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OUR JOURNEY HAS ONLY JUST BEGUN...
Marine Lance Cpl. Daniel M. McVicker 20, of Alliance, Ohio died from an improvised explosive device while conducting combat operations against enemy forces near Al Qaim, Iraq. He was assigned to Combat Service Support Detachment 21, 2nd Force Service Support Group, II Marine Expeditionary Force, Cherry Point, North Carolina. As part of Operation Iraqi Freedom he was attached to Regimental Combat Team 2, 2nd Marine Division, II Marine Expeditionary Force (Forward). He died on October 6, 2005.
The day of the funeral turned out clear and sunny. It was the second week of October 2005, the first hint of autumn in the air, and those who came to say goodbye to Lance Cpl. Daniel McVicker bundled themselves against the chill.
McVicker had been outgoing and popular at West Branch. He wore earrings and loved fast cars. He sang in musicals - Guys and Dolls, The Wizard of Oz, Grease. He stayed active in the school concert choir, Young and Alive. During senior year, he served as one of the school's mascots, the assistant Warrior Chief. "Everybody loved him," said classmate Shawna Morrow, Wade's wife.
His parents said he had volunteered several times for duty in Iraq. Finally, in late August 2005, the Marines sent him. Less than two months later, a roadside bomb detonated under the Humvee he was driving near al-Qaim, in western Iraq. The explosion killed McVicker and another Marine from Alabama. Both men were 20. It happened Oct. 6. Daniel, 10:6.
The young man, "his face like lightning, his eyes like flaming torches," was gone. "So many ifs," said Mark McVicker, Daniel's father, "so many could-have-beens ..." By coincidence, Tim Hardy returned home from Iraq the day word came of McVicker's death. He showed up to the funeral in his dress blues. Osberg had seen McVicker only a week earlier in Iraq, just by chance. They ate lunch together, said their goodbyes. Like Hardy, Osberg had come home with his unit. But he couldn't bring himself to attend the funeral. "I just didn't know if I could actually show up," he says. "I feel kind of bad."
At her brother's service, Mollie McVicker read a poem. "You've borne your burdens well," read one line. "Walk peacefully on heaven's streets; you've done your time in hell."
Hundreds of residents lined the road along the four-mile route to the cemetery. They wrapped themselves in green West Branch Warriors blankets and waved flags as the procession passed. Old soldiers stood outside the VFW hall and saluted. People held homemade signs like the one that read "See U in heaven." Firefighters parked two bright red engines along the route, extended their ladders and draped a huge American flag above the road.
Stores along State Street locked their doors so employees could join in. "Thank you, Danny," read the sign outside the Rite-Aid. "God bless you, Danny," read the one outside Custom Auto World. "We had lost somebody we knew," said Weingart, the West Branch superintendent.
Carey Meissner, McVicker's mother, remembers how moved she felt that so many people showed up. McVicker's father said he had never seen such a crowd. Not far from the high school, the procession turned into a cemetery off U.S. 62 and stopped by a grave in the veterans section.
Daniel McVicker got his parade.
The day of the funeral turned out clear and sunny. It was the second week of October 2005, the first hint of autumn in the air, and those who came to say goodbye to Lance Cpl. Daniel McVicker bundled themselves against the chill.
McVicker had been outgoing and popular at West Branch. He wore earrings and loved fast cars. He sang in musicals - Guys and Dolls, The Wizard of Oz, Grease. He stayed active in the school concert choir, Young and Alive. During senior year, he served as one of the school's mascots, the assistant Warrior Chief. "Everybody loved him," said classmate Shawna Morrow, Wade's wife.
His parents said he had volunteered several times for duty in Iraq. Finally, in late August 2005, the Marines sent him. Less than two months later, a roadside bomb detonated under the Humvee he was driving near al-Qaim, in western Iraq. The explosion killed McVicker and another Marine from Alabama. Both men were 20. It happened Oct. 6. Daniel, 10:6.
The young man, "his face like lightning, his eyes like flaming torches," was gone. "So many ifs," said Mark McVicker, Daniel's father, "so many could-have-beens ..." By coincidence, Tim Hardy returned home from Iraq the day word came of McVicker's death. He showed up to the funeral in his dress blues. Osberg had seen McVicker only a week earlier in Iraq, just by chance. They ate lunch together, said their goodbyes. Like Hardy, Osberg had come home with his unit. But he couldn't bring himself to attend the funeral. "I just didn't know if I could actually show up," he says. "I feel kind of bad."
At her brother's service, Mollie McVicker read a poem. "You've borne your burdens well," read one line. "Walk peacefully on heaven's streets; you've done your time in hell."
Hundreds of residents lined the road along the four-mile route to the cemetery. They wrapped themselves in green West Branch Warriors blankets and waved flags as the procession passed. Old soldiers stood outside the VFW hall and saluted. People held homemade signs like the one that read "See U in heaven." Firefighters parked two bright red engines along the route, extended their ladders and draped a huge American flag above the road.
Stores along State Street locked their doors so employees could join in. "Thank you, Danny," read the sign outside the Rite-Aid. "God bless you, Danny," read the one outside Custom Auto World. "We had lost somebody we knew," said Weingart, the West Branch superintendent.
Carey Meissner, McVicker's mother, remembers how moved she felt that so many people showed up. McVicker's father said he had never seen such a crowd. Not far from the high school, the procession turned into a cemetery off U.S. 62 and stopped by a grave in the veterans section.
