A Tribute Of Their Own

By David Paul Kuhn,
CBSNews.com Chief Political Writer

They huddle. Some hold hands. No one speaks, as if they too are in church, a part of the procession honoring Mr. Reagan's final visit to Washington. His body later will be flown to California, where it will be buried at sunset, facing west, along the Pacific. It will mark the close to six days of national mourning.

But here, a few hundred yards from the towering cathedral, beneath a steady rain, the wet-black streets seem hallowed. Traffic is halted in all directions. The funeral for the 40th president is about to begin.

Pvt. Deven Combs wishes he was inside. He stands across the street from the cathedral gate, rigidly focused on the radio. In his green Army uniform, the 26-year-old folds his right arm behind his back, in a stern at-ease.

"It's hard to describe what Reagan means to America," whispers Combs, so as not to speak over sound of the radio. "It's very much about the person. His ideals. It's very much about the nation he defended and served.

"He was optimistic at a very dark time in our nation," Combs adds, holding his standard issue raincoat in his left arm, also folded.

About 400 people stood beneath a haze of gray, staring through the trees at the cathedral, where dignitaries from the world over mourned Mr. Reagan, who died last Saturday at the age of 93.

A 21-gun solute cracks the silence. Mr. Reagan is honored as great men are. The sound echoes. It is noon. The service is well underway.

Secret Service agents are everywhere. Two eat Lay's potato chips and Ramen noodles in the front of their S.U.V.

Brother and sister Bruce Jonasz and Christine Wofford, from Novi, Michigan, sit in lawn chairs along the sidewalk. Wofford, 51, waves a small plastic baby, explaining she loved Mr. Reagan because he was against abortion, as is she.

"I came up here to pay homage to the president who knew what was best for this country and went forward with it," she says. "I'm giving the pope credit for what happened that era also."

"Especially tearing down the Berlin Wall," interjects Jonasz, 50. "They were right in Berlin," Jonasz continues, his arms spread, his thick chin lifting in pride.

"There, when Reagan said," Jonasz lowers his voice, '"Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall.'" He was saying enough is enough. It was profound to me."

"Oh ditto," adds Wofford. "He just seemed so excited about everything, so full of kindness and respect. He seemed so full of life and loved his job and loved his family."

"But there is no perfect president," Jonasz interrupts. "I take issues with Bush and the same thing with Reagan. Somehow with this Iran-Contra debacle and whatever was going on with that. I had some issues with that. But I take more of broader picture."

"Oh, the airport strike," Wofford recalls. "When he fired all of them. It didn't make sense to me," she shakes her hand, confounded.

Just a half a block away are the protesters. "Those crazy liberals," says one woman, waving them off.

"Listen," says economist Kevin McCarron, holding up a sign that reads in blood-red paint, "250,000 peasants murdered by the Gipper, Nicaragua, El Salvador, Honduras."

"I think there has been a lack of balance in the coverage of Reagan in the media," McCarron says. He mentions Reagan's reluctance to protest apartheid, his quiet as AIDS broke out and C.I.A.-backed coups in Central America.

Cindy Cwik will have none that. She says remembering Reagan is about more than the policies. For her, it's about the man.

"He was just very classic," she says, sitting on the grass beneath an umbrella, in white sandals and a white sleeveless shirt. "He accomplished very many things in his life and even though he had strong political views he could admit when he was wrong. He was a gentleman.

"I just think it was the persona, don't you think?" she asks her friend Diane Killinger. The two 40-somthings came from Alexandra, Va., with their children. Killinger nods in agreement.

"Hey," Cwik says, turning again to her friend, whose eight-year old son is on her lap, "didn't Reagan walk by your office once?"

Killinger nods fondly, "He did. It was July 1981. He walked down the hall about two weeks after I started." She spreads her hands out wide. "I remember the man towering, coming down, the pride, it was just really phenomenal."

She hesitates, at a loss for words, her eyes rising to the right in recollection. "I was a young girl at that time. I was very impressed." She gives a schoolgirl smirk, brushing back her short black hair.

Standing only a few feet from Killinger, Donald Rosholt is watching the eulogies beneath marble pillars, the procession inside, on his portable television.

"Whether you voted for him or not," Rosholt pauses, looks up to the cathedral and back at his TV, "he was the president of the United States during a critical period in our history."

Reagan was also the president of the United States during a critical period in Mildred London's history. London, 81, came from Ghana when Reagan was in his first term.

"He was my first president," she says excitedly, sitting in the shade, her youthful blue eyes contrasting her weathered black skin. "I feel American on occasions like this. So I like to come."

She came to America alone. She came to the funeral alone. "He's my age, too," she continues, her face crinkling with pride as she brings her small hands to her diaphragm.

The bells toll.

Soon soldiers pass, people cheer and the protesters pause. The motorcades begin to leave. All outside stand. Pvt. Combs salutes. Civilian hands cross civilian hearts. The protesters chant again as the few hundred Americans from across the country crowd over the sidewalk to glimpse the passing politicians.

Motorcades speed off. Sirens blare. No one is sure which is the president's car.

"Who's that guy," one man asks. "I know, I know," a woman replies. Neither can recall his name. "Oh," the man says, "that's that Edwards fellow." She nods in agreement, "John Edwards." Former Democratic presidential candidate Sen. John Edwards walks out of the cathedral, alone, like one of the faceless many.

By David Paul Kuhn
By David Paul Kuhn