Shelburne: What I learned from a frozen bugle at a veteran's funeral
Few things touch my soul more than the somber notes of TAPS beside the graves of veterans I’m burying.
Several years ago, in the dead of winter, I was laying to rest a longtime friend. The honor guard for that funeral were active airmen who came all the way from San Antonio to blow the trumpet and fold the flag. For some reason, the undertaker and family took far longer than usual to roll from our church to the cemetery east of town. For almost an hour, in bitter cold, the honor guard and I stood beside the grave and visited while we waited.
Several times during that delay, the bugle-blower tested his horn. Then, when the hearse finally did appear in the distance, he stood his bugle on a nearby gravestone and stood at attention.
Getting the family ushered to the grave took several minutes. I kept my words brief, but they still added to our time exposed to the cold north wind.
When the time came for TAPS, the all-business, proper private picked up his bugle and blew to produce that well-known three-note tribute to the veteran we were burying. He puffed and blew, but no sound came out of his bugle. Not even a squeak. During our long wait, the icy wind had frozen the trumpeter’s saliva in his instrument. When it became apparent that TAPS was not possible that day, I stepped in and covered for him by calling for the final portion of the service to proceed.
After we were done and the family had departed, I heard the furious sergeant dressing down the bugle player for his failure to play TAPS. Not being a military guy of any rank, I exercised my authority by stepping between them and telling the sergeant to hush and back down.
I explained to him that his young bugler was a south-Texas guy who had no way to foresee what an Amarillo norther might do to his horn. Both the sergeant and I had heard him preparing and making sure he was ready. The farthest thing from his mind was a frozen bugle.
That airman learned something that day. So did I. That sergeant’s angry outburst taught me to be sure I know why they fouled up before I unleash my anger and criticism on someone who has upset me.
Gene Shelburne is pastor emeritus of the Anna Street Church of Christ, 2310 Anna Street, Amarillo, Texas. Contact him at GeneShel@aol.com, or get his books and magazines at www.christianappeal.com. His column has run on the Faith page for more than three decades.
This article originally appeared on Amarillo Globe-News: Shelburne faith column: A lesson learned from a frozen bugle
