In remembrance
Town honors fallen soldier, gives his wife a baby shower
In the wake of America’s longest- running war, a widowed mother and a fallen soldier symbolize ever- mounting loss./
On a late- summer Saturday, a procession of fire engines, motorcycles and squad cars escorted a van down Main Street, greeted by clusters of flagwaving folks. By the time the caravan had arrived at the American Legion hall, a crowd had gathered; lines of police, firefighters and the military parted to form a path of honor.
Krista Johnston stepped from the van — an impossibly young widow. She wore her husband’s favorite blueandpink Hawaiian shirt; it seemed too big even over her pregnant belly.
Sgt. James Johnston, an explosive ordnance disposal specialist, had been killed along with a Green Beret on June 25 in Uruzgan Province in south- central Afghanistan. Two months later, his adopted Finger Lakes hometown had come together over a holiday weekend to pay tribute, and to say goodbye.
In fact, Johnston hadn’t lived here long. But he’d quickly adopted the rituals and rhythms of smalltown life. He was No. 55, a tenacious lineman for the Trumansburg Blue Raiders, taking the field under the Friday night lights. He was the gung- ho volunteer firefighter. He also was the loyal friend, the comic relief, the Hawaiian shirt aficionado, the blisteringly honest high school sweetheart- turnedhusband of Krista, whose own father was so fond of him he called him the “son I never had.”
And now, he was Trumansburg’s contribution to the list of some 2,300 American dead in the war in Afghanistan.
Those deaths have been easy to overlook. Though the recent cancellation of peace talks between the U. S. and the Taliban has attracted headlines, Afghanistan’s war has long been relegated to news briefs. It’s the nation’s longest war — the youngest enlistees weren’t even born 18 years ago when the U. S. invaded Afghanistan and the hunt began for Osama bin Laden. But the bloodshed has seemed far distant, unless it claimed a son, a friend, a lover.
With its celebration of James Gregory Johnston, the war came home to this hamlet in upstate New York.
At the legion hall,
24- year- old Krista watched the time- honored military traditions: the 21gun salute, the playing of taps and the presentation of a flag that had flown over the U. S. Capitol. The next day, the hall had been transformed for a baby shower with towering piles of gifts amid pink and blue balloons, as Krista entered wearing a Hawaiian floral dress with a whiteandgold “mother- to- be” ribbon tied around her midsection.
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It seemed inevitable James Johnston would become a soldier.
As a toddler, he’d dig foxholes in his front yard. His mother, Meghan Billiot, recalls he once asked to have a toy driver’s license created for him with the designation “Special Forces” and code name Silver Falcon.
Jamie sometimes wore Army fatigues for Halloween; other times, he was Robin Hood or Superman. His costumes varied; his message didn’t. “He was always that person who was saving somebody,” his mother says. “He always wanted to stand up for people who were the underdog.”
He was comfortable around guns; his father, Richard, bought him his first rifle at age 10 and he became an expert marksman.
The military suited him, too. “He liked the fraternity, the sense of belonging,” his father says.
And as the son, grandson and nephew of veterans, Jamie had generations of family to turn to for knowledge, advice — and inspiration.
He was just five days shy of his 7th birthday when terrorists attacked America, killing nearly 3,000 people. On Oct. 7, 2001, the U. S. invaded Afghanistan, setting out to topple the Taliban, crush al Qaida and find bin Laden.
A decade later, Bin Laden was killed in Pakistan during a dramatic nighttime raid by a team of Navy Seals. But the battles, the bombings and the debate over troop size continued as the freckle- faced kid who pretended to be a soldier grew up to be one.
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Krista had learned she was pregnant the day before her husband was deployed. It was an especially emotional moment, she says, because they’d been trying to start a family for two years and she’d miscarried recently. But how to deliver the news? Jamie loved gifts, so she printed a message on a piece of paper, framed it, put it in a box and handed it to him that night. It read:
“Boyfriend 2012 Fiance 2014 Husband 2014 Father 2019.” Jamie opened the box, stared at the message, then turned around with tears rolling down his face. “It was the first time I’d see him cry in the seven years we’d been together,” she recalls. She cried, too. The next morning, he headed to war.
Nine weeks later, Krista told Jamie they’d be having a girl.
He started pondering post- military life. He called his father- in- law to discuss possible business ventures.
On June 25th, Krista and Jamie did what they’d done since he arrived in Afghanistan. He messaged her that he’d be going on an operation. “Be safe. I love you,” she’d responded, and she awaited word that he had returned safely.
This time, there was silence.
Johnston and Master Sgt. Micheal Riley, a Green Beret, were killed in combat; the military said they died from injuries sustained in small arms fire, but did not elaborate.
Two and a half months later, on the 18th anniversary of the Sept. 11 terrorist attack, Johnston’s unit returned from Afghanistan.
Krista and Richard Johnston were among those waiting at Fort Hood. Six months earlier, she’d said goodbye to her husband at that same spot.
Amid the reunions, there was a surprise for Krista — a tribute to her husband, bold and colorful, befitting his personality.
As James Johnston’s buddies stepped off the bus, each man wore a Hawaiian shirt.