Six degrees?

         Yesterday I piped a funeral with a rather interesting set of connections. We all know or have heard how small a world we live in. Six degrees of separation is the theory that everyone and everything is six or fewer steps away, by way of introduction, from any other person in the world, so that a chain of "a friend of a friend" statements can be made to connect any two people in a maximum of six steps. So basically we are all connected within six acquaintances.

      The obituary read, "Robert C. “Bob “Kelley, of West Yarmouth passed away peacefully on Sunday, December 22, at home surrounded by his family. He was the beloved husband of Ann (Brady) Kelley of West Yarmouth and his first wife the late Margaret (Yuskaitis) Kelley. Robert, born in Brockton, MA on February 26, 1924, was the son of Margaret (Calnan) Kelley and Fred F. Kelley. He graduated from Brockton High School in 1942 and enlisted in the US Navy in 1943. He served in the Central and Western Pacific as an Aviation Radioman Gunner. Upon his honorable discharge from the Navy, Robert joined New England Tel & Tel. After a distinguished career Bob retired in 1983." What the obituary did not tell me was all the connections I had with this man, whom I never met, or so I thought when I first got the call to play the pipes. 

       The request for me to pipe the funeral came through fire alarm. The daughter called to see if the fire department knew of any bagpipers, knowing that the fire service and piping are connected. I left the station for Hyannis right after my night shift. The funeral mass was to be celebrated at St Francis Xavier church just outside downtown Hyannis at 10am. I arrived with plenty of time to spare so I stopped in Hyannis Fire Headquarters for a quick visit and talk to the gentleman that runs the MDA Chili festival each March. He seemed happy to get a face to face instead of the usual banter back and forth through email. After squaring away the plans for the festival I made my way over to the church to begin to warm up the pipes. It was cold! The wind seemed to rip right through the wool like it wasn't even there. I knew then that the cemetery would be a joy. After about 15 minutes of warming up the pipes I began to head into the front lobby of the church to warm up my hands, face, and ears. I noticed three well dressed older women coming toward me on the walkway. I found it strange at first the look on their face until I noticed one of them. It was My Great Aunt, my Grandmother's sister in-law, the last of our family from that generation. I gave her a quick hug and kiss before asking her why she would make the trek, wondering what her connection was. As it turns out she is a very close friend of the gentleman's widow Ann. They spend time together quite often. I realized I could have kept her talking for quite some time with questions of my kids and the holidays so for once I ended the conversation before I got out of control. Yes, I could talk the hind legs off a donkey.

       As the hearse opened I began to play. It was cold and the weather could be rather harsh on the tone of the pipes. I was able to tune them and lock them in but if I struck the bag in just a hair too hard or too soft my drones wouldn't sound just right. I was a little nervous because of this which would veer my concentration just enough that I noticed the people entering the church. I usually keep my eyes fixed down or at something specific so I don't lose concentration looking at the family. I didn't lose it but I did notice a man walking up the path while I was playing. He is retired Brockton Firefighter. That's when I remembered the obituary. He glanced at me and gave me a low wave from the hip and a quick head nod. I'm not sure if he noticed who I was or was just being polite. He was the widows brother.

Frederick F Kelley Eng Co. 1
Died March 10, 1941

      After the mass started I ended up standing inside the lobby of the church as there really wasn't too much room to sit in the mass. Which is surprising for an 89 year old. He must have made a great impression on his circle. I started chatting with one of the men from the funeral home. As it turns out he did not directly work for this funeral home. He worked for a close friend of mine that owns a funeral home back here in Brockton. He will send his limos to other funeral homes when they need the extra cars. We chuckled about how we were both from the same place and "how small the world is." Just then two women walked in the church. They were very pleasant and asked me what clan I was from. I had to explain that the kilt I wear represents the County Clair in Ireland as this is where my family originates, to the best of my knowledge. This conversation was very brief as they were about ten minutes late already. They turned to head into the church with a Happy New Year in tow when they realized they were at the wrong funeral. I felt bad for these women, but there really was nothing I could do other than wait for them to leave before I laughed. Sorry folks but that is funny. As we continued to chat I told the driver the most interesting connection with this funeral. You have heard me mention here numerous times the Strand Theatre fire and collapse of March 10, 1941. I found out I had met Mr. Kelley back on May 10, 2008 and didn't remember. I had met so many that day. Robert Kelley is the oldest son of Frederick Kelley of the Brockton Fire Department, assigned to Engine Company One. Frederick lost his life while operating at the Strand. Firefighter Kelley was born in Haverhill, MA and resided at 37 Exchange Street, Brockton. He had served in the United States Army as a Combat Engineer assigned to the 26th Division in France during World War I and was a semi-pro baseball player prior to his appointment to the Brockton Fire Department. When he died he left his wife Margaret and two sons; Robert, (who we celebrate) and Frederick.in Haverhill, MA and resided at 37 Exchange Street, Brockton. He had served in the United States Army as a Combat Engineer assigned to the 26th Division in France during World War I and was a semi-pro baseball player prior to his appointment to the Brockton Fire Department. He left his wife Margaret and two sons, Robert, age 17 and Frederick, age 15.
Firefighter Kelley is buried in Calvary Cemetery, Brockton.Firefighter Kelley was born in Haverhill, MA and resided at 37 Exchange Street, Brockton. He had served in the United States Army as a Combat Engineer assigned to the 26th Division in France during World War I and was a semi-pro baseball player prior to his appointment to the Brockton Fire Department. He left his wife Margaret and two sons, Robert, age 17 and Frederick, age 15.
Firefighter Kelley is buried in Calvary Cemetery, Brockton.Firefighter Kelley was born in Haverhill, MA and resided at 37 Exchange Street, Brockton. He had served in the United States Army as a Combat Engineer assigned to the 26th Division in France during World War I and was a semi-pro baseball player prior to his appointment to the Brockton Fire Department. He left his wife Margaret and two sons, Robert, age 17 and Frederick, age 15.
Firefighter Kelley is buried in Calvary Cemetery, Brockton.    

       The service ended and the pipes played much better, even though the sun was gone and it was much colder now. I was so right about the cemetery. The grave was just off the side of the hill in the middle of the St Francis Xavier cemetery off of route 28 in Centerville. There were a few pitch pines and scrub oaks but not enough to block the slicing winds. The Navy had sent a two member unit to fold and present the flag. They had the "radio" bugle but for some reason they didn't fake it. Instead the seaman held the bugle at his side while taps rang out. Not sure how I felt about that. As I finished my walk away I noticed something a little different. The few trees that did line the cemetery held numerous wind chimes, all of which were ringing beautifully, filling the air with the thoughts of pleasantries and spring mornings. As I packed my pipes away on the tailgate of my pick-up I didn't think of the blistering cold or the usual feelings for the families loss. The chimes took my mind to all of the connections of the day. My Aunt, my colleague, the driver, the funeral director friend. Even the women that came when they didn't need too. To the thoughts of why I started this blog. To thoughts of my kids, how this is a great lesson for me and for them. The people we meet. We never really know who is connected to who or how they are connected, but we surely are within six degrees.
  

