The Saddest Song.

In the fall of 1967 I was attending electronics school at Redstone Arsenal, Huntsville, Alabama after attending combat training at Camp Horno, Camp Pendleton, California. The Detachment Commander assigned me to the burial detail because I played the trumpet and could play taps. The Marine burial detail was responsible to provide pall bearers, honor guard and firing squads at the funerals of Marine and Navy personnel who had been killed in Viet Nam.

We covered the states of Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee, Mississippi, and Northern Florida and during my nine months at Huntsville we buried over thirty Marines. On one cold fall day we were assigned to conduct the funeral of a young Marine who had been killed in Viet Nam at a cemetary located in the country just north of the city of Chattanooga, Tennessee. The location of the cemetary was in a beautiful small bowl shaped valley surrounded by rolling hills. The trees were showing their fall colors and if not for the sadness surrounding the funeral of this brave young Marine it would have been a beautiful day.

Part of the burial squad arrived early to the funeral location and while we awaited the arrival of the burial detail officer we had a chance to tour a Confederate cemetary that was located on a hill side above the modern cemetary in which they would later bury the Marine. While we inspected the grave stones of these warrior who fell so long ago during the Civil War, a sad and foreboding feeling fell over me and I truly felt the spirits of these fallen dead who seemed to be standing all around us. No one spoke of it, but the entire squad seemed to be uncomfortable and we left the old cemetary quickly.

While we spoke to each other while walking back off of the hillside, it was discovered that the surrounding hills created a unique echo. The sound of one's voice reverberated for several second through the hillsides surrounding the cemetary, so it was decided that I would play taps while located above the grave site on the hillside to add impact to the sound of taps being played for the funeral. The service was conducted for the young Marine and in a hghly professional manner that can only be conducted correctly by the Marine Corps.

The flag that covered the Marine's coffin was folded by the Marine pall bearers and presented by the burial detail officer to the grieving mother of the fallen Marine, who was forced to stand during the service because there was no seating provided for the guests. There was quiet crying coming from the women standing next to the stoic faces of their husbands at the sight of the presentation of the flag. Next came the 21 gun salute given by the firing squad and I could here the noise of crying increasing in intensity coming from the crowd of guests. After the 21 gun salute it was my turn to play taps and a phenomenon took place the likes of which I had never
seen before, and have never seen since.

The first strong clear notes of the trumpet sounded through the hillsides, Daa...Daa...Daaaaaa, and as I continued; those first notes were repeated by the echo that reverberated along the hillsides seemingly for infiniti and the most amazing sound I have ever heard was being conducted by the echo that would be difficult to duplicate. The trumpet sounded so sweet and clear that it seemed as though someone else was playing it. Immediately after the notes of taps was heard by the crowd, a wail came up from the crowd that is difficult to describe. It was the saddest, most heart breaking sound I have ever heard come out of the mouth of a human and it seemed that every female in the group wailed in unison.

Then just as suddenly at least one hundred people fell to the ground as though their legs had been cut out from under them. The fallen were comprised of mostly women and a few men and if possible the wailing intensified. The crowd of at least two hundred people turned into pandemonium as those who had fallen were assisted by those still standing. When I finished playing taps I ran down the hill and after stowing away my trumpet assisted my companions who were busy helping those who had fallen.

Eventually the wailing calmed down, people regained control of their emotions and order prevailed once again. Several women including the mother of the deceased were carried away by ambulance to the hospital. After the last guest left the area over the next thirty minutes, we gathered up our equipment and seemingly could not get enough distance between that cemetary and us quickly enough.

Everyone in the burial detail stated that this experience would always rank high on their lists of strange occurences and that they had to look at me on the hill side to assure themselves that I was actually me playing taps and not someone else. In all of the funerals in which I participated after this funeral took place no one fell down when taps was played, and I have never since heard wailing such as the wailing I heard during that funeral again. Truly a strange thing happened that day.