Daniel McVicker got his parade.
Marine Lance Cpl. Daniel M. McVicker 20, of Alliance, Ohio died from an improvised explosive device while conducting combat operations against enemy forces near Al Qaim, Iraq. He was assigned to Combat Service Support Detachment 21, 2nd Force Service Support Group, II Marine Expeditionary Force, Cherry Point, North Carolina. As part of Operation Iraqi Freedom he was attached to Regimental Combat Team 2, 2nd Marine Division, II Marine Expeditionary Force (Forward). He died on October 6, 2005.
The day of the funeral turned out clear and sunny. It was the second week of October 2005, the first hint of autumn in the air, and those who came to say goodbye to Lance Cpl. Daniel McVicker bundled themselves against the chill.
McVicker had been outgoing and popular at West Branch. He wore earrings and loved fast cars. He sang in musicals - Guys and Dolls, The Wizard of Oz, Grease. He stayed active in the school concert choir, Young and Alive. During senior year, he served as one of the school's mascots, the assistant Warrior Chief. "Everybody loved him," said classmate Shawna Morrow, Wade's wife.
His parents said he had volunteered several times for duty in Iraq. Finally, in late August 2005, the Marines sent him. Less than two months later, a roadside bomb detonated under the Humvee he was driving near al-Qaim, in western Iraq. The explosion killed McVicker and another Marine from Alabama. Both men were 20. It happened Oct. 6. Daniel, 10:6.
The young man, "his face like lightning, his eyes like flaming torches," was gone. "So many ifs," said Mark McVicker, Daniel's father, "so many could-have-beens ..." By coincidence, Tim Hardy returned home from Iraq the day word came of McVicker's death. He showed up to the funeral in his dress blues. Osberg had seen McVicker only a week earlier in Iraq, just by chance. They ate lunch together, said their goodbyes. Like Hardy, Osberg had come home with his unit. But he couldn't bring himself to attend the funeral. "I just didn't know if I could actually show up," he says. "I feel kind of bad."
At her brother's service, Mollie McVicker read a poem. "You've borne your burdens well," read one line. "Walk peacefully on heaven's streets; you've done your time in hell."
Hundreds of residents lined the road along the four-mile route to the cemetery. They wrapped themselves in green West Branch Warriors blankets and waved flags as the procession passed. Old soldiers stood outside the VFW hall and saluted. People held homemade signs like the one that read "See U in heaven." Firefighters parked two bright red engines along the route, extended their ladders and draped a huge American flag above the road.
Stores along State Street locked their doors so employees could join in. "Thank you, Danny," read the sign outside the Rite-Aid. "God bless you, Danny," read the one outside Custom Auto World. "We had lost somebody we knew," said Weingart, the West Branch superintendent.
Carey Meissner, McVicker's mother, remembers how moved she felt that so many people showed up. McVicker's father said he had never seen such a crowd. Not far from the high school, the procession turned into a cemetery off U.S. 62 and stopped by a grave in the veterans section.
Daniel McVicker got his parade.
The day of the funeral turned out clear and sunny. It was the second week of October 2005, the first hint of autumn in the air, and those who came to say goodbye to Lance Cpl. Daniel McVicker bundled themselves against the chill.
McVicker had been outgoing and popular at West Branch. He wore earrings and loved fast cars. He sang in musicals - Guys and Dolls, The Wizard of Oz, Grease. He stayed active in the school concert choir, Young and Alive. During senior year, he served as one of the school's mascots, the assistant Warrior Chief. "Everybody loved him," said classmate Shawna Morrow, Wade's wife.
His parents said he had volunteered several times for duty in Iraq. Finally, in late August 2005, the Marines sent him. Less than two months later, a roadside bomb detonated under the Humvee he was driving near al-Qaim, in western Iraq. The explosion killed McVicker and another Marine from Alabama. Both men were 20. It happened Oct. 6. Daniel, 10:6.
The young man, "his face like lightning, his eyes like flaming torches," was gone. "So many ifs," said Mark McVicker, Daniel's father, "so many could-have-beens ..." By coincidence, Tim Hardy returned home from Iraq the day word came of McVicker's death. He showed up to the funeral in his dress blues. Osberg had seen McVicker only a week earlier in Iraq, just by chance. They ate lunch together, said their goodbyes. Like Hardy, Osberg had come home with his unit. But he couldn't bring himself to attend the funeral. "I just didn't know if I could actually show up," he says. "I feel kind of bad."
At her brother's service, Mollie McVicker read a poem. "You've borne your burdens well," read one line. "Walk peacefully on heaven's streets; you've done your time in hell."
Hundreds of residents lined the road along the four-mile route to the cemetery. They wrapped themselves in green West Branch Warriors blankets and waved flags as the procession passed. Old soldiers stood outside the VFW hall and saluted. People held homemade signs like the one that read "See U in heaven." Firefighters parked two bright red engines along the route, extended their ladders and draped a huge American flag above the road.
Stores along State Street locked their doors so employees could join in. "Thank you, Danny," read the sign outside the Rite-Aid. "God bless you, Danny," read the one outside Custom Auto World. "We had lost somebody we knew," said Weingart, the West Branch superintendent.
Carey Meissner, McVicker's mother, remembers how moved she felt that so many people showed up. McVicker's father said he had never seen such a crowd. Not far from the high school, the procession turned into a cemetery off U.S. 62 and stopped by a grave in the veterans section.
Daniel McVicker got his parade.
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