Peter
 

Who gets it, do you? Do they? Do I?

       Feast or famine round these parts!! I hadn't played the pipes at an event since November 17. Well here we go, the last few days have been a full agenda. I figured once I began "The Scranton Connection" this would happen. I'll get back to that one, you'll just have to wait a little longer. After some basic editing I guess I could have made this three separate posts, oh well dig in!

Thursday December 19, 2013

       Today would be the MA. Firefighter of the year awards and it would take place at MIT in Cambridge. My youngest was to play the saxophone in her first Christmas concert. I wasn't torn on what to do, my plan was simple. I was going to go to the Christmas concert then make my way to Cambridge for the end of the awards ceremony. I had found out the day prior that they were having a pre concert for the kindergarten kids, so I asked her if I could go then to see her play instead, she was happy with that plan. I made the arrangements with the school and saw her and her friends sing and play on Thursday afternoon. This assured that I was able to go to the awards on time. Hectic but I think everyone was happy. Oh, can't forget how awesome these kids were. Brockton has such a great music program! I was so proud, especially for my little Cyclops,(when you go nose to nose with each other you look like a Cyclops).

       We met up at one of the fire stations to ride into Cambridge together. Only three members of my band were able to make it. In the van was our pipe major, our drum sergeant, and myself. We were to swing by Braintree headquarters to pick up the pipe major of  the Greater Boston Firefighters Pipes & Drums and ride in together. When we arrived we were given prime parking, right in front of the building. I hadn't really put too much thought into why this year's ceremony was at Kresge Hall on the campus of MIT but once I realized what the plan was it all made sense. MIT Officer, Sean Collier.

       One of Brockton's FFs was going to receive an award. This award was for his actions on April 15, 2013. He had been at the finish line waiting for his son to complete the Boston Marathon. He is the EMS coordinator on my department and found himself smack in the middle of the mayhem. He was watching the race just steps from the explosions. He would take a major part in the triage and recovery efforts. I really don't feel comfortable telling his gruesome story, I'll just say what he may have seen or had done that day would affect most people for the rest of their lives. When we met with the woman running the program my only request was that we do not traverse any stairs while playing. Playing the pipes & drums does not mix well with stairs. I made this request at least ten times and I was told no problem we won't have to do any stairs. Wrong answer, we had to do stairs. Thanks for that, ugh.... The opening of the ceremony went well. Between the Brockton and Greater Boston bands we had 6 pipers, a bass and a snare drum. Kind of small but it worked seeing as how we were indoors. Once we were done we made our way to the lobby. As usual we all started reminiscing about past events, how they went, how we feel they should have gone, this conversation spurred on by the damn stairs. We were colorful with our words, not disrespectful but colorful. We noticed in the program they had mixed up some names of the guys in comparison to what department they are actually on. It just seems these people (the ones running these type of awards) do really do it for the show or their own glory and advancement and not for the act, or the honoree, which is upsetting. If you really want to honor a guy get his name and job right. Like when they get the name of our band wrong. People it's easy, Brockton Firefighters Pipes & Drums, we are not a brigade and for that matter I have never even seen a fife. In my opinion the honorees are the most important at these events, not the presenters. Anyway, as the stories began to get more colorful we noticed a couple of gentleman sitting at a table close by. They were news men from a local news station. Oops. Should pay more attention to our surroundings. We joked with them a little, they were good guys. Just before heading in to watch the ceremony one of the men and I had a brief conversation. We laughed a little and I told him he just made my blog, he then told me to make sure I spelled his name right. Loved that comment! So Jon Keller you're in the blog. Merry Christmas! The ceremony went much faster than any of us expected. We rushed to warm up for the closing. We would pipe out all of the dignitaries including the Governor. We played well once again and once again we would descend stairs. I was in front of the bass drum so I found myself helping him navigate the stairs. I needed to make a path through the people to get the drum down the stairs. There was this one guy towering over everyone. I have seen him before but couldn't place him. I tried to move him from our path but he didn't budge. I then realized who he was when I noticed the pin on his chest at my eye level. Now his chest was eye level to me and I was two steps above him if that tells you how big this guys was. At first he didn't seem to happy I wanted him to move, and I didn't realize why. Well he is the guy that protects the Governor. Nice we are going down the stairs with pipes and drums at the same time as the Governor and his people, like it wasn't hard enough. I would quickly change his mood when I quipped that his guy was as important to him as my guy was important to me. He chuckled and let us past. I think he understood my point. Man he was big.

Friday December 20, 2013

       The Northville cemetery is a small cemetery tucked in behind a greenhouse on route 14 just before Ridders country club and golf course on the opposite side of the road. The old roads that run along the cemetery are narrow and separated by just two rows of headstones. The greens keepers had plowed just two roads around the grave for the retired Brockton firefighter that had just passed in his home surrounded by his family. He would be the fourth Brockton guy buried there. The ground was covered with soft melting snow about 4 inches deep. The cold from the snow mixing from the warmth of the air caused a faint but noticeable fog layer just above the ground. I enjoy playing on snowy areas, the sound seems to travel more.

       After graduating from Brockton High School in 1944, this gentleman joined the U.S. Air Force where he served in World War II in the Philippines and Tinian as a member of the 504 Bomb Group. After his discharge he joined the Brockton Fire Department in 1948 where he served for 35 years. He was a member of the Firefighter's Union Local 144, Massachusetts Retired Police and Firefighters Association and American Legion Post 35. I had met him through my work with the Relief Association. He was a helpful man who always seemed to have an eye on what was going on.

       I wasn't really sure at what time the procession would arrive as there was no church service and this was graveside only. I asked one of the guys on shift to call me when the procession passes the fire station as our Chief has the funeral homes pass by as a tribute. I think this is a nice touch. I received the call and began to warm up the pipes. Moments later I heard a car door close behind me. I thought it was the flower car so I continued with setting up the pipes. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman walking away. I turned and noticed she had just parked her car directly in front of the open grave. I thought, she couldn't be serious. I yelled to her politely and asked if she was part of the funeral. She told me no, she was there for her daily walk. I asked her if she could move her car because there was a procession coming in. She said she parks there every day. This woman was entitled. I said to her that I understand that she may park there every day for her exercise, it's just that a funeral was coming and with the snow this was the only way to bring in the casket. This is when she said the most shocking comment of our exchange. "Well I don’t want to have to park in the snow." I returned with "move your car!" She jumped in her car and angrily tore out of the cemetery. Clearly she didn't get.

