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I have a horn in a closet. It sits unused, but it will never be forgotten.

It's a forty year old trombone and it resides in a closet in my home. It hasn't been played in many years and its case hasn't even been opened in over three. Its resale value is next to nothing (other than, perhaps, for it's age) and, currently it occupies no useful purpose. Well, maybe that's not altogether accurate. It still has one purpose and that's to hold the myriad of memories for the part its played in my life.

I attended a small West Texas college on a music scholarship and purchased this particular trombone in my sophomore year at the urging of Joe Bellamah, from whom I took private lessons. It wasn't inexpensive and was the first truly professional quality musical instrument I had ever owned. It was with me as I began to practice up to six hours a day, every day, save nine or ten days, each year. That horn (or ax, as young hip musicians of the day liked to call their instruments) was with me when I gave my senior recital, a major requirement for graduation. It was there as I started playing professionally while still in college. And it stood by me as I endured Joe Bellamah's grueling and intense, twice weekly lessons as he taught me not only how to become a better musician, but how to reach for the impossible and then, after much hard work, to experience absolute joy on the day it finally became possible. A lesson, I might add, that's served me well, long after my playing days were over. The horn even accompanied the college band and me to a bull ring in Mexico where we became the first college band to play between bull fights (Hey, careful where you step!!)

It was the instrument on which I auditioned to become an Air Force band member. It was with me as I sat on the field of the Cotton Bowl in Dallas with the Dallas Symphony Orchestra during a state fair concert. The Symphony had augmented their brass section with brass players (trumpets, trombones, etc.) from the band at Lackland Air Force base in San Antonio. We performed the 1812 Overture with Marine howitzer cannons firing blanks while sitting on the field as far from the symphony (thank God) as possible. Later, as part of the band at Kadena Air Force base in Okinawa, the horn traveled with me to a small Island off the coast of Okinawa for a ceremony at the stone memorial of famed World War II correspondent, Ernie Pyle. It was on this island that he was killed.

It was inside the case I was carrying as I was approached one evening, outside the studios of Armed Forces Radio and Television (on Okinawa), by an agent representing Lionel Hampton. He asked me to join the Hampton band for a tour of the Far East. It seemed that one of the band's trombone players had been caught with a strange chemical substance while in Japan and was being held....shall we say for an indefinite period of time. The military brass had already been approached and had agreed, feeling that having a GI musician travel with Lionel Hampton's band for three months (playing mostly clubs on military bases) was a great PR coup. With Sadness, I declined so as to honor the year long contract I'd signed with a house band at one of the many military clubs on the island. I then had to explain my decision to an Air Force Colonel who, as it turned out, was quite sympathetic to a man who wanted to honor his word. But never-the-less, being asked to join the Hampton band is an honor I'll always remember.

Back in the States, the horn was with me the night I met my first wife while playing in a club in Illinois. She wanted to sing with the band. She wasn't a very good singer, but I didn't care as I was instantly in love. Five months later we were married.

This trombone was a trusted partner through over fifteen hundred professional engagements and many military band performances. It was knocked off its stand several times, requiring repair and it was re-lacquered at Air Force expense, once, on the order of a two star general who thought it should shine more brightly. It logged thousands and thousands of miles on school buses, automobiles, military planes, commercial airliners, military helicopters, two navy ships and, once, when the car in which our college combo was traveling broke down on the way to play a high school prom, a kindly rancher's pick-up truck. I always made sure it was taken care of and it always took good care of me. It saw me grow from a boy into manhood and then went with me through my twenties and into my thirties.

It was there the night I played for the last time at a private dance in Fresno, Calif. And then, just like that, it was over. I hung up the horn, never to play again. It was one of the most difficult decisions I've ever made, but it was the right one. It was time to move on to more secure occupations and life styles.

I considered selling the horn, but never could bring myself to do so. It wasn't until years later I realized why. This well used trombone had been part of my life for many years. These were the years in which I grew up, matured and discovered who I was. Parting with it would be like saying goodbye to an old and dear friend. And so I came to appreciate the fact that it would, and should, be with me for the rest of my days. I open the case every few years and run my hand along the still shiny brass (thank you General, where ever you are) as I remember the many good years and experiences we spent together. I wouldn't want to go back to those days, but I wouldn't trade even one of them for anything.

I have a horn in a closet. It sits unused, but it will never be forgotten.

©2000 by Ken Kreps. This article may not be re-published in electronic or print media without the express written permission of the author. All Rights reserved.

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