Pictured is Danny Golson reading the names of those who died in service of their country. Photo credit Gazette staff.

Pictured is the Rt. Rev. Robert Hammond who gave the inspirational speech, including Psalms 23 and 65, and Isaiah 25:6-9. He ended with John 15:13, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Photo credit Gazette Staff.

Above are Fillmore’s Boy Scout Troop 406 holding flags representing the five branches of the military. The troop, as well as Cub Scout Troop 3400, helped with the Pledge of Allegiance during the Memorial Day ceremony. Photo credit Gazette Staff.

Monday, May 25, 2026, Bardsdale Cemetery held its annual Memorial Day Service. At 11am the public was invited to honor those who sacrificed their lives in service to our country. This year’s speaker was Jamie Arundell Latshaw. Also, the Rt. Rev. Bishop Ordinary Robert Hammond gave the inspirational message. Music was provided by local resident Greg Agostinelli. The local VFW Post 9637 and Boy Scout Troop 406 assisted with the program. Danny Golson read the names who died in service of their country. Taps was performed by board member Bill Morris. Water and cookies were provided after the service.
Below is Jamie Arundell-Latshaw’s speech in full:
Memorial Day Speech
Jamie Arundell – Latshaw
May 25, 2026
It is an honor to be here in Fillmore, the town where I grew up, on Memorial Day, in a place set apart for remembrance. There are some places where words feel too small, and a cemetery on Memorial Day is one of them. We gather here with gratitude, with humility, and with the understanding that this day is not about speeches or pageantry. It is about memory. It is about sacrifice. And it is about the men and women who gave their lives in service to this country.
Memorial Day is different from Veterans Day. Veterans Day honors all who have served. Memorial Day asks us to pause and remember those who never got to come home, those who did not get the chance to grow old, raise families, build careers, or tell their own stories. It is a day to remember the fallen, to honor their families, and to reflect on the cost of the freedoms we enjoy.
I grew up in a family where service was part of the story. As many of you know, my mom and dad were elementary school teachers out at Piru. As the daughter of two teachers, I witnessed my parents serving every day. Serving their students, their school, their community. But before my dad, Jim Arundell, served as an educator, he served in the United States Marine Corps. My uncle, John Arundell, served in the Marine Corps in Vietnam. My husband, Leroy, retired after 21 years in the U.S. Army as a helicopter pilot. My sister Julie served in Afghanistan, as an Army nurse, and my brother-in-law Ian served there as an Infantry officer. So when I stand here today, I do not stand here as one veteran talking about her own service. I stand here as part of a family shaped by service across generations.
And I also stand here as someone deeply rooted in this town.
In many ways, my family’s story is woven into the story of Fillmore. Thomas Arundell, a beekeeper, homesteaded in Pole Creek in 1879. My great-uncle Art Arundell, whom many of you may remember as Fillmore’s beloved librarian, also served during World War II. My Aunt Judy, who was born here as a fellow Arundell, is still in Fillmore, and while our family remains part of this community, I am the last person in Fillmore who was born with the Arundell name. That makes standing here, in this town and in this place, especially meaningful to me. It feels personal, and it feels like home.
Fillmore taught me a great deal about service before I ever understood what military service really meant. It taught me that you show up for your neighbors. That you work hard. That people know your name, know your family, and expect you to be part of something bigger than yourself. In a small town, service is not just a concept. It is how people live.
After graduating from Fillmore High School, Class of ’93, I went to the United States Military Academy at West Point. West Point challenged me in every possible way. I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going. After screwing up and failing over and over again, West Point taught me that leadership isn’t about rank or recognition. It is about responsibility. It is about taking care of the people to the right and left of you. It’s about doing your job well when it is hard, when nobody is watching, and when the stakes are real.
After West Point, I was commissioned as a transportation officer in the U.S. Army. My assignments took me to Germany, Macedonia, Kosovo, Greece, Poland, to Fort Irwin in the Mojave Desert, and later to recruiting command in Northern California. My job was not the kind that often becomes the subject of movies or headlines. I wasn’t kicking down doors, I was moving people, equipment, and supplies where they needed to be. But I learned quickly that in the military, every job matters. Convoys matter. Ports matter. Logistics matter. Training matters. Leadership matters. The jobs that sound ordinary are often the very jobs that keep others alive.
One of the most meaningful experiences of my life happened during a 1999 deployment to Macedonia in support of Operation Joint Guardian. That is where I met my husband, Leroy. He was a helicopter pilot. I was a logistics officer. At the time, we were just two young officers doing our jobs, serving our country, and we had no way of knowing that deployment would shape the rest of our lives.
That deployment also gave me one of those unforgettable “it’s a small world” moments that I have carried with me ever since.
During one convoy, as our unit was passing through the Macedonia-Kosovo border, we were stopped for a security check. I was sitting in the back of a HMMWV, tired and dusty after a mission, when an American woman in a Red Cross uniform walked up to our vehicle. She was talking to soldiers and handing out care packages. She came up to me and asked where I was from.