Saturday December 21, 2013

       We go to school till the age of eighteen. We get our career and plan to do thirty two years taking us to around the age of 57 to 60 where we plan to begin our life of rest and enjoyment, maybe travel, plant a garden, do some fishing. Much too often I find myself at funerals of guys that just retire or are under the age of 60. This would be the case today. A friend of mine contacted me about a guy he worked with in Norwell. This guy became a call guy in 1976 and full time in 1980. He retired this past July as a Captain after enjoying 37 years with Norwell fire. A good career. A good Jake. He was a 56 year old married father with one daughter, whom he would spend a lot of time with. I understand that he was an avid hunter, fisherman, and Bruins fan. At least he got the cup.

       Norwell showed up in force. When I arrived the first thing I saw was the giant American Flag perched from the ladder truck in front of the church. The procession arrived with two engines, what appeared to be a relatively new one and one that may have been of the 60's vintage. After the service the casket would be placed on the vintage engine for the short ride across the street to the cemetery. I would be leading the march from the church to the grave side for the traditional service including the famed walk away.   

       I'm not too big on the whole idea that Firefighters are hero's stuff, but was kind of taken a little from a poem read by the gentleman that spoke of him during his eulogy. He said the poem was very fitting for the Captain and his crew. He would change it only slightly changing the names at the end to fit the members of the Norwell fire department. The poem was written to 'Twas the night before Christmas:

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
All the firefighters were asleep, even the one called “The Louse.”

The bunk room was filled, with farts and snores,
With visions of no fires, nor calls to pry open doors.

The Captain had just laid down, his big fat head,
Hoping and praying, the night would be dead.

When he heard a noise, out in the bay,
If it were a burglar again, what would he say.

As he snuck around the corner, and stepped onto the bay floor,
He saw such a sight, one never seen before.

It was Clause standing there, looking at the truck with awe,
The old man was crying, and quivering his jaw.

The Captain, filled with compassion, put a hand on his shoulder,
Comforting as he’d done, helping others many times over.

He said “It’s ok pops”, as Santa shivered and cried,
Clause replied “I’m so sorry, I’m thinking of your brothers, who have died.”

“I stood here looking, at the soot covered gear,
And thought of them all, who advanced with no fear.”

“I thought of the victims, they’d cut out of cars,
And the drunks they’d helped, who just left the bars.”

“I thought of your brothers, who ran out of air in a fire,
And the ones who have helped, a child with bike to put air in the tire.”

“I thought of the their families, who wonder and worry,
When they leave for work, in a mighty big hurry.”

“How fireman give selflessly, in a wreck, disaster, or fire,
How they get the job done, and never, ever, seem to tire.”

“I bowed my head in silence, and much to my surprise,
A tear welled up, then more, ‘Till they filled up my eyes.”

“How do you do it Cap?”, he asked in sadness,
“It’s in our hearts” he replied, and we do it with gladness.”

At that time the tones went off, “Gotta go” said the captain with a sigh,
“Someone’s in trouble, so I must say goodbye.”

As the crew loaded up, Old Clause he stood back,
Knowing these firefighters, Had just left the sack.

As they pulled out the station, wiping sleep from their eyes,
A firefighter said “Hey Cap”, “Was that Saint Nick?” with surprise.

Clause with a smile replied, “Thanks David, Michael, Jim and Louse,
Thanks to all you firefighters, who go to save that persons house,”

“Thanks Art, Steve, Harvey, Sherrie, and Ryan,
I don’t know how you do it, but somehow you keep from cryin’."

“May your God keep you safe, and in the palm of his hands,
Keep you and guide you,
While you serve and protect these great lands.”

Written: 1-December-2001
~Mark S. Warnick

 

 

 

 

Peter

 

 

 

 

 



The Scranton Connection~ "Anthracite"



City Hall Rotunda

As you make the climb up the interior stairs of City Hall and onward into the octagonal shaped rotunda adorned with golden plaster carvings of civil war troops and accent flowers, surrounded by hand carved wooden frames depicting marble panels filled with inscriptions from wars past, you notice a rectangular black granite base about three feet tall supporting what appears to be a jet black stone trapped inside a glass square protective box in the center of the room. This base and stone sit just outside the Mayor's office as a reminder to the city what happened many years ago. What is this stone and where did it come from?

       As many of you may know, on March 10, 1941 my city fire department lost thirteen men to structural collapse while operating during the overhaul phase of a fire in a local theater (a story to be better touched on more in-depth at a later time). This news in 1941 would travel throughout the United States shaking the core of the fire service. At the time the amount of firefighters lost at this incident was catastrophic to say the least. As the news reached down the east coast and onto the central part of the country firefighters from Scranton Pennsylvania took notice.       
       
       The Coal region or Pennsylvania Anthracite region is home to the largest known deposits of anthracite coal found in the Americas. There is a reserve of seven billion short tons of Anthracite believed to be within the valleys. It is these deposits that provide the region with its nickname. The discovery of anthracite coal was first made by a hunter in Schuylkill County 1791. It would only be 16 years after that the North Field saw its first mine. The Region lies north of the Lehigh Valley and Berks County Regions, south of the Endless Mountains, west of the Pocono Mountains, and east of the region known in Pennsylvania as the Susquehanna Valley. The Wyoming Valley is the most densely populated of these valleys, and contains the cities of Wilkes-Barre and Scranton. According to Erin L. Nissley an assistant metro editor at The Times-Tribune.com "What most people saw simply as fuel to heat their homes, C. Edgar Patience saw as fuel for his imagination. The Wilkes-Barre man coaxed art out of chunks of anthracite coal, from small trinkets to a 4,000-pound altar for the chapel at King's College. A 3½-ton piece of coal Mr. Patience polished and sculpted was displayed at the Smithsonian, and a 5½-foot-tall, 1-ton monolith he made was displayed at the William Penn Memorial Museum in Harrisburg. Scranton's Pennsylvania Anthracite Heritage Museum owns two busts he carved - one of George Washington and another of Abraham Lincoln. The Lincoln bust has been selected as one of the state's top 10 endangered artifacts by the Conservation Center for Art & Historic Artifacts." To date I have not been able to pin down exactly who carved the Anthracite in our rotunda but this guy makes perfect sense to me.


