On Memorial Day

Yesterday our oldest son, Aidan, sounded Taps at a Memorial Day morning observance in Warren, Rhode Island. So perfect was his playing that the town fire chief asked to inspect the bell of his bugle. He was checking for a recording device which is sometimes used when a live bugler is not available. Seeing that the instrument was devoid of any electronics, he congratulated Aidan on his flawless performance. I know Taps is only a handful of notes, but if you have ever stood at attention for any length of time and then were required to do something in front of a crowd, you know how difficult it is. Even the Principle Bulgar with the United States Army Band tripped up on the sixth note while playing Taps at President Kennedy's funeral on a cold day in November in 1963. I've occasionally wrote about Aidan's exploits in uniform rendering the two dozen notes at military services. On this Memorial Day, I am posting Aidan's college admissions essay which describes playing Taps from his perspective.

A Bugler's Journey

In 2016, I was thirteen years old and navigating the halls of middle school. I had my backpack, my books, my laptop, my friends and my trumpet. I enjoyed STEM classes especially computer programming, but I looked forward to jazz band every Tuesday after school. My music instructor was a retired senior chief who spent many years playing trumpet in the Coast Guard Band. One afternoon when I was waiting for my trumpet lesson, I listened to my teacher play a familiar tune. I had heard those notes before. I knew they were a bugle call played at military services called “Taps.” As he played, I picked up my trumpet and awkwardly echoed his notes.

“Not bad,” he said as he motioned me into the practice room.

My instructor suggested that I look into organizations that arrange buglers to play Taps at military services. He explained that Congress mandated that color guards from each branch of the military shall be available for funeral services, but they lacked musicians to play Taps. As a compromise, many services employed a prop bugle that plays recorded tunes at the push of a button. That evening I searched online and found Bugles Across America (BAA). I contacted the director for my state who arranged an audition at a public park half way between our respective towns. On the day of my performance, I found myself outside on a clear, cool Saturday morning in an unfamiliar grassy field playing the now well rehearsed string of twenty-four notes. Many people stopped to listen. I recall some rendering a salute. The director gave me some pointers. He also had his trumpet which he played flawlessly.

“Very clean and crisp. Just slow it down,” he said.

I looked at him intently as I anticipated that he was about to tell me to try again next year. Instead he said, “Welcome aboard!”

On that bright fall morning with pastel leaves twisting free in the gentle breeze, announcing the coming cold weather, I learned that I was the youngest member of Bugles Across America in my state. As proud as I was that day, I hadn’t a clue I was about to embark on a journey that would carry me through my teens and change my life forever.

My first mission was an hour away at a cemetery that was blanketed by snow the night before. I was wearing a navy blue suit and tie with shoes that weren't made for walking in snow. My training for services had readied me in theory. I was to stand far off from the color and honor guards as Taps is to be heard from a distance. When an honor guard is present it is easier to know when to start since the bugler always follows the third volley. With only a color guard, the military members who fold and present the flag, one must have line of sight for a signal. As I took my position, it started to snow. Lightly at first then in large, spiraling flakes. I stood motionlessly listening for the sound of the rifle discharge. When the moment came and I touched the mouthpiece to my lips, I was stunned by how cold it was. I collected my senses then started to play slowly. Just like I was trained. Although only two dozen notes, Taps is so familiar that an error in tone or duration is immediately recognized by everyone in attendance. For my first military service, I didn’t make any mistakes except that I wore the wrong shoes, and I should have wrapped my hand around the mouthpiece to keep it warm. Lessons learned.

As I became more proficient, I wanted to render Taps in uniform which included standing at parade rest, coming to attention, playing the notes and then solemnly rendering a salute. The problem was I was fourteen and not in the military. I learned about Naval Sea Cadets, a national junior military organization. I contacted the local unit commanding officer who was very encouraging. I met the unit members during the next drill and then joined up shortly thereafter. The following summer I found myself with a shaved head in a two week bootcamp doing physical training and classroom instruction. I learned two things immediately at bootcamp.

