A box of empties and an extra
Many years back, one of my uncles died and was given a full military funeral. he had been silent about his service, I never knew he had served at all until he died, and then there were all these soldiers who had known him in the service. They crowded around and smiled and told stories among themselves and then somberly proceeded to the casket.
At the graveyard they lined up and pulled rifles out of cases. They were all white painted Enfield 1917’s, chromed. Seven men as old as my uncle lined up, the dress uniforms freshly pressed, chests covered in medals, and fired three salvos.
I wished that I had had the presence of mind to bring a camera, but at moments like that you don’t think of such things or are too otherwise involved in your own grieving, but that picture stays with me- those seven aging men fighting past their aches and pains to come to perfect attention as if the years that had intervened had had no effect on them. The crack of three salvos, each so perfectly synchronized as to sound as a single shot, and the tears in their eyes.
So as not to make them wrinkle their uniforms I walked up afterwards and helped them police the brass. it is here now, a Remington green box with twenty blanks in their plastic holders and one extra tucked into the top of the box. They look odd at first because they are blanks. When I see them I think of that wet September day all those years ago, and those seven men who came from the four corners of the country to send off one of their own.
I think I know how you feel about it.
I have one of the casings from my dad’s funeral.
Doesn’t get any better than that. And they just hoped someone would do the same for them…
We had my Uncles funeral about a year ago. many he served with had passed so it was a pick up group from the American Legion hall.
It is fitting farewell. He spent 26 years in the Navy, so late in WWII and the rest after he re-enlisted and served out to retirement in 73.
One of my BIL’s served on a memorial team when he was stationed in Phoenix. He is pretty proud of that service.
For me, I feel it will be me and the preacher. Such is life.
the first funeral I remember attending was my Uncle Steve. (Panel 61E line 24)
When those dress blue Marines held up their M14’s and fired, it was amazing, I’ll never forget it. When they blew taps, I had a huge lump in my throat, tears in my eyes. I policed up some brass. I still have what I found with most all his correspondence to my grandma and grandpa. And all the letters from the Navy department.
He was the nicest one of all my kin. I miss him to this day.
The last few military funerals that I have attended, they fired blanks for the salute (for obvious safety reasons), but then swapped the fired blank brass for fired live brass to present to the family. I think it was a nice touch as the blank brass just wouldn’t have the same meaning to it.
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My father had me police the brass for the elderly honor guard at several funerals. After the first time, he didn’t need to prompt me. I always marveled at the large shiny fresh cartridges – the calibers I was used to seeing were decidedly smaller. It felt like an honor to assist.