        The Anthracite is about twelve inches square and about four inches deep, a striking stone with its own base. The front of the stone had been polished to a high sheen prior to its carving out to create a negative image on its front. You can easily read the names of the thirteen men lost on the Strand Theatre fire as well as who the stone was dedicated to, Local 144. The base of the stone once again clearly shows in a negative image that it was donated by the members of the Scranton Local, then 669. In the center of the base is carved the firefighter scramble donning the IAFF logo. This memorial stone clearly shows the strong union stance of the forties one that truly is carried on today.

       At some point during the summer of 1941 a Brockton firefighter and his new bride had made their way to the Pocono Mountains to celebrate their nuptials. On the return ride this firefighter and his wife happened to stop in at a Scranton fire station where he would intern be given the Anthracite that had been carved in memory of the 13 lost on March 10th earlier in the year. He would wrap the carving in a shirt or towel from his luggage and place it in his trunk for the return trip. I had heard stories of this carving staying in the truck for quite some time before its unveiling but this is not something I can confirm. In the fall of 1941 members of the Scranton Fire Department made their way from Scranton Pennsylvania to Brockton for a dedication ceremony. At this ceremony these two departments would unveil the beautiful Anthracite coal carving that is still in place to this day. This was not just a ceremony for the coal, but more of a ceremony of a symbol, a symbol of people and friendships. This ceremony would build a bond not to often spoken of but one that would stand the test of time. As time would continue on, fifty years to be exact, in 1991 the members of the Scranton fire department would once again make their way up the east coast to celebrate the remembrance ceremony for the Strand theatre fire of 1941.

       After numerous attempts to raise funds over the years the members of the Brockton Fire Department decided it was time to move forward with our own memorial to our lost members. In early 2007 a committee was formed one of which I am honored to have been a part of. I was assigned 3 tasks; Logistics-parking and where the membership would place during the ceremony, contacting and organizing the massed bands, and inviting the Scranton Fire Department. The first  two tasks were simple, the emotions of contacting Scranton on the other hand would be a different story. The day my assignments came up I had coincidently read online that the Scranton Fire Department lost a member of theirs at a fire. They had been operating a tower truck when the bucket of the tower had contacted the live power lines in front of the house. I wasn't exactly sure how I was going to invite these guys to a ceremony of remembrance up here in Brockton when they had just lost one of their own, with another lying in a Scranton hospital bed. I then decided to take it up with the band. The members of my band, without hesitation, said yes we would go down and pipe any ceremony they wanted, we owed them for what they had given us over 65 years earlier. So I took a deep breath and made the call.




to be continued...  

 

 

 

 

 

Amazing Grace(Life)

       My plan for this week was to post the first of what very well could be a four part story I have been writing, but the point of this blog is about the people we meet or interact with and how they affect us/me, and I have had a profound effect, so the four parter is going to have to wait.

        I received a message on Facebook yesterday from a woman I have never met. I know of this woman and her story from my travels as a piper. She is and has been an advocate for widows and families that have and are suffering the loss of their firefighter for close to 15 years. She lost her husband of twenty years,(two years prior to me entering into service) back on June 24th 1994. He was a third generation firefighter from Boston, and had earned his way to the rank of Lieutenant. The Lieutenant lost his life while fighting a nine-alarm fire in the Charlestown section of Boston. The crew of Ladder 15 were immediately sent into the building on a rescue mission, their goal was to find two fellow firefighters who were missing, and, at last check had little air left in their tanks. Eventually both of the missing firefighters were found, and as the brave crew of Ladder 15 was exiting the building, they came to the sobering realization that the Lieutenant had not come out with them. What happened is really not clear and very well may never be; but the morning of June 24, 1994 at 7:30 am this woman's life would change forever as the Lieutenant's body was recovered by the very men he was proud to lead. The message sent to me was a heartfelt thank you for one of my posts here on A Piper's View. I knew this blog would affect people but I didn't know how or even think it would begin this early on. I thought long and hard about what I should write to this woman as a response, and the only thing that would come to mind as I thought of her was her Amazing Grace.

       The bagpipes and firefighting are synonymous. There are numerous stories as to why, but the bottom line is tradition. In 1972 tradition was changed/begun when the Royal Scot Dragoon Guard decided to make a recording of a song penned by English poet and Anglican clergyman John Newton (1725–1807) first published in 1779. The words describe in the first person the move of a "wretch" from a "lost" to a "found" state by a merciful act of a higher power. The Royal Scots Dragoon Guards, the senior Scottish regiment of the British Army, recorded an instrumental version featuring a bagpipe soloist accompanied by a pipe and drum band. The tempo of their arrangement was slowed to allow for the bagpipes. It began with a bagpipe solo introduction, then it was accompanied by the band of bagpipes and horns. It hit number 1 in the UK singles chart in April 1972, spending 24 weeks total on the charts, topped the RPM national singles chart in Canada for three weeks, and rose as high as number 11 in the U.S. It is also a controversial instrumental, as it combined pipes with a military band. It has been said that the Pipe Major of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards was summoned to Edinburgh Castle and chastised for demeaning the bagpipes. The bagpipe version has been played often at funerals for police, fire, and military personnel ever since.

       I have explained in a past post that we play Amazing Grace in the same manner as police and fire band across the nation. Yes, I am aware that Newton was once a slave trader and found better ways, and that his intent to this poem was to show people his change. I do have my own thoughts and opinions on how or why we play it in such a way, as well as what it could mean to me. Once again we start with a solo. One piper will begin and play the first stanza "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, was blind, but now I see." Let's for a moment take the word grace, and substitute it with the word life. Now, go back and read it again. Kind of changes things, doesn't it? Now let's assume for a moment that not understanding the meaning of (grace) life, makes us a "wretch" who is "lost," and through living we realize life's meaning "found." Realizing this allows us to "see." We then, as a band, come together as one to play the second stanza. This shows growth in life(grace), adding people to our circle. Building who we are. The music is louder and much more commanding at this point. As I have discussed before music in life is not just notes. We have grown. Now all are involved even the spectator. The swell of emotion reaches out to everyone and grabs tightly onto your soul. "T'was Grace(life) that taught my heart to fear, and Grace(life), my fears relieved, how precious did that Grace(life) appear the hour I first believed." Now everyone is in deep thought as the band winds down leaving just one piper left to play a single bagpipe. "Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come; Tis Grace(life) that brought me safe thus far and Grace(life) will lead me home." As the third part plays out the piper will walk away. Is the piper leading the lost home? Has one soul been pulled from the circle and carried on with this action? The music will fade off with the walk as the remaining people are left to reflect and live on. The circle is not empty but it is missing one.

