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By Martin Snapp Blue and gold mingled with red, white, and blue as they said goodbye to Mark Bingham ’93 September 17 on his beloved Berkeley campus. As probably the whole world knows by now, he was one of at least four heroes—there may have been others we don’t know about—of United Flight 93, who stormed the hijackers and prevented the plane from crashing into the U.S. Capitol, at the cost of their own lives. The memorial service was held on the Cal campus because Mark has to have been the No. 1 Bear rooter of all time. A rugby star who led the Golden Bears to the ’91 and ’93 national titles, he never spent a day of his adult life without the words “Go Bears” crossing his lips. He once sent a letter to his mom that read, “Dear Mom, Go Bears! [repeated 100 times] Love, Mark.” His affection for his alma mater was matched only by his contempt for that other school down on the Peninsula, which he insisted on calling “Leland Stanfurd Junior College.” He never, ever, wore red. And who can forget the awful Big Game nine years ago, when Stanford was running up the score on the Bears, and the Stanford mascot, the Tree, was prancing up and down the sidelines, taunting the Cal fans. Remember how someone jumped out of the stands and—how shall we put it?—“defoliated” the Tree? That was Mark Bingham.
Mark’s friends and family flew in from all over the country for the service. But there were also many people, like me, who never knew him but wish they had. The service was held in Wheeler Auditorium. I must admit, it was strange to be sitting in the same room where I had attended so many anti-war meetings back in the ’60s. I got there early, so I took a few minutes to duck downstairs to the basement to use the men’s room. I was the only one in the room. Then the door opened, and in walked a guy in a dark suit who stood at the urinal next to me. I looked at him and couldn’t believe my eyes: It was John McCain. I gaped in astonishment until he realized that I was too dumbstruck to speak. He stuck out his hand and said, “Hi. I’m John McCain.” We talked for a few minutes about the anti-war rally at Sproul Plaza earlier in the week, and I told him what I truly believe: that while there are a lot of people in Berkeley who are opposed to fighting, there are also a lot of people in Berkeley who aren’t. “I know,” he said. “People in Berkeley are just as patriotic as people everywhere else.” The service began with the Men’s Octet singing “The Star-Spangled Banner” and, of course, “Hail To California” (with its final words, “Fighting ’neath her standard/We shall sure prevail” having tragic new meaning in the wake of recent events). Then some of Mark’s friends, family, and former teachers got up to speak; the picture they painted was of a vibrant, fun-loving young man who, as his lifelong friend Cameron Dawson put it, “drank from the cup of life with both hands on the cup.” Another friend described him as “a big Labrador puppy of a man, forever bounding through life.” They talked about his passion for rugby, his love of adventure (last spring he ran with the bulls in Pamplona), his penchant for mischievous pranks, and the tall tales he’d tell to try to get out of trouble for having pulled them. They talked about his open heart, his generosity, his knack for making everyone feel included, and his fierce loyalty to the many, many people he loved—especially his mother, Alice Hoglan. (Over his desk in his office, he hung a sign reading, “Alice Hoglan is a goddess!”) The speeches were interspersed with two multimedia slide shows, featuring snapshots of Mark that made many in the audience laugh knowingly. Then Paul Holm ’83, Boalt ’89, the man with whom Mark had a six-year relationship, spoke. Listening to him, I swelled with pride over the fact that Mark was gay, even though I’m straight myself. I couldn’t help thinking, “Take that, Jerry Falwell! Let’s see you try to mouth off about gays now!” The next-to-last speaker was McCain. He made it quite clear why he had flown all the way across the country to be there: He wanted to thank the man who saved his life. McCain was in the Capitol that terrible morning. So was every other Senator and Representative, plus hundreds of Congressional staffers. Worst of all, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of schoolchildren visit the Capitol every day. You can see their tour buses stretching for blocks and blocks. Mark Bingham, Todd Beamer, Tom Burnett, and Jeremy Glick saved them all. They also saved the Capitol itself, the temple of our democracy. They saved the Rotunda, where martyred presidents from Lincoln to Kennedy have lain in state. They saved priceless paintings and irreplaceable historic artifacts. Without those brave men, the unspeakable horror of Black Tuesday would have been even worse. McCain quoted the Gospel of John—“Greater love hath no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friends”— adding, “The only way I can thank Mark is to try to be as good an American as he was.” McCain’s remarks were much appreciated by the audience, and he got a long round of applause. But not a standing ovation. That was reserved for the final speaker, Mark’s mom, who got two. The first came when McCain introduced her: Everyone rose as one to thank her for producing and nourishing such a wonderful son. The second came when she sat down again, after she said, “God bless you for coming here, God bless Mark Bingham, and God bless America.” There are many great paintings in the Capitol, the building that was saved by Mark Bingham and his band of brothers. They depict the great heroes of every generation. (The most recent one is a group portrait of the Challenger astronauts.) Some of the walls are still blank. They’re being reserved for the heroes yet unborn and the great deeds yet to be done. I reminded McCain of this when we were talking in the basement of Wheeler Hall, and I said, “Senator, I think it’s time for a new painting.” “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s already in the works.” Thank you, Mark. Say hi to Nathan Hale. I think you two will have a lot to say to each other. And, of course: Go Bears! Martin Snapp, Boalt ’72, is a columnist for the Hills Newspaper chain, which includes the Berkeley Voice.  Return to Top |
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