Another playing of Taps on my trumpet was scheduled at a burial today at 2pm. I warmed up at the church, then drove over to the cemetery and was right on time.
Just as instructed, I slipped off about 35 yards to the side and behind the crowd and waited for my cue. The mourners wouldn'tt know I was there until I hit the first note.
The deceased was a WWII veteran, so the ceremony was very military in nature, with representatives from every branch of the military attending in uniform.
They removed the coffin from the hearse and placed it solemnly before the grave. They saluted the coffin and draped an American flag over it. The Preacher spoke of Christ and the dead and eternal life. He read some bible verses. Then the deceaseds granddaughter spoke of his service in WWII and how bravely he fought.
When she finished, she stepped back and nodded at me my cue to begin playing Taps.
If youve ever played a brass instrument, you know that there is a thing at the end of the lead pipe called spit valve, which is a hole in the tubing that, when pressed open, allows excess saliva to escape. When playing, the hole is covered by a round piece of cork on a spring valve. Well, unbeknownst to me, between the time I had warmed up and my cue to begin, the cork had fallen out of the spit valve, leaving a gaping hole in the end of my lead pipe.
The granddaughter stepped back and nodded at me. I raised the instrument to my lips, took a deep breath and blew out a horrendous fart blast into the crowd.
Everyone turned in shock to stare at me.
I ripped the horn from my lips and gaped down at the offending instrument. I couldnt figure out what was wrong, but something was definitely wrong. The people were staring incredulously at me. I wanted to run away. I was going to try to explain that something went wrong (an explanation they didnt really need), and then I saw the missing cork.
I opened up the valve and jammed the pinky finger of my left hand into the opening of the spit valve and covered the hole, then awkwardly tried to bring the trumpet back up to my lips. I started to play.
Daaaa da dahhhh .
It sounded OK, and I took a breath between phrases. Thats when I made a big mistake by looking back into the crowd. They were still staring at me in shock from the original fart sound. Obviously, this was a new version of Taps they had never heard. A giggle started to rise up in me Oh, oh
I got control and played the second phrase.
Daaa da dehhhhhhh .
As I was holding the note, it was suddenly striking me as all so very funny, and the laughter wanted to bubble back up in me, as of its own free will.
No, no, no, I willed. I will not lose it.
I closed my eyes, so as not to see the astonished faces. I took another breath between phrases and the giggling came forth.
I stifled it I waited I paused way too long between phrases No, no, NO! No laughing! I tried to think of something sad. The poor guy was dead, but for some reason that thought seemed even the more funny.
I played the next phrase. I fought through every note not to think about their astonished looks at my fart sound, at my pinkie jammed into my spit valve. It took me forever to get through the song. I paused way too long between each phrase, trying to hold it together.
Finally the nightmare song was over. I opened my eyes. They were still gapping at me, some people looking at each other with confused faces. It was the preachers turn, but he just looked at me with his mouth open. I pointed at him like a director giving a cue. He did a little headshake, started back up again, and finally the people looked away.
I walked quickly to my car and got the heck out of there.
Absolute, true story.
That was my day today.
Just as instructed, I slipped off about 35 yards to the side and behind the crowd and waited for my cue. The mourners wouldn'tt know I was there until I hit the first note.
The deceased was a WWII veteran, so the ceremony was very military in nature, with representatives from every branch of the military attending in uniform.
They removed the coffin from the hearse and placed it solemnly before the grave. They saluted the coffin and draped an American flag over it. The Preacher spoke of Christ and the dead and eternal life. He read some bible verses. Then the deceaseds granddaughter spoke of his service in WWII and how bravely he fought.
When she finished, she stepped back and nodded at me my cue to begin playing Taps.
If youve ever played a brass instrument, you know that there is a thing at the end of the lead pipe called spit valve, which is a hole in the tubing that, when pressed open, allows excess saliva to escape. When playing, the hole is covered by a round piece of cork on a spring valve. Well, unbeknownst to me, between the time I had warmed up and my cue to begin, the cork had fallen out of the spit valve, leaving a gaping hole in the end of my lead pipe.
The granddaughter stepped back and nodded at me. I raised the instrument to my lips, took a deep breath and blew out a horrendous fart blast into the crowd.
Everyone turned in shock to stare at me.
I ripped the horn from my lips and gaped down at the offending instrument. I couldnt figure out what was wrong, but something was definitely wrong. The people were staring incredulously at me. I wanted to run away. I was going to try to explain that something went wrong (an explanation they didnt really need), and then I saw the missing cork.
I opened up the valve and jammed the pinky finger of my left hand into the opening of the spit valve and covered the hole, then awkwardly tried to bring the trumpet back up to my lips. I started to play.
Daaaa da dahhhh .
It sounded OK, and I took a breath between phrases. Thats when I made a big mistake by looking back into the crowd. They were still staring at me in shock from the original fart sound. Obviously, this was a new version of Taps they had never heard. A giggle started to rise up in me Oh, oh
I got control and played the second phrase.
Daaa da dehhhhhhh .
As I was holding the note, it was suddenly striking me as all so very funny, and the laughter wanted to bubble back up in me, as of its own free will.
No, no, no, I willed. I will not lose it.
I closed my eyes, so as not to see the astonished faces. I took another breath between phrases and the giggling came forth.
I stifled it I waited I paused way too long between phrases No, no, NO! No laughing! I tried to think of something sad. The poor guy was dead, but for some reason that thought seemed even the more funny.
I played the next phrase. I fought through every note not to think about their astonished looks at my fart sound, at my pinkie jammed into my spit valve. It took me forever to get through the song. I paused way too long between each phrase, trying to hold it together.
Finally the nightmare song was over. I opened my eyes. They were still gapping at me, some people looking at each other with confused faces. It was the preachers turn, but he just looked at me with his mouth open. I pointed at him like a director giving a cue. He did a little headshake, started back up again, and finally the people looked away.
I walked quickly to my car and got the heck out of there.
Absolute, true story.
That was my day today.