       I am reminded of a quote, “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” ~ Oscar Wilde ~  This woman has lived, in such an amazing way. Even through all she has lived and seen, she still gives time and cares for family and friends as well as people she does not know with vigor. Recently she was quoted to say “It’s more the honoring of not just the men that are buried here, or the men that have died, but the entire department." This is what I was able to learn Saturday December 28, 1996 in Jamaica Plain. So as I reflect on her simple message to me on Facebook, I realize just thank you is not enough for her Amazing (life) Grace.   

Peter


 

Thankful?

       Thankful.... This week is meant to remind us that we should all be thankful. The holiday/word or term "Thanksgiving" would seem to imply that we are to thank others for what they give us, but could it imply we should give thanks to others for allowing us to give to them. Either way being thankful should be thought provoking. Of course we are all thankful for our families, the time we spend, the food on the table, the roof over our heads, but do we really look deep into ourselves to know what we should truly be thankful for? 

       This week, myself and the pipe major of my band were the only ones available for practice, so we met up at a local pub to play there instead of a stuffy class room. We had an enjoyable evening piping, eating, drinking, and watching the Bruins on the big screen. There were many people at this pub enjoying the evening, not as many that were enjoying the Holiday parade yesterday but just the same they were having a good time. At both events people were clapping and cheering for all different reasons. The main reason I believe was because they were able to take a break from the craziness of life. I thought a lot that night about the holiday season.

       In recent years the month of December has been busy for the pipe & drum bands of Massachusetts. Holiday parades, the annual Firefighter of the year awards, even drill school graduations can fill the schedule. Inevitably we find dates, letters and numbers like W6, Dec. 8, and Dec 23, 2011 that shake our ability to be thankful for anything. These are just three events that will be forever engrained in our minds, testing our ability to be thankful this time of year. W6? That stands for the men of the Worcester Cold Storage Warehouse fire of December 3, 1999, in Worcester, Massachusetts. It started when two homeless and mentally disabled people, who were living inside the warehouse, knocked over a candle after an argument earlier in the afternoon. Both fled without reporting the fire to emergency services. The result would be the death of the W6. Moving forward to December 8 in 2011 the City of Worcester would lose another one of its firefighters to fire and subsequent collapse while operating at a three story apartment building. This gentleman had been searching for victims, made it out, then returned for his final search, and once again our ability to be thankful was tested. Just a couple weeks following on December 28th of the same year we would head to Peabody to help the Peabody Fire Department carry one of their members on to the afterlife. Peabody had all hands working a three alarm blaze and this man was on the stairs between the first and second floors when he went down. He was rescued by his fellow firefighters but would later die in the hospital. So I ask how is it possible to be thankful when we are continuously reminded of the loss of others during this time of year, knowing any moment it can happen right here at home?

       I see that just yesterday, after seventy one years the City of Boston renamed Piedmont Street to Coconut Grove Ave. 17 Piedmont was were the Coconut Grove night club stood. On November 28, 1942 this club was the scene of the deadliest nightclub fire in history, killing 492 people, injuring hundreds more. The enormity of the tragedy shocked the nation and briefly replaced the events of World War II in newspaper headlines. It was the second-deadliest single-building fire in American history; only the 1903 Iroquois Theatre fire in Chicago had a higher death toll, of 602. The Coconut Grove led to a reform of safety standards and codes across the country, and major changes in the treatment and rehabilitation of burn victims. Although this sounds horrific can you imagine the people over the last seventy years that benefited from what was learned in the Coconut Grove? Clearly far more than 492 or even 602. This is sort of what happened in Worcester. Firefighter safety regulations once again changed after 1999. With the advent of PASS (personal alert safety system) devices, the implementation of the incident command system, and the realization of familiarity of your districts as well as numerous others. These lessons learned by these events will help to save lives, fact! So should we be thankful for that?

       Is it possible to believe that these men died, and although incredibly sad, we can learn from them?  I would like to think so. Is it an odd thought that I would be thankful to have been there for these men and their families? Thankful for being allowed to pay respect, to give? Were these men thankful to have the opportunity to give? Should I be thankful for this talent I have found? How about being thankful of my family for providing me the time to be there for these men, or thankful to my department for introducing me to this life and assisting me when it can to provide this service. Am I thankful these men passed doing what they believe in? What about the hundreds of Firefighters throughout the state (and country for that matter) who may risk themselves for others, am I thankful for them? Are they thankful to give? The guys I work with each day? Thankful for the freedom to express these thoughts?

Thankful they are dead? No, but Yes, I am thankful for:

Paul Brotherton 41 Rescue 1, Jeremiah Lucey 38 Rescue 1,

Thomas Spencer 42 Ladder Co. 2, Timothy Jackson 51 Ladder Co. 2,

James Lyons 34 Engine Co. 3, Joseph McGuirk 38 Engine Co. 3, Worcester  December 3, 1999.

Jon Davies 43  Rescue Squad 1 Worcester December 8, 2011.

James Rice 42 Engine Co. 5 Peabody December 28, 2011.

 How about you?

Peter

The Pseudobulbar Affect

       The Pseudobulbar Affect is defined as "emotional lability, labile affect or emotional incontinence. Refers to a neurologic disorder characterized by involuntary crying or uncontrollable episodes of crying and/or laughing, or other emotional displays." So basically what that means is something triggers an emotion within you and you react in a way that you can't control, like uncontrollable laughter. Everyone experiences this to some degree at some point in their life. Usually this happens when we are among friends and can find a way to remove ourselves from the situation by simply leaving the room. Well not for me! I was stuck on a fully loaded airplane.

       I have to start by introducing you to a friend of mine. He was a member of my department for over 34 years, and was influential in starting our band. He is a jack of all trades, master on none type and really enjoys making people laugh; hence my problem on the plane. Although some of these stories will seem like I'm beating him up, I really do have tons respect for this man and his family. Since this friend will appear in so many of these stories I find that I must give him a name. For the purpose of these stories we will call him The Diver. Now this name is not a stretch by any means, it just not his real name.

