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Michael Floyd
Michael Floyd
14 days ago

I posted this on my Facebook page today. It’s what I always think of when I think of “Service…”

“As my last year of High School was coming to an end, I still didn’t know what I wanted to do afterwards. I decided to audition for the US Army band program. So, after graduation I went to basic training, then six months of training at the Military music school in Little Creek, VA, and finally my duty station in Wuerzburg, Germany. It was 1982, and the Cold war was going on. We weren’t shooting at each other, and in general, things seemed pretty peaceful to most of the young soldiers.
That doesn’t mean no one was injured or killed.
Training for war is dangerous, and things happen.
As an Army trumpet player one of your duties is ceremonial bugle calls… You went to the officer’s Club to play Mess Call for a Dining In ceremony, you played Reveille when the flag is raised, and Retreat when the flag is lowered.
Then there’s the scariest bugle call of them all.
Taps.
This is played at a funeral service after the 21 gun salute to honor a fallen soldier. It’s the one bugle call you don’t want to mess up.
(The Bugler at JFK’s ceremony cracked a note. Rumor has it he did it on purpose to symbolize a broken nation. But maybe it was just the bad weather. Who knows…)
Generally, when a soldier died in Germany, the body was sent home to the family, and some time later a ceremony is planned by the unit, and I played for a pair of boots, a rifle and a helmet.
Then there’s the day they told me it was my turn again. I was to ride in an Army truck 2 ½ hours away for the ceremony.
When I arrived, I was told that the soldier was being buried in Germany, and we would be having an actual funeral service. I had never done a real funeral before, and I was naturally nervous. I stood next to the rifle group. There was a young girl, maybe nineteen or twenty years old, holding a newborn infant, with tears in her eyes. I learnt later that she was his wife, and the infant his child.
Then there’s the funeral procession, one step at a time…
Step…
Step…
Step…
The service went smoothly. The rifles fired, I didn’t mess up Taps. Afterwards the widow came to us and thanked us. We said “No ma’am, thank you.”
What else can you say? “I’m sorry” doesn’t do it.
Forty-three years ago a husband and father gave his life training for a Cold War that ended 7 years later. He was laid to rest in Wildflecken, Germany.
His son should be forty-three years old now. Thank you for your sacrifice.
Forty-three years later this is still my strongest memory of what service really is.
Thank you…”