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A Roll Call to Honor Buried Veterans
Joe Landaker wiped away tears at the grave of his son, Jared, at Riverside National Cemetery,
where he helped read names aloud.
RIVERSIDE, Calif. — For eight days, a constant flow of volunteers has come to Riverside National Cemetery
to stand at two lecterns and read the names of all 148,000 military veterans and soldiers buried here. They
have read at varied paces in high, low, steady and wavering voices in shifts 24 hours a day.
It is the first such unbroken roll call at any national veterans cemetery in the country, said Michael Nacincik,
a spokesman for the National Cemetery Administration in Washington.
The “roll call program” began as an idea by Riverside cemetery staff members, said Gill Gallo, the cemetery’s
director. They started asking for volunteers in April. “So many people responded,” Mr. Gallo said. “We were
amazed. It’s theirs now. They made it come to life.” Mr. Gallo stood in the bright sunlight on Friday morning
as volunteers came and went, signing their names on a list and waiting for their turns to read.
When she stood at the lectern, Gwendolyn Goodlett, 63, dedicated her reading to her husband, Elijah Goodlett,
a Vietnam veteran who died two years ago. Ms. Goodlett wore a straw hat and alternated reading names with
Henry Salazar, 63, at the lectern next to her. Mr. Salazar had been in Vietnam the same year as Ms.
Goodlett’s husband, 1967-8, though the two men never met. “But there’s a comradeship,” said Mr. Salazar,
wearing an “M.I.A.-P.O.W.” T-shirt tucked into his jeans. “I feel that when I read these names. It’s healing.”
Robert Vasquez, 65, an Army veteran, agreed. “It connects you for a brief moment, kind of like they’re
standing by you. You think something about their life. Did they die a natural death or in service?”
A line of cars nearby was filled with mourners in black suits and dresses on their way to some of the 34
funeral services held that day. This is the “busiest” of the 128 Veterans Affairs cemeteries, said Mr. Nacincik,
with 8,340 people last year interred in the ground or in a long white wall at the property’s perimeter. Of those
cemeteries, Riverside has buried the most soldiers from the current wars, Mr. Gallo said, with 71 here who
died in action in Iraq and Afghanistan.
“When you think of how many we’re losing every day, it brings it home,” said Rae Lee Escalera, 53, who
came to place fresh flowers on the grave of her brother, George, and stayed to listen to the name reading.
The roll call was not in alphabetical order, so there was no way to know when a name would be read. But Ms.
Escalera arrived just in time to hear her brother’s. “Amazing,” she said and shook her head. “George Arthur
Davis. I miss him.”
Just then, a C-17 cargo plane took off from March Air Reserve Base across the street and lumbered overhead
like an airborne whale. On a smooth stretch of lawn nearby, three women placed bundles of carnations and
lilies by a flat headstone. Two rows down, a gravedigger stood shoulder deep in the ground.
The last of the 500 volunteers are expected to finish reading the names on Monday.
About 680,000 veterans died in the United States in 2008, said Mr. Nacincik, a majority having fought in
World War II. Southern California has a high concentration of older veterans, he said, especially the eastern
counties known as the Inland Empire. Many retired here after working or training on local military bases like
March, a former Air Force base.
On the walls of a monument nearby, the names of all Medal of Honor recipients since the 19th century —
regardless of where they are buried — are carved in gold. A handful are listed from Iraq and Afghanistan,
followed by blank space awaiting more. Beneath the name of Michael Murphy, a 29-year-old in the Navy
Seals who was awarded the Medal of Honor after dying in Afghanistan in 2005, lay a blue toy car atop a
folded American flag.
Nearby, Ms. Goodlett and Mr. Salazar sat in folding chairs and listened to the roll call as the day grew hot.
Ms. Goodlett said she felt like she was speaking to those buried in the cemetery. “When I say the names,”
Ms. Goodlett said, eyes closed, “it feels like, ‘I’m here for you. Do you hear your name?’ ”
Joe Landaker wiped away tears at the grave of his son, Jared, at Riverside National Cemetery,
where he helped read names aloud.