       In September 2008 The Diver and I traveled out to Colorado Springs for the IAFF Fallen Firefighters memorial. He is obviously very interested in deep sea diving, hence the name. Well apparently the dive company he works for has a national head quarters in Fort Collins, Colorado. He was very excited about heading up there from the Springs. Me not so much. On the plane ride into the Springs from Boston I ended up in the last seat on the plane. This twisted my back up pretty good and I really was not interested in jumping in a crappy rental car for the two hour ride to Fort Collins. I did anyway because that's what The Diver wanted to do. I thought maybe it would be interesting to visit the headquarters of a national dive company. I thought we would check out some cool equipment maybe even do a little diving. Well...There is NO DIVING in Fort Collins! This place was nothing but a giant warehouse full of safety pamphlets and handouts. I mean think about it. The closest ocean is 1200 miles away, why on earth did either one of us ever think there would be diving in Fort Collins? Once again The Diver sucked me into one of his hair brained ideas, just like the time we went to watch a band competition at the IBEW local hall wearing matching green shirts and red kilts. We weren't competing, we were watching. We were the only ones looking like Christmas, wearing kilts. Oh, so embarrassing. I would continue to bust on him for the next five days telling everyone we came across that "There's No Diving in Fort Collins." At one point I think he was ready to choke me out. I thought it was funny. You ever tell a joke so much that it becomes funny? Yea that's me. I'm sure it bugs the heck out of people, but I tend to get a kick out of myself. Don't worry, The Diver would get the last laugh. Well the last one before the plane ride home.

Fly Fishing the Arkansas river in September 2008

We decided before we left we would spend a day fly fishing the Arkansas River. Yes, the Arkansas is in Colorado, I know I thought the same thing. That morning we woke up early to head out. We brought three other friends with us, two of which had never been fly fishing before and thought it would be fun. Little did we know the fun would be on me. By the time we got to the river my back pain was pretty much gone. Up until this point I thought it was the plane ride. Oh how I was mistaken. Have you ever had Kidney Stones? Yup you got it, I was passing stones out in the middle of nowhere. I figured I would just tough it out, they offered to take me back but I didn't want to ruin the trip. I dressed in my neoprene (I was much thinner then) and head out into the water. To be honest the cold water felt great if you know what I mean. I made my way up river and the pain began to be unbearable. I remember thinking if I just pass this stone I'll be fine, good to go. The problem was actually passing this brick! I attempted to fish for about a half hour and decided I would walk to the opposite bank and try to pass the stone. Without all the gory details, I lost my favorite sunglass, the biggest fish I had ever hooked, and passed the stone. I was right, I was a new man and thought this day was about to turn around. It turned around alright. As I headed back to where the rest were fishing I noticed a woman in green khakis. I couldn't believe my eyes. She was a game warden. I thought holy crap, what else could go wrong. We were all licensed so I really wasn't too worried, but the way things had gone so far on this trip anything was possible. She had the others lined up on the shore and was waving me to make my way to them. The current was strong and swift to the point you could easily be swept away. I was trying to get over as fast as I could. She seemed a little peeved that I was not moving a little faster, she kept looking and threw out the occasional wave for me to get over there, like I didn't see her the first time. I kept thinking, is this lady serious right now? I'm gonna kill myself just so she could check my fishing license? By the time I got to the shore the rest of the group was on the ground laughing. As it turned out she wasn't planning on waiting for me at all and she packed up and left.  I'm pretty sure they planned this whole thing knowing what I was going through. All I could do was laugh, even though I wanted to cry. I turned to The Diver and like a child said, "There's No Diving in Fort Collins."

After a great week and a beautiful memorial service it was time to head back home. We are to fly from Colorado Springs to Dallas Fort Worth and then on to Boston. The Plane from Dallas Fort Worth was packed and this would be like the fourth time ever on a plane so I was still a little nervous. The Diver knew I wasn't fully comfortable on the plane so he began to tell his never-ending jokes. Most of his jokes are extremely funny but I have heard everyone of them at least 6 times so I know them by heart. We began to talk and giggle about the trip, how the day went on the Arkansas. He was doing a good job of putting my mind at ease, well at least until we turned on the TV in the headrest in front of us. It was a segment from the David Letterman show. The segment featured the kids from Piedmont High School. They were the top 3 winners in the bird calling championships. Although I only remember the first and second entries. This was so ridiculous I completely lost it! This is a real competition. They have teams of two to three high school aged kids and, in an animated way they recreate bird calls. If you haven't seen this you have no idea how funny this is. These kids take this competition very serious. The first group was a brother and sister doing the American White Pelican. This would get me started. These two would begin to wave their arms up and down and eek and crow in unison while also bouncing up and down. It was really pretty funny. Now I'm chuckling pretty good and not only The Diver noticed. The next group of kids was comprised of three girls. They would do the Black-Bellied Sand Grouse. This one is what did it! The three girls stood in a semi circle sort of facing each other and began flailing their arms making this craziest noises all while bouncing up and down shaking and swinging their heads from side to side. Their hair just flipping and swimming through the air. Then to make it worse they replayed it in slow motion. When I saw the replay I began laughing so loud and hard people were jumping out of their seats. I tried to stop but every time I did they would show the slow motion again. I remember looking over through the tears in my eyes at this lady a few rows up and to the middle of the plane. She was staring with this angry look. That just made me laugh even harder. This laughter would go on for at least ten to fifteen minutes. Just as I would calm down The Diver would just crank me back up again by shaking his head and making his own ridiculous bird noise. I truly couldn't get control of myself. Soon the flight attendant would come over and ask if we were ok. The Diver tried to explain to her what had happened and why. For some reason he felt compelled to tell her "by the way, did you know there is no diving in Fort Collins?' Now I'm trying to hold the laughter in with my hands like my mouth is a leaky faucet. She just looked at us with a blank stare on her face, and asked us to try to quiet down as she walked up the aisle. Once again, like a sound from a bullhorn, I died right there. This was some serious laughter. I kept trying to apologize but couldn't get the words out it was so bad. Soon the angry people on the plane began laughing with me. Some even clapped. Really it began to be catchy. One guy walked by and gave The Diver high five. Even the angry lady would turn and give a smile. After a good twenty minutes or so I was finally able to gain my composure. I had truly experienced emotional incontinence and I was relieved it was over. Is there a moral to this story? No, not really, but I did learn one thing through all of this. There definitely is no diving in Fort Collins.

Peter

Fur Elise

        Clearly music invokes emotion. Everywhere we go there is a beat, tone, or melody to a specific time. When we walk, how we speak, even when we eat there is a rhythm. Most of us are so enthralled in the trivial points of life we can't hear the music. Let's just imagine for a moment you spent your entire life around music, and music was your entire life. Then one day for whatever reason you actually lost your ability to hear. Your love of the music is so grand that you go on to write and perform literally hundreds of compositions, and become one of the most famous composers of all time. Despite being deaf, this was Ludwig Van Beethoven.

