Writing Sample

From 24th of July

This past winter I put in an application for the governor's fellowship. It's like an intern for old guys like me where I am borrowed by the governor's office for 6 months. In the application process they asked for a writing sample. As most of you already know, I trend towards the silly when I write. The instructions on the application form were ambiguous, so rather than write a professional document, I decided to pen down a story about the Army Band that I had been wanting to write for some time.

Here goes -- Thanks to JPE for the photos.



Approaching my senior year at Ogden High School, military service was something that I was sure was good for many people but not something for me. The church requires two years of me, and military service would put off career aspirations far too long for my liking. Compounding the time delay was the inevitable torture of basic training which left me more than happy and content to leave the defense of our nation to other more physically capable candidates. It was with some surprise that I found myself enlisting in the Army Reserve to be part of the Judge Advocate General’s Corp at Fort Douglas.

After returning from my missionary commitment, all of the slots were full in our slimmer more responsive unit and after a stint with a logistical unit, I found a home with the Utah National Guard’s 23rd Army Band. The intent was to finish up my initial six-year tour and then get out, but I quickly found that this was going to be a life-long commitment that I was happy to make. One of the advantages to being a bassoon player is that you don’t have to be very good to get opportunities to play; there just aren’t that many of us.

Each summer the band plays a host of summer concerts. It’s really the same, or nearly the same, concert multiple times, but we make sure that we invite all concert-goers to our next one hoping that all of the Sousa marches sound enough alike that they won’t be able to tell that we are playing the same ones. I think of it as like listening to a CCR album: didn’t I just hear Proud Mary?

The first concert of the season is always in Brigham Park just east of Temple Square in Salt Lake. It’s an enjoyable concert to play and hopefully to hear as well. The church volunteers and employees set up lawn chairs and the water on the east side makes a nice backdrop for our makeshift stage.

One year, being particularly memorable, I had been unable to find a parking place close to the park, so I parked a couple of blocks east of the park at an LDS Church. I figured I was playing a concert on church property, so the sign saying that there was no parking except for church functions obviously didn’t apply to me.

I arrived at the park a little out of breath and quickly assembled my bassoon. I always enjoy scanning the crowd and trying to guess how well some of the selections will go over with the crowd. We had chosen a piece that was modern and a little dissonant which tends to not appeal to the older crowds. Brigham Park usually attracts an older audience, so I was a little nervous that we’d get a letter or two through the adjutant general’s office telling us that we need more Sousa and less Ives.

As I looked around the crowd, my eyes kept returning to a man in the front row just off center from the front of the band. He was wearing grey slacks and a white shirt that showed, by the straining buttons around the midsection, that life had been good to him. His countenance and demeanor seemed to radiate with such outward happiness betraying an inner joy so complete that it just had to be let out. My images of Santa Clause have been immutably changed since that day because of a deeper appreciation for the adjective “jolly.”

As the concert progressed, we reached what continues to be my favorite part. During nearly every concert we play an arrangement of the military service hymns. Before we play, the commander asks that individuals in the audience who have served, or have a family member currently serving, stand during the hymn of their branch.

It has always fascinated me to watch the men and women who served in the military and the reaction of the audience during this medley. The Navy Song begins after a brief introduction. Typically, probably because it is the first song, there is some trepidation for those sailors to stand up. Eventually they all get up, sometimes in several waves, which garners multiple stages of applause, and the college-fight-song type melody results in clapping with the beat of the song.

The medley then progresses to the Marine Hymn. Those marines have by far the most recognizable hymn, and when those lean and muscular old men come to attention bellowing out the words of that beloved song, you get a hint of the fear that island enemies from long ago must have felt anticipating these devil dogs making shore.

The next song is the Coast Guard Hymn. Not only do few recognize it (even for sailors who served in the coast guard) but Utah has very few citizens who served in that branch. My thoughts usually turn to nervous anticipation that someone will stand up to be recognized. It nearly always happens, but when we’re eight bars into the song, I’ve all but given up hope just as one or two stand up.

The Air Force Song betrays this unique branch of the service that sends its officers to fight while the enlisted men and women stay on base in support roles. These men and women cheerily stand and usually wave as the audience applauds. They grin while they sing looking more like friends reminiscing about good times of days gone by then fighting men and women. “We happy few” definitely refers to the Air Force.

The medley ends with an energetic rendition of the Army Song. Even with the unfortunate word change from The Caisson Song contributing to a general lack of familiarity with the lyrics, the sheer number of soldiers who stand, usually besting all of the other services combined, elicits such a reaction from the audience that the patriotic zeal drives the song to its conclusion far more than the band does. It fills my heart to be numbered amongst those who served. That feeling hasn’t changed from the first concert I played to the 101st; it remains the high point of every concert.

On this particular day, I began to scan the audience during the sixteen bar introduction to the Navy Song. Because this song is played nearly every concert, the music no longer serves as a road map but more as a reminder for where those fingers need to be. Most of the time the fingers remember just fine on their own. As the sailors from days past began to stand, my eyes once again were trained on this happy gentlemen sitting on the front row.

I recognized that he was going to stand up as the song began, and I expected him to gingerly emerge from his lawn chair with an appreciative grin to those who were already recognizing his service with thankful applause. A transformation occurred as I watched: gone was the happy man approaching his twilight years and in his place was flint-jawed, steely-eyed sailor. His posture was straight and sure. His fingers were gently curved finding the seam of his trousers on each side. The flash of his eyes was that of an able-bodied sailor standing ready for a torpedo strike, an enemy aircraft attack, or to oppose the very gates of hell herself if aligned against the interests of the United States Navy.

My amazement was so sudden that I began to miss notes and had to drag my eyes away from him to return to the road map of notes before me on the music stand. By the time I could look back, the sailor was again gone replaced by the happy man who had been there before.

I have thought often about this sailor in the years since this concert. Part of me regrets not finding him afterwards and thanking him for his service. Most of all I am amazed that even with the passage of what must have been many years since his active service, those emotions were rekindled to pyre-like intensity by the first three notes of Anchors Away.

From 24th of July