“I’m from California, ma’am.”
She said, “Oh really, whereabouts?”
I said, “Southern California.”
She said, “What city?”
And I said, “A small town in Ventura County called Fillmore.”
Now, I usually did not say Fillmore, because most people had never heard of it. But when I said it, she stopped in her tracks: “Fillmore?! I used to live in Fillmore… on Island View Street.”
I looked at her and said, “Are you serious? When I was a baby, WE lived on Island View Street.”
She looked down at my uniform nametag and said, “Arundell? Jim and Diane Arundell? They lived across the street from me. I remember your grandfather and your great-uncle, Ginnie and Art Arundell. I remember when you were born. I was standing outside in my driveway when they brought you home from the hospital.”
That woman’s name was Margaret Williams. Who would have thought that in the middle of a dusty road, halfway around the world, on a military deployment, I would meet my neighbor from Fillmore for the first time?
That story has always reminded me that no matter how far we travel, how far we serve, or how far life takes us, we’re never too far away from home.
Later on in my career, I served as a company commander at the National Training Center at Fort Irwin, where I saw firsthand how important realistic training was for the men and women deploying into dangerous places. That experience stayed with me and ultimately helped shape the work Leroy and I would later do together. After leaving active duty, we co-founded Lexicon, a company focused on cultural training and military support services. We essentially train our service members on how to shoot, move, and communicate on the battlefield. In many ways, that work grew out of the same belief we had in uniform: that if we can better prepare service members before they go into harm’s way, then we should. And we’re still training soldiers 21 years later.
But on Memorial Day, the most important part of the story is not mine.
The real story is the men and women we remember today.
For me, Memorial Day also carries the weight of remembering classmates and fellow servicemembers. When you attend a place like West Point, service and sacrifice become very real. In fact, seven members of my class, the Class of 1998, were killed in the Global War on Terror. Seven. That is not just a number to me. It is a reminder that service is personal. It has faces. It has names. It leaves empty seats at reunions, in families, and in communities.
That is what Memorial Day asks of us. It brings sacrifice back down to the human level. It reminds us that history is made up of individual lives — one son, one daughter, one husband, one wife, one best friend, one hometown kid who raised a hand and served.
And that is why remembrance matters. It is not just feeling patriotic for a few minutes and then moving on with the rest of the day. It is choosing not to let sacrifice become invisible. It is teaching our children that freedom is not free. It is showing up to ceremonies like this one. It is visiting the graves. It is speaking the names. It is remembering that behind every flag placed at a headstone is a life that was given in service to others.
I think one of the reasons Memorial Day matters so much in a town like Fillmore is because this kind of place remembers people well. Look around this cemetery. Look at the Fillmore Museum. Walk down the streets of Central and Sespe. Visit the Veterans Memorial Building. This is a town of roots and stories and families. We do not just honor the fallen as distant symbols. We honor them as neighbors, classmates, relatives, hometown kids, and members of families we know. Memorial Day is national, but it is also deeply local. We honor those who died for this country, and we do it right here in the communities that raised them and loved them.
So today I want to say thank you.
Thank you to the fallen, whose sacrifice we can never fully repay.
Thank you to the families who carry the burden of service and loss.
Thank you to the veterans here today, who understand in a very personal way what Memorial Day means.
Thank you to the volunteers who make this ceremony happen year after year.
And thank you to this community, for continuing to gather, remember, and honor.
Before I close, I want to leave you with this thought: the best way we can honor the fallen is not only by remembering them, but by living in a way worthy of their sacrifice. We can serve where we are. We can strengthen our communities. We can care for one another. We can love this country not only in words, but in action.
So on this Memorial Day, may we remember well.
And, as one of the last remaining Arundells still in Fillmore, in this beautiful community on this beautiful day, it means more than I can say to honor those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for the freedoms we enjoy today.
MEMORIAL DAY PROGRAM, MAY 25, 2026
Fly Over - David Vanoni, David Swett, Kurt Young & Eric Johnson
Opening Remarks - Lynda Edmonds
Secretary, Board of Trustees
Presentation of Colors - Veterans of Foreign Wars, Fillmore Post 9637, Tom Ivey & Ismael Alonzo
Pledge of Allegiance - Boy Scout Troop 406, Cub Scout Troop 3400
Music-USA Medley - Greg Agostinelli
Memorial Day Message - Jamie Arundell Latshaw
Placing of Wreath - Ruben Jaramillo & Reynaldo Rivera
Music - Amazing Grace - Greg Agostinelli
Inspirational Message - Rev. Robert Hammond
Reading of the Names of Those Who Died in the Service of our Country - Danny Golson
Volly - Veterans of Foreign Wars Fillmore Post 9637
Taps - Bill Morris
We would like to thank the Boy Scouts and the Bardsdale & Sespe 4H for placing and removing flags and PEO for the refreshments
Board of Trustees: Greg Taylor, Lisa Hammond, Bill Morris, Aileen Wokal and Lynda Edmonds
Staff - James Brink, Manager, Samantha Alcantar, Office Coordinator
Email - bardsdalecemeteryoffice@gmail.com, Website: bardsdalecemetery.com