       Today I played the celebration of life for a gentleman who was the patriarch of 4 living generations. This gentleman lived 87 good years. This service was a joy for me. It was clear from the beginning the family wished this to be a celebration, so my tune selection was much more open than usual. I was able to play more of an upbeat selection to set a happier tone. I would play for thirty minutes before the service as people arrived to help celebrate this gentleman's life. My pipes locked in early and played rather tight today. I find it impressive how the weather has so much influence over the instrument. I was told this family would spend time in Nova Scotia. I would have to imagine today's weather is quite common there. Could there be a coincidence? I was contacted about this event by chance, from a woman I had met by chance on social media. We both belong to a debate forum and have had some great discussions. We have a mutual friend that would connect us, as she did not know any bagpipers in the area. As it turns out we graduated high school together in 1989. She is the granddaughter of the gentleman we were celebrating today. She would introduce me to her father and her daughter prior to the service. It is clear to me she is an intelligent well read woman who apparently does hear the music. This is a beautiful family whom to me, seemed very close and quite supportive of each other.  As I understood, her daughter, like her is a musician. She practices the clarinet and plays the piano. She would play a tribute to her great grandfather during the service. When I looked at the spelling of her name and that of her great grandfather, it seemed to me she was his name sake, only strengthening my thought of how close this family is.

       I mentioned how I felt the granddaughter was intelligent and well read, none of this is lost on her daughter, along with her general concern for others. The young girl and I had a brief but interesting discussion on Bagpipe lung which is a disease that bagpipers can get from not having proper care techniques for their instrument. As our conversation continued she explained how she would play the piano today for her great grandfather. She was a delightful young girl with honest eyes. She seemed ready to tackle the world. She was to play Fur Elise, one of Beethoven's most famous and complicated pieces. It is believed to have been written for a love interest of Beethoven, Therese von Rohrenbach zu Dezza. She was a friend and student of Beethoven's to whom he proposed in 1810, though she would turn him down to marry an Austrian nobleman. It is also believed that when the composition was transposed, the name was mistaken for Elise and not Therese. Clearly this young girl would master the piece. As the four of us stood talking you could see the levels of respect and admiration they each had for one another. How each of them felt for the man we all were about to celebrate. From the great granddaughter to the granddaughter, both looking up to the son as all of them playing the music of life for the father. Spending those moments with them was my favorite song of the day.

Peter

 

November 15, 2013

       We lost a former member of our department on Veteran's Day. Today we buried him. His obituary read that he is survived by his daughter, his longtime companion, three sisters, and three brothers, (one of which is on the job with me) as well as three grandchildren. This man was 61 years old so I'm sure he left many others as well, evident by the number of people that attended the graveside service. He left the department about five or so years before I came on so I did not know him. I had heard many stories some good and some bad, but we all know how that goes. I do know his brother. So I will gauge him off of that.

       When I arrived for my first shift on my first assignment after drill school the brother met me at the door. He greeted me with a smile and shook my hand. His self introduction really made me feel welcome. He worked on the opposing shift so as it turns out I was to be his relief. The cool thing about this guy was he didn't just leave. He took the time to show me around the station and go over the truck. He opened the compartments, pulled out tools, even showed me a spot on the gear rack. Now I know most of you salty guys out there are waiting for the gag. Waiting for me to tell you how he pulled one over on me, hit me with a bucket of water or something like that. Nope. That never happened. About a week later I figured out why. This guy had only gotten out of drill school himself six months prior so he knew right where I was coming from. I always remembered that and try to be the same way with new guys.

       It turns out the gentleman that passed served in the U.S. Air Force during the Vietnam Conflict. Many of times I have piped a military funeral, but not too many with the Air Force. The two Airmen were sharp in their Service Dress. These two men were young, couldn't have been any older than twenty. I went to them to let them know when I would be playing and asked if Taps was to be rendered. Neither one of them would break attention. It was rather strange how nervous they seemed. I tried to lighten their mood a little by telling them how lucky they were that they were able to enter the cemetery. They looked at me silently with a puzzled stare. I mean it gets real difficult sometimes seeing as how everyone was dying to get in there. They didn't get it.

       The department sent a five person Honor Guard holding the American flag, State flag, city flag, and two rifleman (yes we use rifles with our honor guard) along with the Ladder truck and Heavy Rescue. There were a decent amount of off duty guys there both in Class A and street clothes. A handful of retired members were there as well. The members from both trucks stood at attention wearing their bunker coats and helmets which I think is a nice touch. But really they did it because not everyone remembered that ridiculous bell cap you have heard me talk about. The ceremony started with the moving of the casket. I played "As She Moved Thru the Fair." This is a beautiful tune based on love lost. This traditional Irish tune is about two who loved and planned to marry without the permission of her family. She would pass and return to him in death promising to wait for him in the afterlife. This is one of my all time favorites.

       Now is the point I was concerned about since I spoke with the Airmen. They began to fold the flag. Veteran's families receive the American flag on behalf of the United States for their service to their country and normally this part of the ceremony is very touching. Well the nervousness got the best of the folder. It would seem to me he just didn't pull the flag tight enough on each fold. This would cause the end fold to be too short and not able to fit in the triangle. The folder realized this just a little too late so he then had to unfold and start over. This really is no big deal except the family is very emotional and the detail would be at attention for an extended period. The second time thru the fold went much better. Now is the point the folder would make up for his lack of attention previously. With grace and poise he grasped the flag from the top of its triangle and slowly brought his hand along the fold in the downward direction, waving his hand in the air so as to call attention to his task. He did this for each of the three sides each time bringing his bright white gloved hand over his head prior to connecting back with the flag. He would then properly pass the flag to the other Airman and give a slow salute prior to making his way off in the distance to retrieve the bugle. The second Airman would then take the flag and make his way to the front of the family. Taps was played and the gift of the flag was completed. Now the ceremony would end but not before I would play Amazing Grace. Earlier I noticed how the trucks were parked so I planned to direct my walk away in their direction. I played the first round and turned to begin the walk away. It went perfectly by the time of the last measure of the tune I was beyond the truck thinking how great the music must have faded off. 

       As I returned to the graveside the brother was shaking the hands of the guys from our department. He held his face of sorrow the best he could while he shook the hand of each and every firefighter as they waited for him to pass by. As I made my way to him I remembered how I felt my first day. How, for that day I looked up to him like a veteran firefighter, one that knows the ways of the job. Looking up to him as the firefighter he is today. He reached to shake my hand, I passed it by and gave him an embrace. He thanked me for playing his brothers funeral, and I was finally able to thank him.  

Peter

11/12/13

       So here we are seventeen years later, almost to the day. Well one month shy of seventeen years but who's counting. The odd thing I noticed just now is the date. It is actually 9:10 am on 11/12/13. Exactly seventeen years since I started the Fire Department. What does this have to do with Veteran's Day? Absolutely nothing! (as I digress).

