So I’m sailing for tomorrow, my dreams are a’dyin’
And my love is an anchor tied to you, tied with a silver chain.
I have my ship, and all her flags are a-flying!
She is all that I have left, and music is her name.
- Crosby, Stills & Nash, Southern Cross
Standards. Banners. Gonfalons. Oriflammes. Vellums. Tughs. Pennants. Banderoles.
Call them what you will and sure, throw in some bunting for the heck of it. They’re all forms of flags.
Flags have always stood at the center of man’s ideas, ideals, achievements, aspirations and defeats. Throughout history, people everywhere have rallied around flags, from time immemorial when flags were crude marks of identity and symbols of great emotion, to the upheavals and great revolutions that saw the emergence of today’s nation-states and their respective national colors. For over 5,000 years of human history, flags have flown from battle spears and masts, crenelated towers and bullet-ridden high grounds, or have stood proudly behind heads of state. Long before the masses of humanity communicated through the written word, flags were the universally spoken tongue.
One of the greatest human accomplishments was landing men on the moon. The entire world watched in awe on static TV screens as Neil and Buzz clumsily bounded about the lunar surface, culminating their brief visit with a simple act that welled pride in the breast of all of humanity: planting the American flag on the lunar surface. A giant leap for mankind.
Similarly, after weeks of savage fighting and slaughter in a battle that was the precursor to ultimate victory in the Pacific during WWII, a group of American Marines hastily raised the flag atop Mount Suribachi on the rocky island atoll of Iwo Jima, the visage of which we’ve all seen in old war films and is memorialized by a magnificent sculpture in our nation’s capital. Would our national history be nearly as gloriously ascribed without those flags?
The entire focus of the words of our national anthem speaks of the flag, while the simple pledge we all used to make every morning in school was likewise dedicated. And at a military funeral, as Taps sound on the bugle, the flag that draped the casket is ceremoniously folded (“The 13 Folds of Old Glory”) and presented to the closest family member with the words, “On behalf of… a grateful nation… please accept this flag… as a symbol….” Yes, flags are important. And especially, our flag, I think.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, we wiped the virile plague of it off the face of the earth decades ago, yet we all still recoil in repulsive revulsion at the site of a pure red background with a circular white field contrasting the twisted black angles of the swastika on the Nazi flag. Even in these modern maritime times, we all still recognize the threat and menacing intent of the white skull and crossbones against the black field of the pirate flag. Going back further than anyone can remember – and no doubt continuing further ahead than we can imagine – the simple white flag of surrender is universal to all peoples and cultures. And is there any more symbolic gesture to commit in a public square to make known the rejection and repudiation of a flag’s representation than the burning of it? Yeah, flags can speak harsh truths, wrong or right.
Going back some decades to before these days of constant communication, our NJ Shore home had a flagstaff mounted to the corner of the railing on the second-floor deck. It stood straight up in the open, not on a flag pole rising from the ground, but still out in the open enough that it took in wind from 360 degrees so it was an accurate indicator both of direction and strength. I remember many nights hearing it whipping and snapping outside, talking to me in the dark with the overnight forecast. But it served another purpose, too. During the off-season when you never knew which neighbors had likewise slipped down for a weekend of off-season island fun and you’d love to catch up with them (and a lot of us had the phone turned off for the winter), we put out the flag to say “We’re here, check back later”, because the winterized house was still just as shut up looking when you were out running errands and there was no car in the driveway. We had many wonderful fireside beachy winter nights reuniting with summer friends because of that flag’s simple message.
I’m a big flag flier, especially on the 4th: always a new magnificent stars and stripes, Old Glory in her red, white and blue resplendence; and the snake and simple words of the yellow Gadsden (“Don’t Tread on Me”) flag that I break out just on that one day. And for this year, I now have a Wallace flag, whole clan plaid tartan and the arm with a sword “Pro Liberate” motto in 3’ x 5’ glory. Those are my life’s streaming pennants.
And waving off the back of a boat – any boat, power or sail – does the flag not just add something… special, to the look of the vessel? It lends gravitas and appears ever so proper. If your vessel doesn’t fly one, shame on you! (Please see the accompanying photos.)
Now there is one point of contention I’d like to address, which is keeping the flag flying at night. On military bases, the American flag is to be flown from sunrise to sunset and part of the ceremony for service members is tending to that flag. Flag Duty. And they have a lot of people up long before reveille to do the honors, then likewise to take it down at sunset as the bugle sounds retreat. It’s a very important military tradition embodying absolute respect.
Similarly, outside your civilian home, the rules are likewise codified, but there are no penalties proscribed for violators. I refer to Public Law 944-344 94th Congress and Amendments Thereof for all the details. Suffice it to say, it says all flags maintained by civilians should likewise adhere to the dawn/dusk schedule for properly displaying the flag, with an exception.
“The flag may be displayed 24 hours a day if properly illuminated during hours of darkness.”
And here I exercise my American Freedom.
I love and respect our flag. And my respect remains when it’s flying until I retire for the night because I slip outside to puff a cigar well after dusk and the flag is a presence at those quiet moments. I like to just watch it rustle in the gentle night breezes before I finally bring it in. It’s kinda like an old trusted friend almost, with a soul of sorts… or at least, with glorious memories. But condo rules say I can’t install a light so I’ve decreed Citizen’s Special Dispensation. It’s illuminated by 50 white stars shining upon itself, and twinkling in my thoughts and that’s good enough.
A few final notes. Sure, all flags eventually wear out and you don’t have to replace yours the moment one edge shows the first signs of a tatter. But whenever you do decide to replace it with a new one, properly dispose of the old one by taking it to any VHF Post or fire station. And when hanging the flag vertically, it’s right-handed from the flag’s point of view, so as you’re looking at it the blue star field should always be to the left.
And lastly, I’ve seen the flag depicted in so many various forms, on so many various things, in so many various ways, and I think it’s all wonderful. But on clothing, most times I think it’s inappropriate and disrespectful – with one exception of which I’ve seen several justifiable diversifications as to the distribution of red, white, blue, stars and stripes: the star-spangled bikini.
“Oh, say does that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave… O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?!”