Ceremony

Procession

3:06 p.m., Tuesday afternoon, January 2, 2007. Former president Gerald R. Ford’s remains have landed in Grand Rapids, at the airport bearing his name, and I am in position on a bridge overlooking I-196, which feeds into I-96, one of two major expressways cutting east-west across the bottom half of Michigan. There are already sixty people lined up on this or the next overpass east of here. We are waiting for the motorcade, which the police officer tells me is running late.

It is light outside. Bright and clear. A good day for ceremony.

According to one of the many press re­leases, “the remains will depart the museum with ceremony and proceed to Grace Episcopal Church for a private funeral ser­vice.” The remains will arrive at the church with ceremony, and will depart the church with ceremony.

Two University of Michigan songs will be played as part of the arrival ceremony: “The Victors” and “The Yellow and Blue.” Most people know the first one from tele­vision, though probably not the second. Ford played football for the University of Michigan; his number was ceremonially retired. This music is meaningful and spe­cific, and was selected in advance by Ford himself for the various ceremonies. The funeral and interment services, ar­rivals, and departures will be sound­tracked by a preponderance of Bach and a number of traditional hymns, most of which I recognize.

I return to my car for warmth and music. I sit here on this strange-weathered day contem­plating Gerald R. Ford, who is re­ferred to almost exclusively with the full name and the R. I listen to pop music on the factory-installed stereo in my Subaru, specifically “Cere­mony” by the British band New Order. I am here along with these other thousands gathering to “line the streets,” as the television stations’ websites exhort us to do, in honor of Ford’s remains’ return to their childhood home. Can remains be said to have a childhood home? Our culture certainly thinks so. Place of burial is important. It accrues meaning. Ford had asked to be interred here, in the crypt on the Ford museum grounds that has been waiting for him ever since I moved back to Michigan four years ago.

Ford is one of two important Fords in Michigan.

Now the crowd has doubled. They are waiting. I am waiting. I am waiting for them and for the motorcade, for the ceremony of it, the pomp and circumstance. Many people are dressed up for this. Black is appropriate, goth appropriate, fu­neral appropriate, though I’m not wearing it.

“Ceremony” is almost certainly one of New Order’s best songs. I say almost because it’s an iffy choice since it was...