This story embodies some of what is going on at Camp Casey

Annie and the man in the pick up truck

As everyone was going about their business, waiting for the counter protesters to arrive, a man drove up in a huge diesel pickup truck. You know the kind, with the big doolie wheels and such. He parked right in the center of the triangle – right in the space no one from Camp is supposed to be. He parked in such a way that the front end of his truck was facing directly towards the tents where Cindy and the other military families sleep – and where all the crosses of fallen soldiers have been erected.

The man sat in his truck for quite some time while our people looked on and waited to see what he intended. After a while, one of the vets from Camp Casey walked up to the man’s truck and informed him that no one was allowed to park in the triangle. The gentleman identified himself as the father of a fallen soldier. Anne Wright walked up to this man’s truck and began speaking with him through his rolled down window. He told her that he did not support what Cindy and the others are doing at Camp Casey, but he wanted to come and see if his son’s name was on one of the crosses. Anne invited him to come walk the crosses with her. The man got out of his truck and went with Anne to move up and down the rows of crosses, looking together for his son’s name. When they found it, they sat down in front of it, wrapped their arms around each other and cried together.

The entire Camp was affected by this event. I suspect that there were few dry eyes in our little corner of Crawford yesterday afternoon. I know that even as Annie related this story to me, I was choking up and having a very difficult time typing as she spoke, her voice cracking as she related the tale. Much has been said on both sides of this issue about what is “right” and what is “good” and what is “honorable.” If you ask me, the interaction between Anne and “The Man In The Truck” is the perfect representation of what we are trying to accomplish – Peaceful coexistence among people of different beliefs, politics and ideologies. I don’t know who “the man in the truck” is, but should he ever read this, I want him to know how much his story touched me. I want him to know that I honor him, and I honor his child, and I honor the sacrifice his family has made in pursuit of their ideals. To you, Sir, I bow my head in respect.