Mitchell Way
“There are those who speak about you who say, ‘He lost an arm, he lost a leg, she lost her sight.’
I object!
You gave your arm, you gave your leg, you gave your sight, as gifts to your nation so that we might live in freedom.
Thank you. And to your families, families of the fallen and families of the wounded, you’ve sacrificed in ways that those of us who have not walked in your shoes, can only imagine.”
General Peter M. Pace
The piano melodies of Bach, Chopin, Beethoven, and Brahms echoed around the walls of my small room. Occasionally, my mother would sing an opera or classical favorite from the 1940s while accompanying herself on the piano.
The slush pump, more commonly known as the slide trombone. The instrument which has mystified children since the day it was created — “Mommy, where does that tube go when he slides it back and forth. Into his mouth?” The instrument which mystified me for over 50 years — “Cripes, where do I position the slide so I don’t make the sound of a bellowing cow?”
Authors Note: Many years ago, I wrote the music for Something Forgotten which was produced in a studio and performed live in the theater. The music had no story or lyrics. Finally, after many years, I present the story. You may enjoy playing the song as you read the story.
Author’s note: In April of 2005 I had the opportunity to perform this song for Ralph Pauley at the Alumni Band’s spring concert (video is below). I was helped with the talents of Alumni Band members and the BHS Swing Choir. In August of 2005 he passed away. It was an honor to play for the Music Man.
I knew a man who had his own band, the Bellingham High School Red Raider Band. The first time I met him I was the young age of ten. He marched his whole band to the far side of town, and he showed my small school how big band should sound. He showed off each instrument and he challenged the children to play. The thing that I saw in the eyes of his band when he raised his baton and he tapped on his stand was a sense of respect and admiration for the man and I knew . . . it was an honor to play for the Music Man. They marched straight and tall for the Music Man. They gave it their all for the Music Man was their mentor, their teacher, their friend.
Sitting on a log at Bowman’s Bay
Believing that today would be the day
That I’ve waited for so long for the chance to say, “Be my wife”.
And the sun was so warm, and the waves were bright
As they rolled to the shore in the morning light
The current was running in the pass so strong