Once the flashing red lights emerged in the distance, people on
the northern side of First Street crossed en masse, guided by their
hearts to enclose the fallen young man and his family in a tunnel
of support.
Once the flashing red lights emerged in the distance, people on the northern side of First Street crossed en masse, guided by their hearts to enclose the fallen young man and his family in a tunnel of support.
For a long time, while hundreds of cars passed in procession, silence was code. No one spoke.
Gilroyans clutched their flags in tribute and shed tears as family and friends passed. Fittingly, the sun lowered itself behind the mountains moments before the motorcade carrying young Jeramy Ailes to the cemetery appeared.
Tragedy and triumph weighed heavily in the chilly air. Though grief-laden, Gilroyans would not allow the loss of one of their own in battle to pass hidden and hushed into the dark gray night of history. There would be a stoic glow of triumphant support to balance the scales of such a harsh injustice.
Marine Corps Lance Cpl. Ailes, shot and killed in battle in Fallujah, Iraq, at age 22, would receive a fitting final send-off in his hometown. His family would see the support and feel the soul of Gilroy. On this saddest of occasions, they would not be alone. They would not be left to wonder how many cared. They would not shoulder this grief without a helping hand.
Gilroy would show the world that Jeramy’s sacrifice meant something to all of us. We would solemnly agree that this young man, who just a few short years ago, played the joyful prankster at Gilroy High, died an American hero.
His beloved “Baja Bug,” the car he tinkered with in his neighborhood, drove lustily on the sand dunes and loudly around town, led the funeral motorcade. That gut-wrenching sight stopped everyone: the juxtaposition of the car he enjoyed against the backdrop of flags and faces of people who came to know Jeramy Ailes through the stories they read and heard gave rise to a chorus of choked-back emotion.
Jeramy’s “bug” embodied his spirit: fun and mischievous. Two good friends drove the car through the sea of flags toward Jeramy’s final resting place. His family followed. They must have been overwhelmed at the outpouring. Many were. It is a great sadness to bury one so young in the name of freedom. And yet, it is a great comfort to come from a place where “strangers” care, where community means more than the word.
So in the finest Gilroy tradition, we rallied around Pat DeLeon’s wonderful idea to line the street and pay our deep respects. Veterans who had lost limbs, firefighters, children with a relative in the service, motorcycle vets and ordinary citizens held out their flags and their hearts.
An unforgettable scene emerged freezing our town in a time of sadness that was also one of our finest hours.
We are indebted to the Ailes family for allowing us that privilege. Our salute to Jeramy will never be forgotten. And in that salute, his memory will also live.
