Looking for Number Six

Over the course of ones life, one encounters many people. Some are just passing glimmers in the kaleidoscope of his life, while others leave a indelible and defining mark on their very soul. A man's mission in life, is to befriend at least six people who can carry his casket to the grave. I am approaching 58 years of age and I feel I could count on Mark, Darryl, Mike, David and Roger thus far. I still have to find one more. I guess my time on earth will have to last a little longer. Yes I realize I have family and of them, I am sure, one or more would fill in at the pall if called upon. I have been called a few times. It is not a duty I enjoy. I remember the first time I served, I was told to expect the casket to be much heavier than I expected. When my cousin Jeff passed away, I was asked. Damn that was tough. The priest had known Jeff since he baptized him as an infant. The priest said during his eulogy "I will never do this again for someone I knew so well.". He spoke of Jeffy with a heart full of grief. That eulogy was one I will always remember. As we"rolled" the casket out of St. Joseph's we came to the door of the church and I made eye contact with the priest. I saw tears in his eyes and I simply lost it. I broke down and hugged the priest and we both actually wept. No one could exit the church since there was a casket in the door way and two grown men hugging and crying. I still remember my father telling me to "move along son". I swore that I would never be a pall bearer again.

As I mentioned in an earlier blog, I was involved in my church. I am not completely sure how or why (for that matter) but I ended up playing guitar (and occasionally mandolin) in a folk group every Sunday morning at our church. Of the three of us playing guitar, I was probably the strongest musician but the weakest singer. We "performed" for over three years. During that time period, we were asked to provide music at several funerals. Some of the deceased were "friends, family or acquaintances" and other times we did not know them at all. We sang the usual funeral songs but we did throw in "Daddy's Hands" or "Go Rest High" a few times. We were always offered money but never accepted any. I am proud of that. We "performed" at multiple places. Several churches and several funeral homes. The one lesson I think I learned from the experiences is "never", I mean never make eye contact with a family member of the deceased.

I guess by now you realize that I am as quirky as the other guy but I must relate a funeral that stands out the most.

I played with two other men. Mike K. and Mike J. We learned one night while practicing for the upcoming Sunday's Mass that Mike K's brother in-law Lonnie had passed away. Mike K asked us if we would be willing to play at Lonnie's funeral. We accepted of course. Mike J's wife also sang with us. She was not the best singer but then again who am I to judge. A few days later we were given a list of three songs to sing. They were the usual (for a Protestant funeral at least)
Amazing Grace, How Great Thou Art and In the Garden. That is where the problems began.

First of all I have to state that although Mike J. has a pretty good voice, he has a unique approach to music. Every thing is 4/4 time. I mean everything. Everything is "Country". He has to "know the song" What I mean is, the tune and melody must be burned into his brain. He does not read music and unless he knows the melody, he is lost. In the Garden was a song he did not know. Now I knew it well. It was a favorite song of my mother and father. As I was growing up, I recall the two of them singing it to each other. It was actually played at both of their funerals. (at my request) But Mike did not know it and on top of that he hated the tune. Oh yeah, the song is a 3/4 time tune (a waltz)

We practiced it over and over again. In most cases it went horrible. I called the other Mike and explained that I felt the song would not go over and asked if we could find a substitute. He informed me that the song was one we just HAD to play.

The day of the funeral was a cold blustery early December day. The funeral was held in Liberty, Texas, about 60 miles east of Houston. The funeral home was an old wooden framed building. As we arrived we were dispatched to a very small room directly behind the "pulpit" We were invisible to those attending the funeral. There was a small (1'X1') peep hole window that we could look through to see a red light indicating it was time for us to sing. In front of us was a single microphone (highly sensitive). We had our play list and we were told to listen to the funeral and when we saw the light, we should begin singing. Things started off bad and it went down hill from there. The place was packed with mourners for dear old Lonnie. Then, the preacher refers to him as Bill. Ok, we thought, maybe that was his name too. Then the preacher referred to him as Donnie not Lonnie. Then the three of us got the giggles. That is not a good thing at a funeral. The light came on ....."When we've been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun, We've no less days to sing God's praise than when we first begun." ( I love that verse actually. It is the last verse of the song. I hope one day it is on my tombstone) Ok, one down and two to go. It became pretty obvious that the preacher never met Lonnie, and he was simply going through the motions. Then the light came on again and ... Oh Lord my God.......Once again, it was not all that bad.

The small room that we were in was cramped and uncomfortable. The the red light came on for the last time. We began singing the song my mother and father loved so well. Not a bad start. We got to the chorus and began to harmonize " And he walks with me and he talks with me"... Hey this may not be all that bad after all. Then IT happened. Mike started singing the words of the second verse in 4:4 time and in a different key! To compound the situation he was singing the melody of How Great Thou Art. I realized quickly that the song was doomed. I envisioned that we would get deeper into the song and simply stop singing. It was a train wreck! The thought of that was horrible. Mike usually sang the verses and his wife and I joined in on the chorus. I realized something had to be done. So I moved very close to Mike and stated singing the "correct melody" into his ear. It worked. I then started playing my guitar much louder than Mike's ( I was better suited to transpose into the new key that Mike started). I looked at him and indicated he should stop playing and simply sing. Mike was back on tract and it looked as if we would finish the tune and get out alive. But then .........

The humor in everything got the best of both of us. I began to chuckle and so did he. I once asked how can you sing when you are crying. Well it is easier to do than singing while you are laughing. Oh My God! Those poor mourners. There they were looking at the casket holding their departed son, nephew, grandson and husband, listening to two chuckle heads . Well we finished the last of our three tunes. We stepped out of the small room and quickly packed up our guitars and began to make our get away. We felt we could sneak out the back before the funeral was over and we could avoid any further embarrassments. Standing at the door was our friend Mike K. He just smiled and said thank you and then he asked where we going. I looked at him and said "Come on Mike we screwed up". He laughed and said "I know, but no one else knew" He convinced us to stay and to actually go to the graveside services as well. Why we went I do not recall, but we did go.

As I was walking from the parking area to Lonnie's final resting place, A little old lady walked up to me and grabbed my arm. "You are one of the musicians?" "Yes Mamm I am" I replied a little embarrassed. "Lonnie must have meant a lot to you".... and before I could reply and tell her I did not even know him, she continued "I could tell by the emotion in your voices"

I have been a musician and singer in other funerals since. It has always been special to me.

Now I continue with my quest to find that sixth person.

And yes I hope the Priest at least gets my name right.


I wonder who came up with the idea to have 6 pall bearers and not 7 or eight or ten etc. But then again who really invented the six-pack?





Farewell






at least for the time being,









The Third