes.
And the words of Pittman’s brother must surely have come back to the silent circle who grieved: “I would gladly trade places with you if you could come back. Dance, dance, dance, Michael, for you are free.”
Barb Ickes can be contacted at (563) 383-2316 or bickes@qctimes.com. Comment on this story at qctimes.com.