Moment of Honor

At Dodson Elementary School, Paul Venable faced the green chalkboard above, which hung the American flag, and, with one hand over his heart, pledged faithfulness to it every day.

He admits that as a child his mind would wander during that brief exercise, but not too far.

“I guess you take some of that for granted when you are 8- or 9- or 10 years old. But I knew it was special, I knew it meant a lot,” the now-grown Paul says of the flag and the pledge, explaining that it took a while for him to learn the history behind this country he calls home, to know and appreciate the sacrifices made on its behalf.

When he was 19, back in 1996, Paul went to see the Marine recruiters, and was ready to join. But personal obligations – particularly the news that he had a child on the way – took a front seat. Work in the oilfield and fatherhood were the definitions of Paul’s life after that.

Five years later, Paul was washing his truck, and stopped inside his house. On the television were airplanes flying into towers, and the horror that is now known simply as 9-11.

“It was devastating,” he said.

It was then that Paul chose to serve his country in a different way than he first envisioned.

He is now a lieutenant under Iberia Parish Sheriff Louis Ackal, and is confident that in so doing, his personal need to serve is well met. Paul knows that danger is inherent to police work, and that when a police officer dies in the line of duty everyone is diminished in some way. It is police officers whom stand between everyone else and the people who would do harm.

And so it was with great sadness that he learned about the death of Sgt. Rick Riggenbach, an officer with the Chitimacha tribal police in St. Mary Parish, who made the ultimate sacrifice Jan. 26 after responding to a call involving a man with a shotgun walking down a rural road.

At the funeral for Riggenbach were many flags. One was draped over his coffin. Outside the Crossing Place church a huge flag was suspended between the raised ladders of two fire trucks. In the sanctuary, near where the casket was placed, was another, folded flag and it has a special history.

Gov. Rick Perry of Texas ordered it to New York after the 9-11 attacks, because it had flown over his state’s capitol that day.

It was flown over the site of the World Trade Center, known as Ground Zero, now considered hallowed ground. And now it is transported around the nation, to memorialize men and women in the armed forces, police officers and firefighters who have died in the line of duty.

It was flown to Louisiana last week to honor Riggenbach.

At the airport, the flag was picked up by the honor guard from Iberia Parish, which Paul commands. As has become the custom, it was clasped close to the breast of Sgt. Lonny Romero, himself a veteran, when it was removed.

After display during services for Riggenbach, it was Paul who saw that it was safely returned to the plane for transport to its next stop, a funeral in Tennessee for another fallen officer.

“We have been having that flag for two days now,” said Paul, whose hands were covered by gloves – as is the custom – when he himself touched it. The experience was electric.

The events of last week were emotional enough, the miles-long motorcade for Riggenbach, the knowledge that a fellow officer had come to a sad but heroic end. But it was the touching of the flag that for Paul brought a lot of things full circle, that helped him appreciate more thoroughly what lies at the crux of heroism. It was a moment he – and others directly involved with the Honor Flag transport and presentation – will never forget.

“It was special, that I got to touch the flag because I sent it back,” said Paul, overwhelmed by emotion as he spoke. “It was gut-wrenching to touch it, I was speechless.”