Some moments define us—not the grand gestures that make headlines, but the quiet acts of devotion that speak to who we are at our core. For nearly ten years, Skip Nix has embodied such a moment every Memorial Day, standing at attention on a busy Greensboro corner in his Marine dress blues, holding his father’s folded American flag.
I cannot pretend to walk in Skip’s shoes. I haven’t served in uniform or felt the weight of a rifle or the brotherhood forged in basic training. But I understand something about loss- the void left by those who gave everything for our freedom. My own family carries such a wound—my father lost his brother, Private Lee Roy Smith, in active combat in France on November 25, 1944, during World War II. That loss shaped my father’s entire life, just as it has shaped mine in ways I’m still discovering.
Skip Nix understands this kind of loss intimately now. This Memorial Day will mark the first time in years that his nephew, Sergeant Dale Nix of the Greensboro Police Department, won’t be quietly stationed behind him, watching his six. Dale was gunned down in December while trying to stop a crime, leaving behind not just a grieving family but a community that had come to depend on his service.
At 67, Skip could easily spend his Memorial Day like most Americans—at barbecues, enjoying the unofficial start of summer. Instead, he chooses to stand for two hours in the heat, his aging body protesting with diabetes and a damaged shoulder, because he believes someone needs to remember. Someone needs to remind the rest of us that, as he puts it, “freedom is not free.”
This isn’t about politics or posturing. Skip’s annual vigil at the corner of Wendover Avenue and Landview Drive represents something more profound—recognizing that our daily freedoms were purchased with blood, sacrifice, and tears that most of us will never fully comprehend.
When Skip enlisted in the Marines at 18, just two weeks after graduating from Smith High School here in Greensboro, he joined a tradition of service that would define his entire life. I spent thirty-five years with the Greensboro Fire Department, rising to assistant chief. Even in retirement, he found ways to serve, to honor those who came before.
What started as a personal act of remembrance has grown into something larger. Skip has been contacted by people from Japan, Australia, Spain, England, and across the United States—all moved by photos and stories of this Marine veteran standing guard over memory itself. He’s shown us that individual acts of honor can resonate far beyond our own neighborhoods, our own understanding.
For families like mine, who carry the permanent ache of loss, Skip’s tradition offers something precious: validation that our loved ones’ sacrifices matter, that they haven’t been forgotten in our rush toward the next holiday, the next distraction, the next complaint about inconvenience.
My father rarely spoke about his brother Lee Roy, but when he did, his voice would change. There was pride there but also a profound sadness that never fully healed. Lee Roy was just 21 when he died in France, probably not much different from the young Marines Skip served alongside, or the young police officers Dale worked with. They were sons, brothers, friends—people with dreams and futures that were cut short so that ours could continue.
Dale Nix embodied the quiet heroism that defines true service. He never stood beside his uncle during those Memorial Day vigils, never sought recognition or cameras. Instead, he positioned himself where he could watch over Skip, ready to step in if needed. “I’ve got your six,” Skip explains—that military promise that someone has your back, someone is watching out for you.
This year, that physical presence will be gone, but Dale’s influence will remain in the memorial sign that honors his service, in the other officers who have promised to continue watching over Skip, and in the example he set of service without fanfare.
Skip plans to continue this tradition until he’s 70, when he hopes another veteran will take over. But the real power of his example isn’t just in the physical act of standing at attention—it’s in the reminder that remembrance requires intention, that honor demands action, and that freedom truly isn’t free.
We live in a time when it’s easy to take our liberties for granted, to assume that democracy and safety happen naturally. Skip’s annual vigil reminds us otherwise. Every right we exercise, every peaceful night we sleep, every complaint we’re free to voice exists because people like Lee Roy Smith and Dale Nix were willing to put themselves between us and harm.
I cannot wear Skip’s uniform or share his specific service experience. But I can recognize the debt we all owe and understand that behind every folded flag is a family changed forever, a future that will never unfold as planned.
This Memorial Day, as Skip takes his position at Wendover and Landview—fighting through physical pain and emotional loss—he’ll be standing not just for Dale, but for all of them. For Lee Roy Smith and the thousands who fell in World War II. For every service member who didn’t make it home from Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, and conflicts whose names we’ve already begun to forget.
He’ll stand because someone must remember that Memorial Day isn’t about sales, barbecues, or the start of summer. It’s about recognizing that our freedom was purchased at a price most of us will never be asked to pay, by people who chose to pay it anyway.
Skip’s salute is more than a gesture—it’s a promise—a promise to remember, to honor, and to never let their sacrifice become just another forgotten piece of history.
As Americans prepare for cookouts and long weekends, maybe we can all take a moment to stand with Skip in spirit. To remember that freedom isn’t free, that someone always pays the price, and that the least we can do is make sure their sacrifice means something.
To Skip Nix: Thank you for guarding our memory and showing us what honor looks like in practice.
You are not forgotten to Dale Nix, Lee Roy Smith, and all who served.
Freedom is not free.
If Skip Nix’s story moves you, consider taking a moment this Memorial Day to honor a fallen service member in your own family or community.