1. The shape of my head.

2. The military runs a lot.

Shortly after they cut off all my hair, we began to run everywhere. We ran in formation before breakfast. We ran to breakfast. We ran carrying heavy packs before lunch. We ran after lunch. We ran before dinner. We ran after dinner. At the end of the day, I was pretty tired. When I graduated from bootcamp, I was a fourteen year old Seaman Recruit in the Sea Cadets. You don’t get more junior than that in uniform. After not seeing my friends and family for two weeks, my parents surprised me at graduation with a field regulation bugle. I may have been the lowest ranking member in uniform on the planet, but I had a uniform and now a bugle which together allowed me to fulfill missions with full military honors.

I performed Taps in over forty events including playing at Gettysburg as part of the 100 Nights of Taps. I rendered Taps for the Providence Waterfire Salute to Veterans for which I received a citation of recognition from the Rhode Island Speaker of the House. I also performed at military ceremonies honoring veterans of the World Wars and the Korean War. I played at the Vietnam Moving Wall when it travelled to my state. I continued my training with the Sea Cadets attending Petty Officer Leadership Academy at Mass Maritime where I was awarded Honor Cadet.

I am humbled to be able to participate in many high profile events, but it is the personal services for families wishing to honor their loved ones that I remember the most. Shortly after being promoted to Petty Officer, I signed up for a service at a residence. Normally, events are held at a funeral home or cemetery. When I arrived, I was greeted by a smartly dressed woman who thanked me for my service. I tried to explain that I was in high school and a Sea Cadet, but she seemed to be all together elsewhere. She showed me to the backyard where a large group of people gathered. Many told me of their adventures in the military. Eventually, the woman brought me to a table set up with a memorial to the service member. It included numerous pictures of a young man, a Petty Officer in the Navy. I recognized some of the people in attendance in uniform in many of the photos. In all the past events, the military member was advanced in age. I wondered what happened to this young man. As I looked at the pictures, the woman softly spoke,

“He was my boy,” she said.

And she was his mother. I don’t recall the exact words she used, but I understood that a member of the Navy, a shipmate, a brother, a son was another victim of substance abuse. I put all that in the back of my mind as I took my position at the direction of the color guard. I played Taps that day to honor a man not much older than me, a life cut short by a gradual, unceasing tragedy.

Another memorial service was arranged at a site by a river. The military member was a Vietnam veteran. His service documents were not in the possession of his children so they were unable to arrange a color guard. I met many of his family and some of his friends. They asked me about my uniform and were exceptionally encouraging. I learned that he loved to fish at this spot. His son told me that his father’s only wish was to have a bugler play at his funeral. He was unconcerned about the flag being folded precisely or a rifle salute. All he wanted was those twenty-four notes to be sounded by someone in uniform. His son recalled the anguish he felt as the day approached for his father’s memorial, and he hadn’t yet found a bugler. When he discovered BAA online, his request was very short notice. Something told me to do this one. I didn’t know at the time that I would be the only representative of our government present at a military service. I played Taps at the banks of a beloved river against the sound of swift water to honor a combat veteran who honorably served his country.

The path I was on was not supposed to take me where I am today. I ventured into an unknown with the goal to honor the service of people who preserved a way of life for all of us. I met many people in person and in my memory. I learned what is meant by a final commemoration of a life lived well. And in it all I have become a man who knows where he is going and where he has been.

Aidan P. Languedoc

On this Memorial Day, my son's last rendition of Taps in his Sea Cadet uniform was etched into my memory. Next month his junior military career comes to a close as does high school. At summer's end, we'll drive him to nearby Massachusetts where he will attend Worcester Polytechnic Institute, majoring in Computer Science. This was once again one of those experiences that a parent journeys through, perhaps stoically, in the audience of their child's life. It will be a tale I will recite to anyone who will listen. And when the day comes when he will play Taps for me, I know that he will take his place, lift his bugle and carry on to the final note.

And the journey will become his.