Boulder City hero buried at Arlington

Benjamin Grove

Tuesday, March 12, 2002 | 9:41 a.m.

WASHINGTON -- "To my dorky bro."

That was the beginning of the last e-mail slain soldier Matthew Commons, 21, sent to his brother Aaron, 18.

It was a single paragraph dashed off in early February from somewhere unknown, continents away.

"His favorite word for me was dork," Aaron said.

In the e-mail, Matthew threatened a beating if his younger brother didn't get good grades. He asked about Aaron's luck with girls.

"And he told me he loved me," Aaron said.

One month later, on March 4, Cpl. Matthew Commons, a Boulder City High School graduate and U.S. Army Ranger, became the youngest of seven soldiers killed in combat in the mountains of eastern Afghanistan.

On Monday roughly 800 family, friends and other mourners gathered for services as he was laid to rest with military honors at Arlington National Cemetery.

The service fell on the six-month anniversary of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks that propelled the U.S. military into war in Afghanistan. It was held less than a mile from the Pentagon, still under reconstruction.

Army Chief of Staff Gen. Eric Shinseki, and top Armed Services Committee Republican Sen. John Warner, R-Va., joined Commons' family and friends at the Arlington ceremony. Mourners draped arms around each others' shoulders and cried. Many flinched as seven soldiers fired three rounds in salute.

Six casket team soldiers used precise motions to neatly fold the U.S. flag that had draped Common's gray coffin. Sgt. First Class Michael Masson presented the flag to Commons' parents.

Commons' family was presented with his medals, a Bronze Star for valor, Purple Heart for wounds in battle and the Meritorious Service Medal.

A lone bugler standing under a tree about 100 feet in the distance played Taps. The simple, mournful tune was the most powerful moment of the ceremony, Commons' mother Patricia Marek later said -- until several of Commons' fellow soldiers from his battalion embraced her, one by one.

"I look at them and I see my son," Marek said. "I said, 'You are all my sons now.' And they said, 'Yes, ma'am. That's what we want.' The military takes care of its own. I feel like I have been unfolded into a new family."

Marek said her spirits were lifted by humorous stories about her son told at a reception after the services.

"We wanted this to be about happy moments and not sad and blubbery -- he wouldn't want that," Marek said. "He was a party guy, you know."

Those gathered for the service painted a portrait of a spirited and tough young soldier who followed his grandfather and father into military service: a sensitive son, a teasing yet loving brother -- part serious and responsible, part fun-loving hell-raiser.

Photographs displayed at the reception showed a playful Commons at different ages -- in one, as a boy near a snowman, smiling and gap-toothed, in a blue snowsuit. In recent photograph, Commons is at the beach on a striped beach chair, wearing sunglasses and a wide grin.

Cousin Adam Commons, 18, recalled a recent vacation and a play battle with paint-ball guns on a Surf City, N.C., beach, in which a hapless stroller was pelted -- twice.

"We always got into a lot of trouble, but when it came down to it, Matt always wanted to do the right thing," said Adam Commons, who admitted that he and his brother -- not Matthew -- had shelled the beach comber. "I joked with him that he shouldn't join the Army because he wasn't even very good at paintball."

Boulder City High classmates recalled Commons' sharp sense of humor, a guy other students admired.

Commons often missed class after lunch because he ate at Del Taco, former Boulder City classmate Michael Hourie, 21, said.

"We were always late," Hourie said. "It was too far to get back in time."

Commons was a standout high school soccer player who commanded his team's defense, several former teammates said. And he became a student council leader.

"He was just a very vocal leader," Eric Vanmeter, 21, said. "Very charismatic."

Commons' grandfathers served in World War II, said his father Greg, now a suburban Washington middle school history teacher who served in the Marine Corps.

Father and son had a service-branch rivalry, Greg Commons said. The two also matched skills in everything from video games to chess and the board game Risk, Commons said.

"We were always competitive," Commons said. "I learned to lose."

Commons had confided to his father that he may be ready to leave the Army and go back to college, and maybe become a history teacher like his dad.

That was the last time Greg Commons spoke to his son, in December.

"I really respected my son and to hear him say, 'I want to be a teacher like you,' that's a prideful experience," Commons said as he took a break from accepting countless condolences Monday.

Commons' parents are divorced, and his mother moved to Virginia just a few weeks ago. She began a new job as a government contractor on the day her son died.

Matthew was deeply concerned about her, she said. He gave her power of attorney while he was away and urged her to write herself checks with his checkbook if she ever needed money, she said.

Mother and son spoke last about three weeks ago, for 23 minutes, Marek said. She did not know where he was.

They talked of books -- they had both read "Lord of the Rings" -- and Marek's new apartment. Even overseas, "he always wanted to take care of me," Marek said. Still, she did not escape his ribbing, even when she was between jobs.

"He'd call me up and say, 'Mom, get a job,' " Marek said.

Amid the laughter Monday, Marek drew strength from others, she said.

"At some point the reality will hit and I will realize that I don't have him to talk to, that I won't have my best friend anymore."

Aaron Commons said he and his brother became even closer as their parents grew apart.

"I was never always with my mom, or always with my dad, but I was always with Matt," he said. "He raised me just as much as my parents did."

To help get him through the services Monday, Aaron held an Army Ranger coin, given to him Sunday by a Ranger who never met his brother. Aaron said he will miss Matthew's mischievious grin.

"He smiled like he knew something about you, and he was getting ready to laugh at you," Aaron said. "He'd get this slight upturn of his lips and then he'd break into a full smile."

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