Cpl. Kevin Clarke

A young Marine's death brings the war home

An American flag at half staff last weekend reminded me of a promise I'd made to myself.

In a war that has taken 1,500 lives, two of those killed were from Tinley Park.

I live and work in Tinley Park. Maybe that's why something inside compelled me to attend Marine Cpl. Kevin Clarke's wake.

Late last Saturday, I put my American flag pin on my sweater. It felt like the right piece to wear, though I'd never paid a condolence call to the family of someone killed by enemy fire.

Nothing could have prepared me for the experience.

Cpl. Clarke's wake started at 4 p.m. Neatly dressed young adults, no doubt friends, talked quietly outside the funeral home, and dozens more gathered inside. Their words were soft, inaudible and sometimes accompanied by tears.

My own heart stopped, it seemed, when I walked into the chapel.

Crisp, clean American flags dotted the crowded room, along with family pictures and flowers, mostly red, white and blue, I think.

Marine honor guards in full dress uniform stood at attention throughout the chapel and on either side of Clarke's flag-draped open casket.

Clarke, too, was in dress uniform. The vision of him, so young, lying there, is unforgettable.

His handsome parents, Cathy and Phil Clarke, somehow maintained their composure as they thanked each visitor, most of them shaken and many weeping.

I could barely form words of condolence when Cathy and Phil, complete strangers, greeted me. They nodded with understanding, took my hands and thanked me for coming.

So did Clarke's two sisters, one of them pregnant with a niece or nephew he will never meet.

On Tuesday, the Clarkes' spokesman brought me a copy of Clarke's funeral program.

The cover pictures the young Marine, mid-skydive, flying through the bright blue sky. The photo seems so right. From all accounts, Clarke dived right into life.

Joining the Marines "was something he always wanted to do," the spokesman said, asking that his name not be used.

Clarke, who turned 21 Jan. 22, died Feb. 19, the victim of small arms fire on his second tour of duty.

The other Tinley Park man killed in Iraq, Army National Guard Staff Sgt. Michael Sutter, 29, also was on extended duty in Iraq, by choice.

I had planned to attend Sutter's wake in December 2003, but somehow did not get there.

Both Clarke and Sutter had graduated from Andrew High School — a tragic hit for any school.

Still, the darkness of death does not prevent people from tossing politics into the mix when military deaths are brought up.

After Saturday, I know that is wrong.

Partisanship of any kind is irrelevant when mourning the loss of someone in the military.

Sutter and Clarke are hometown heroes, two among so many from this corner of the world.

Before I left home Saturday, the words "Iraq" and "war" seemed so distant, so foreign, even though we hear and read them every day.

Not any more.

I left the chapel with the gut level realization that Clarke put himself in harm's way for freedoms I accept so casually.

The world looks different now. Never again can I simply glance at stories of Americans who died in action.

The war in Iraq has come home.

Myra Eder is assistant editor of The Star's Firstlook section.