Late Monday afternoon, the local Fox affiliate in Nashville posted a story on their X account about a local man, Lonnie D. Wayman, a U.S. Navy veteran, who had passed without any known family or friends.
The post said that Wayman would be laid to rest with full military honors. And it encouraged the public to attend, hoping to ensure that Wayman would be honored and not laid to rest alone.
I saw the post and quickly sent out my own, encouraging anyone I knew in Nashville to “do your thing,” be the people you always are, and show up for those who served our country.
I wasn’t the only one. Soon, the plea went viral as larger and larger accounts with a Tennessee presence, such as country legend John Rich, were also sharing the call.
While local veterans groups were expected to show up, no one really knew what would happen Tuesday morning. By 8 a.m., the answer was evident when hundreds of cars and trucks lined the roads leading to Middle Tennessee State Veterans Cemetery located at 7931 McCrory Lane.
A deep dive into newspaper articles finds scant few mentions of Lonnie Wayman. A visit with his grandmother in a local paper was noted, but that was about all that I could find.
The outpouring, however, was remarkable. There were children, parents, young people, local law enforcement, bikers with veteran emblems on their jackets, who not only lined the cemetery road, they poured into the chapel, praying, singing, and respecting the life of a man they never knew.
No one knew what his race was, his political affiliation, his religious beliefs, or lack thereof. They just knew he deserved the respect for his service, that his name should be said long after he was gone, that he was every bit a part of the fabric of who we are.
During the service, Veterans Affairs Chaplain Conard Donarski mentioned that he met Lonnie Wayman, 74, at the hospice. But by the time that the service was over, it was clear that Donarksi had found a connection with Lonnie; dressed in his white robes, he took a moment outside before taps were played to take in what happens when we use social media for good.
“We put the word out and look what happened,” Donarski said with wonder.
“Part of you showed up to say thank you for our freedom. Thank you, Lord, for someone else who served in uniform,” he said, then paused and pointed to a group of children who were in attendance with their parents.
‘Thank you for the example for the next generation,” he said to both the parents, as well as the children. “How absolutely wonderful.”
The chaplain then said, “Let us all now pay this person, as well as ourselves, a moment of respect.”
Everyone then bowed in prayer and silence as taps played.
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It was the best of us. It was the best of our virtues rooted in both place and community — often believed to have been abandoned, but which always show up in time. Not because we are asked but because we are compelled to do the greater good for our fellow man.
Nashville and its environs did their thing on Tuesday. It was a good thing, one that shows that respect for our fellow man still runs through our blood, and despite all of the forces that try to undermine that, we aren’t going to let them.