       Veteran's Day started like it has since 2006. I woke up and threw on the band kilt. You see when we started the bag pipe and drum band we made kind of a pact (for lack of a better term) the first parade we would march in as a band would be Veteran's Day. So 2006 was the band's first parade. Anyway a story for another time; let's get back to 2013.

       The house was a buzz as my youngest had a sleep over the night before. The plan was for them to come down and watch the parade. So I'm sure you can imagine the request for different foods from two 10 year old girls, 12 year old boy, two adults, and a ten month old Saint Bernard. This of course is not to mention the 19 year old still sleeping. Kind of a cluster but apparently that's what I like. If we don't start our day with turmoil something is wrong. So after everything calmed down just a hair I head out of the house. I'm a little later than I wanted as I know I have to retune my chanter because the reed is rather squirrely. The sky was crystal clear and the sun was warm like many years past. I stood for a moment in the driveway looking like Timothy Green. 

       I was the second guy to arrive at the meeting place for tune-up. So I guess I wasn't the only one to leave a little behind. Good thing I factor an hour before each gig to make up for it. The tuning went real well and the hour disappeared rather quickly. The parade stepped off about five minutes late. This would be ok because the ceremony at city hall was not supposed to start before 11am. The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the Armistice. Once again as we were marching I noticed how warm the sun was. We were one of two bands in the parade. The other? Our high school band, who by the way are amazing. This parade route is rather simple three lefts and a right with full sun along the way. The route itself was rather full. When marching it's hard to get a take on the crowd but I do get the occasional eye contact here and there. I have been asked by some about the slight dip of the head as I pass by friends. It's tough not to acknowledge people when you pass by so I did, I came up with a silly little head tilt. It works for me. The best part of the route is the kids! Seeing these kids out there waving the Standard is such a joy.

       The ceremony began with us playing a slow air for the members of my department lost in the Strand Theater fire of 1941 (Another story for another time), followed by the high school band and their incredible rendition of The National Anthem. I really can't say enough to give you the idea how amazing these kids are. Pure perfection every time out. The ceremony went off without a hitch. The amphitheater behind city hall was chock full of people wearing or holding the American flag. I would estimate that there was anywhere from four to five hundred people there, all of them to thank our veterans. The local VFW played taps and volleyed off the shots of remembrance. Now it was time for us to play again. Once again, as many times before, we would play Amazing Grace. The way we play it is the same as fire and police bands across the nation. One solo piper will start and play it once. Then with a dramatic entrance which we refer to as the attack, the entire band chimes in. At this point I play a different version than the rest of the pipers. This causes harmonies creating tone change to help invoke emotion. At the end of the round I play the final solo. I play it straight but walk away. The walk away allows the music to fade off as though there is a piper in the distance. I can't tell you what the walk away means to others, but to me, I find it very special. I feel that the walk away is a symbol. Maybe it carries the soul to its final rest. Maybe that is the moment for others to reflect. Maybe people don't even notice. For this ceremony the walk away symbolized the end.

 

       This entry is really not about the morning of November 11th, 2013 as it was pretty average. Today I'm more interested in talking about the evening. The City Police Department Honor Guard held a comedy event to support the Wounded Warrior Project. Now I'm not going to get to deep into the Project if you want to know more check it out. What I want to talk about is the man that hosted the event. Yes ,he is a police officer where I live. Every time I see this man he impresses me more and more. Once again he did not disappoint. It's not the fact that he put together a great show hosted by Joey Carroll, Harry Corcell, Chris Pennie and special guest Steve Sweeney (who by the way donated their time for the Project). It's about what he has quietly done as a member of our United States Army serving as an Infantryman for the Multi Nation Forces 17th Iraq Army Battalion as well as a member of 1/325 Air, 82nd Airborne Division. It would seem he joined in late 1995 and still serves today. The 1stSgt received a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star for his service overseas along with numerous other metals and ribbons evident by the number of them on his chest.

       The 1stSgt stood at the podium speaking to the attendees about the Project and why we were all there. He reminded us of the men and woman still overseas. To this point his speech was solid. He stood tall over all of us in his dress uniform pressed to perfection. He would then refer us to a table that was just off the side of the podium. This table would test him and his speech. He began by stating in a strong drill sergeant type voice, "This is a Table of Honor. To the front of the hall and closest to the stage you can observe a table with a placement for one." His eyes jumped up from the paper and quickly scanned the room so as to make sure everyone was on task. "Although the table is small the meaning is great" he paused for a quick glance. " At this time I would like to explain the meaning of the items on this special table." Once again the 1stSgt scanned the room. I have known this man for a couple years and I have to say normally he enjoys the clowning. Not at this moment. His face was solid and serious. "The table is round-to show our everlasting concern for our missing comrades. The table cloth is white-symbolizing the purity of their motives when answering their call to duty. The single red rose, displayed in a vase, reminds us of the life of each of the missing, and their loved ones and friends of these Americans who keep the faith awaiting answers." His head would move from the paper once again. This time he fixed his eyes on one man. His voice now slightly different than when he started. I would not say that the 1stSgt was shook, I would say he was right where he needed to be. We sit home safe at night not a worry, not realizing what these men and woman have and are going through. He took a moment to gather himself. His next words were an attempt to apologize. The crowd would not have that! He would pause again. It was clear the man in front of him invoked something. One more time the 1stSgt would head back to the Table of Honor quite less clear than before. "The vase tied with a red ribbon, a symbol of our continued determination to account for our missing." These words were the toughest for him. Prior to continuing on he would introduce the man in front. This man served with him and they both received the Purple Heart. He invited the man to the stage and the man stood  and made his way to the 1stSgt's side as I am sure he had done in battle numerous times. The man grabbed the mic and began to read from the paper. "A slice of lemon on the bread plate is to remind us of the bitter fate of those captured and missing in a foreign land." The 1stSgt turned from facing the room maybe not realizing the wall behind him was fully mirrored. The man continued," A pinch of salt symbolizes the tears endured by those missing and their families who seek answers." the 1stSgt would turn back to the side of the man as he continued." A bible represents the strength gained through faith to sustain those lost from our country, founded as one nation under God."  Both men would share a look as the 1stSgt would place his left arm across the man's shoulders. The man continued, "The glass is inverted-to symbolize their inability to share within tonight's festivities. The chair is empty-for they are missing." Once again the man would pause, look across the room as serious as the 1stSgt did to begin this emotional moment. "To the American prisoner of War, Missing in Action, and those who can no longer be with us...

We pray for your safe return and know--You will never be forgotten"

Peter