RIVERSIDE, Calif. — For eight days, a constant flow of volunteers has come to Riverside National Cemetery
to stand at two lecterns and read the names of all 148,000 military veterans and soldiers buried here. They
have read at varied paces in high, low, steady and wavering voices in shifts 24 hours a day.
It is the first such unbroken roll call at any national veterans cemetery in the country, said Michael Nacincik,
a spokesman for the National Cemetery Administration in Washington.
The “roll call program” began as an idea by Riverside cemetery staff members, said Gill Gallo, the cemetery’s
director. They started asking for volunteers in April. “So many people responded,” Mr. Gallo said. “We were
amazed. It’s theirs now. They made it come to life.” Mr. Gallo stood in the bright sunlight on Friday morning
as volunteers came and went, signing their names on a list and waiting for their turns to read.
When she stood at the lectern, Gwendolyn Goodlett, 63, dedicated her reading to her husband, Elijah Goodlett,
a Vietnam veteran who died two years ago. Ms. Goodlett wore a straw hat and alternated reading names with
Henry Salazar, 63, at the lectern next to her. Mr. Salazar had been in Vietnam the same year as Ms.
Goodlett’s husband, 1967-8, though the two men never met. “But there’s a comradeship,” said Mr. Salazar,
wearing an “M.I.A.-P.O.W.” T-shirt tucked into his jeans. “I feel that when I read these names. It’s healing.”
Robert Vasquez, 65, an Army veteran, agreed. “It connects you for a brief moment, kind of like they’re
standing by you. You think something about their life. Did they die a natural death or in service?”
A line of cars nearby was filled with mourners in black suits and dresses on their way to some of the 34
funeral services held that day. This is the “busiest” of the 128 Veterans Affairs cemeteries, said Mr. Nacincik,
with 8,340 people last year interred in the ground or in a long white wall at the property’s perimeter. Of those
cemeteries, Riverside has buried the most soldiers from the current wars, Mr. Gallo said, with 71 here who
died in action in Iraq and Afghanistan.
“When you think of how many we’re losing every day, it brings it home,” said Rae Lee Escalera, 53, who
came to place fresh flowers on the grave of her brother, George, and stayed to listen to the name reading.
The roll call was not in alphabetical order, so there was no way to know when a name would be read. But Ms.
Escalera arrived just in time to hear her brother’s. “Amazing,” she said and shook her head. “George Arthur
Davis. I miss him.”
Just then, a C-17 cargo plane took off from March Air Reserve Base across the street and lumbered overhead
like an airborne whale. On a smooth stretch of lawn nearby, three women placed bundles of carnations and
lilies by a flat headstone. Two rows down, a gravedigger stood shoulder deep in the ground.
The last of the 500 volunteers are expected to finish reading the names on Monday.
About 680,000 veterans died in the United States in 2008, said Mr. Nacincik, a majority having fought in
World War II. Southern California has a high concentration of older veterans, he said, especially the eastern
counties known as the Inland Empire. Many retired here after working or training on local military bases like
March, a former Air Force base.
On the walls of a monument nearby, the names of all Medal of Honor recipients since the 19th century —
regardless of where they are buried — are carved in gold. A handful are listed from Iraq and Afghanistan,
followed by blank space awaiting more. Beneath the name of Michael Murphy, a 29-year-old in the Navy
Seals who was awarded the Medal of Honor after dying in Afghanistan in 2005, lay a blue toy car atop a
folded American flag.
Nearby, Ms. Goodlett and Mr. Salazar sat in folding chairs and listened to the roll call as the day grew hot.
Ms. Goodlett said she felt like she was speaking to those buried in the cemetery. “When I say the names,”
Ms. Goodlett said, eyes closed, “it feels like, ‘I’m here for you. Do you hear your name?’ ”
