A Veteran Honors Ronald Reagan

By David Paul Kuhn,
CBSNews.com Chief Political Writer

Many recall moments that endeared Mr. Reagan to a nation. There was the speech at the Berlin wall. The disarming quip when he said to former President Carter, "There you go again." Or when he told his wife, Nancy, that he almost died by an assassin's bullet because, "Honey, I forgot to duck."

Most of all, there is an enduring shared memory of Mr. Reagan as the man who loved his wife, as a loner that led the nation.

Stan Rodkin remembers Mr. Reagan this way. He came across the country to touch Ronald Reagan's coffin and pay his respects.

"Touching the coffin is like shaking hands with the great man himself," the 74-year old veteran says, who flew alone from San Diego. "I wish I could have shaken his hand when he was alive."

Like Rodkin, the mourners continued on, plodding through the heat one-by-one to make this historical moment their own. America's 40th president was dead and they couldn't stay home.

Rodkin came, he explains, to feel proud to be an American again, if only for the day.

"The dignity of the office has been lost," he says in a raspy voice, staring up at the dome-shaped Capitol. "I'm told now if you travel overseas you shouldn't wear an American flag on your lapel," Rodkin continues, going silent, shaking his head, staring down at the ground, rubbing his sandals in the gravel.

"Reagan represented dignity and integrity," Rodkin continues. "And yes, I know there were some errors along the way. But he was a giant. I hope somewhere out there a giant will come along and restore the dignity to that office."

It will take four hot hours for Rodkin to see Reagan's coffin. He will walk out alone, having entered with thousands. Rodkin will be one of 5,000 people each hour from all over the country who journeyed to Washington DC to see Reagan lie in state inside the Capitol Rotunda.

"People said you are crazy to go there," Rodkin says. "'You'll never get in,' they said. 'It's a waste of time. It'll be hot. You're going to have foot problems.' But I said, 'I'm going to be a part of it.' Well, I just felt I must," he explains, smiling briefly. "This is an historic event and I'm going to be here.

"When Reagan was president it felt good to be an American. He was unashamedly patriotic and so am I," Rodkin says, nodding sternly as if to be sure he is understood. "I love this country. I'm sorry about what's happening today."

He speaks of the war in Iraq, calling it falsely waged. He speaks of the presidents since Reagan, saying they have shamed the office.

Rodkin was raised on a farm in Flemington, New Jersey. He left at 22 to study engineering at Villanova. "I needed more," he says, and so he found more, eventually becoming an inspector of aircraft carrier catapults. Later Rodkin worked on the lunar lander, during the Apollo program.

"I remember the headlines when Roosevelt died," Rodkin says. "I remember when those Americans were held hostage in Lebanon and Carter couldn't do anything, and I thought, 'My God, the American military can't save our boys, what's happening here?' Reagan turned that around and made you feel proud to be an American again."

Rodkin goes through the metal detectors and stands on the southern end of the capital.

Of average height with a stout build and narrow smile that is only deservedly offered, Rodkin removes his glasses, wipes his brow and runs his fingers over his short gray hair to cool down. He's been under the sun for three hours.

"I could go around again," he says. Staring off at a flag at half-mast, Rodkin inexplicably starts crying. He clears his throat; sniffles. "Just the sight of that flag makes me cry," he says. "It was the shining city on the hill," he adds, still sniffling and trying to compose himself. "It bothers me a lot what's happened to this country. I'm greatly concerned."

In 2000, Rodkin wrote Arizona Sen. John McCain's name on the ballot. He has not decided who he will vote for in this election, even though he is a Republican. "I know that a write-in doesn't go anywhere," he says. "I may do it anyway." Rodkin quiets. "I may do it anyway."

Entering the Capitol, Rodkin treads the two flights of stairs and takes off his cap. He holds onto the railing. His artificial hip slows him down. It wore out, he says, before him.

Walking in the Rotunda, the temperature drops and Rodkin passes to the right as five soldiers stand frozen before Mr. Reagan's coffin, resting on the same pine-board platform that once held Abraham Lincoln's remains

Rodkin sighs looking up at the immensity of the dome and back over to the wooden coffin covered in an American flag. The room is silent. Mourners walk on both sides, guided by a burgundy velvet rope held up by gold posts.

Rodkin passes the coffin and begins to walk out. Looking back, his arm jerks as if he wishes he could touch it. He never gets to. He stares at paintings of George Washington and the Constitutional Convention as he nears the exit. Looking back one last time at the coffin, Rodkin exhales. He had forgotten to breathe. The half-minute viewing is over.

Outside, minutes later, with the Mall behind him and the Washington Monument off in the distance, Rodkin looks off, his eyes still red. "It was everything I hoped," he says, still sniffling. He walks down the western steps of the Capitol, alone, off to the World War II memorial and then to the train station.

"I hear there is a nice restaurant there. I think I'll reward myself with a nice meal," he quietly says. "I hope there will be another one like Reagan," he adds, leaving the Capitol. "Well," he says, looking back, "There never will be another one like him. But I hope there will be someone to carry forward what he was, a pride in this country."