Memorials: Even those who disagreed pay tribute.
— One by one, visitors made their way to the dirt road that, on Sunday, meant so much more.
It was the road televisions nationwide showed illuminated with law enforcement vehicles the previous night — the path the late Sen. John McCain traversed for his final time as news spread of his Saturday death.
By daybreak Sunday, mourners in this rural community — one McCain came to love — had erected a small shrine in his honor.
Some left flowers.
Others letters.
Many brought American flags to lay next to the handmade sign bearing the message, “Sen. McCain thank you for your service.”
Visitors here remembered him as a “patriot,” a “war hero” and a “salt of the earth” kind of man. Some wrote short, simple messages on the sign: “You are our hero. Godspeed.”
Some gave a salute before walking away. Others stood silent, holding their hands and their hats over their hearts before beginning the drive home to Rimrock, Clarkdale or Phoenix — the capital city where memorials big and small were also in the works.
Luis Aniceto, a 43-year-old Phoenix resident, made the 100-mile drive north to the Cornville memorial Sunday morning. He brought an ornate, handmade vase from Mexico. In it, he stuffed flowers and American flags.
He made the drive alone. He carried the vase across the road in silence.
“To tell you the truth, a tear drop rolled down,” he said. “We lost a huge man yesterday. I’m totally not a Republican — far from it — but you have to respect him.”
He carried his vase the couple hundred feet from his car to the memorial, pausing once to say, “I cannot believe it.”
Standing guard at the mortuary
As Arizona awoke to its first day without McCain, 18year-old Aaron Cartland was already standing guard next to a makeshift memorial that had grown in the hours after McCain’s body arrived at A.L. Moore-Grimshaw Mortuary in uptown Phoenix.
His crisp, white shirt was soaked with sweat. It was barely 8 a.m. Still, he planned to brave the sweltering heat — the high temperature surpassed 100 degrees Saturday in Phoenix — for six hours.
It was his way of paying respect to the senator. The 13 members of the POW/MIA/KIA Honor Guard planned to remain outside of the mortuary around-theclock until McCain’s body is moved to the capitol. Then, they will do the same there.
The group provides the same honor to dozens of vetdanas erans each year, but this one is different for Cartland and his mother, Marion Cartland.
She had grown to know McCain well while serving at different military events over the years. The McCains had always supported her son’s chapter of the U.S. Naval Sea Cadet Corp.
“It’s a state senator who spent nearly 40 years serving this state,” she said. “He had such a passion and commitment to his fellow veterans.”
The memorial grew through the day as passersby trickled in to pay their respects.
The guarding continued, too.
“We are here because he is family. He is a brother and we are here out of honor and respect,” Lt. Jay Meyers of the U.S. Naval Sea Cadet Corpsaid. “... Whether you agree or disagree, he is a fallen brother, and we are here for him and that is what matters.”
A quiet crowd in a Phoenix courtyard
It was quiet in the small courtyard outside of McCain’s Phoenix office Sunday morning.
The four white candles placed by mourners overnight had all blown out, but the bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes were visible reminders of the late senator’s impact.
“Often disagreed, but always respected you,” one person wrote in marker on a large blue poster. “Thank you for your service and leaving our nation better than you found it.”
“Prayers and deep gratitude,” was scrawled in shaky handwriting on a small card tucked into a bouquet of white roses and purple flowers. The buds were already beginning to wilt in the morning heat.
Glendale resident James Bolton struggled to find a place for his own bouquet on the overflowing decorative wall. He settled on an open spot next to the makeshift memorial as he wiped tears from his eyes.
Bolton installed fiber optic cables throughout the complex where McCain’s office was. He can still picture McCain exiting the front door of the building to make the short walk across the courtyard back to his Phoenix condo a few hundred feet away.
The lone mourner re-lit the candles.
He paid his respects to the man he credited with making him a better person.
“There’s not many more guys like him left,” Bolton said. “He was just here, and now he’s gone. It’s hard to believe.”
‘To talk across the aisle’
Some in the Valley went to the mortuary or the office or planned their visit to the capitol.
Others took a road trip.
Vincent Hood drove to Cornville from the YavapaiPrescott Indian Tribe reservation. He wore two banCORNVILLE on his head. One was red, and the other was blue — each were for a political party.
Sweat pooling beneath his bandanas, he tied his tribute, a small wood etching, to the thick brush.
“I think that was his message,” he said through tears. “To talk across the aisle.”
‘A hell of an American’
Life went on in Cottonwood. Churchgoers attended their Sunday services, shoppers filled the thrift stores and families ran their weekend errands. They walked past a chalkboard in the Safeway off Main Street that bore a simple message:
“It is your character and your character alone that will make your life happy or unhappy.
“John McCain. 1936-2018. Rest in peace, beloved friend.”
One vase just off Page Springs Road bore a handwritten message on a purple Post-It Note: “John McCain, you are our hero. RIP.”
Others left a wreath on the center of the site’s sign, enclosing a miniature POW-MIA flag. They left a blackand-white photo of a young McCain in his Navy days.
Some shared stories they heard about the McCain family.
Others said they appreciated his military service. “I didn’t always agree with him, but he was a real hero,” said Clarkdale resident Laura Koch. “My son has a business in Phoenix, and he’s done their floors several times. He said, ‘Cindy’s so nice, she always buys us pizza.’”
If they spoke at all, those visiting and mourning weren’t talking politics. They were honoring a man they saw as the definition of an American.
“I’m not a Republican, but I really respected the way he rolled,” said Christy Gardner, a Rimrock resident. “A hell of an American.”