Happy Birthday to My Brother Doug!

The last time I saw Doug alive I gave him a 1993 James Madison Silver Dollar. 1993 because that’s the year he was born. A silver dollar because that’s the way things are done.

A centuries-old tradition in the United States Military demands newly commissioned officers pay one silver dollar to the enlisted troop who first salutes him. When I commissioned in the Air Force, I paid a silver dollar apiece to my two brothers, both enlisted soldiers.

That 1993 silver dollar was returned to me after Doug’s passing just over two months later and now sits in a place of honor in my office.

The history of the “Silver Dollar Salute,” as it’s often called, is a muddled one. Like many traditions, its genesis is uncertain. Ideas abound, and probably one of them is true, which describe the origin of the ceremony. A hushed but popular notion amongst enlistedmen holds that a newly minted officer hasn’t yet earned the salute meritoriously, and that showing such a formal indication of respect to a “butter bar” would be disingenuous without a piece of silver to sweeten the deal. Considering I paid twice the usual rate, this explanation admittedly makes me blush.

Another legend – and one that better serves my purposes here – is that the tradition was spurred by the discontinuation of another practice. Colonial Lieutenants during the American Revolution would personally compensate designated enlisted advisors with one dollar per month for teaching and mentoring them as they began their profession in arms. Thus, the Silver Dollar Salute became a reverent token of appreciation from the Officer to the Sergeant for lessons learned and guidance given.

As Doug’s older brother, I seldom if ever saw myself as the apprentice in our relationship. Indeed, he looked up to me and followed my lead. I interpreted his infantile cries and helped him tie his shoes. I had a taller bicycle. I got the top bunk. And I’m the one who stood up for him to bullies. So when I slipped that 1993 James Madison into Doug’s hand after returning his salute, I didn’t do it out of reverential gratitude…

But whenever I look at it now, that’s what I feel.

All those years I had it wrong. I wasn’t just speaking for him. He relied on me to do it. I wasn’t just double-knotting his shoes. He was trusting me to tie them. I wasn’t just defending him from childhood tormenters. He had faith that I’d protect him. Being Doug’s brother made me who I am: the attorney, the officer, the husband, the father, the friend. In a lot of ways, I learned to love from Doug. I learned to serve from Doug. And now, after a lifetime of stoicism, I’ve even learned to cry from Doug. I’m forever grateful for my little brother. Reverentially grateful to my little brother. And especially grateful he’s still my little brother.

Happy birthday, Doug. Love you.