EMPTY SADDLES
From the film "Rhythm On The Range" (1936) (Billy Hill / J. Keirn Brennan)
Bing Crosby (Film soundtrack) - 1936
Also recorded by: Roy Rogers & The Sons Of The Pioneers
There's something strange in the old corral
There's a breeze, though the wind has died
Though I'm alone in the old corral
Seems there is someone at my side
Empty saddles in the old corral
Where do you ride tonight?
Are you roundin' up the dogies, the strays of long ago
Are you on the trail of buffalo?
Empty saddles in the old corral
Where do you ride tonight?
Are there rustlers on the border, or a band of Navajo
Are you headin' for the Alamo?
Empty guns covered with rust
Where do you talk tonight?
Empty boots covered with dust
Where do you walk tonight?
Empty saddles in the old corral
My tears will be dried tonight
If you'll only say I'm lonely as you carry my old pal
Empty saddles in the old corral
There is no smoke, still the fires burn,
There's no song, still I hear guitars,
There is no dust, still the ghosts return
Softly to vanish through the bars
Fiddler's Green
The traditional Cavalryman's prayer
The origin and author are unknown
Half way down the trail to Hell In a shady, meadow green,
Are the souls of all dead troopers camped Near a good, old-time canteen,
And this eternal resting place Is known as Fiddler’s Green. Marching past, straight through to Hell The Infantry are seen,
Accompanied by the Engineers, Artillery, and Marines,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen dismount at Fiddler’s Green.
Though some go curving down the trail To seek a warmer scene,
No trooper ever gets to Hell Ere he’s emptied his canteen.
And so rides back to drink again With friends at Fiddler’s Green.
And so when man and horse go down Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge or fierce melee You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head And go to Fiddler’s Green.
Call me crazy if you will, but this song and this analogy are what kept coursing through my mind as I tried to internalize the tasks assigned me this past Wednesday. I have had too many Sons of the Pioneers records and too many references to Fiddlers Green in CAV newsletters. In this mind of mine it has connotations all up and down with the symbolism of Fiddler’s Green and an empty saddle.
Wednesday the 28th of March 2007 was a beautiful day spring day in Washington, DC, capitol of the free world. The temperature was in the mid-seventies with a high, partly cloudy, full sunny sky and a light breeze that freshened as the afternoon progressed. I arrived at the Murphy Funeral Home in Arlington, parked the CAV-Mobile, put on my coat and went inside, asking the way inside the door to SGT John Allen. The viewing and family greeting was from 1000 to 1200.
My official dress was standard issue black pants, black socks and shoes, a white shirt and CAV tie with tie chain; surmounted by black police jacket with A 2/12 name tag, CAV, American Flag, and VVA patches. Headgear was black beret.
The setting for SGT Allen was a large sparsely furnished room, cut down via folding doors from an even larger room. I was in the presence of a casket to the right front of which I could not view the occupant, screened as I was by five to seven persons. As I waited for my way to clear I could see in the right corner on a table two triangle folded American Flags opened at a right angle in their wooden display cases, framing several packets of Gold Stars. Arranged on the open display cases in their individual boxes were the medals that John had won.
Eventually as things progressed I was noticed standing by myself to the rear of the people in front of the casket and I found myself greeted by SGT Allen’s wife, Aspen Allen. If in any gathering of CAV people you are wearing the big yellow patch, you get noticed. Aspen Allen introduced herself and I told her who I was, who I represented, and why I was there to see her husband. I gave her a card of condolence from the Twelfth Cavalry Regiment Association and tried to express our convoluted feelings toward her, her family, and her husband. The other persons in attendance were described as friends of her and John’s through their school years.
We parted as Aspen attended to other matters and I walked up to pay my respects to John himself. He was young, laying there in peace wearing his uniform, accompanied by several personal items whose exact nature I could not ascertain without being too bold or invading his or his family’s privacy.
I stepped away from John’s casket and waited at a respectful distance. I made the acquaintance of a female soldier from Fort Myer lending assistance to the family. I heard people say that John’s mother and father had arrived, their arrival rendered late by the same traffic that had delayed me. As more people came into the room and mingled, I tried to pick out those I supposed to be the parents and the grandparents, and piece together other relationships.
You can imagine my surprise when someone I took to be older introduced herself to me as John’s mother, Kellie Allen. I could not get over how young she looked as she explained that John and his twin sister were born when she was eighteen. His twin sister looked to be of middle school age to me. John’s brother, an Airman and his wife, a service member also, was there. I was immensely impressed by the fortitude and savvy of both Mrs. Allen’s.
The material from newspapers that Charlie forwarded me helped me understand John and the way he lead his life. I was prepared to discuss John and his personality with his wife, his mother, and other family members without appearing I was there only to render duty.
Just before noon the female soldier made a presentation to the family of the metals and the Gold Star pins. We were told to attend to our cars and we left so the casket could be closed and John made ready to convoy to Fort Myer for the military chapel services.
Going outside I introduced myself to Dave “SilverBack” Slone, our Patriot Guard Rider escort. I thanked him for us all. Outside also I met the wives of John’s Battalion and Company commanders. These women suitably impressed me also. The Division, the Regiment, and Army are well served by these fine ladies.
We were lead by a police motorcycle motorcade from Arlington to Fort Myer, side on to Arlington National Cemetery. Four police motorcycles led the way with sirens full on, blue and red lights blazing, their comrades blocking all side streets and entryways, allowing no vehicles to enter the roadway, and waving all on coming cars to the curb. These motorcycle officers would then catch us up and pass with lights flashing, sirens howling, and engines growling. I am not used to police motorcycles catching and passing me; I am used to them being behind, trying to catch up!
When we arrived at the gate to Fort Myer we were held up by a “100% ID check”. Evidentially a lot of people licensed to drive a motor vehicle have a hard time grasping that concept. I had my ID out when it came my turn and was told, “Thank you.” After being told my pass was good only for the immediate vicinity of the front gate and chapel area I parked in the chapel parking lot.
As I drove into the parking area I spied a gentleman wearing a black suit with bright tie and a CAV Stetson. Assuming this to be the Ed Leary I had been told to expect, I went over to him and introduced myself to him. I asked if he was Ed, he affirmed that he was. I told him I was Ken, at least that was what my nametag said. He had asked the Patriot Guard on site if one of them was Ken, they said he was probably stuck in the motorcade from the funeral home.
Webmaster note: Ed Leary, an Associate Member of the 12th Cavalry Regiment Association, who lives in Edgewater, Maryland and works in the Washington, D.C. area also represented the 12th Cavalry Regiment Association at the services of SGT John Allen.
Ed and I talked for a few brief moments, and then we went inside. I have never been to a military funeral before so this is all new to me. The Old Post Chapel at Fort Myer is a brick building and looks like many old colonial churches. The inside is almost pure white and beautiful in a stately, understated manner. If you have ever been in any college campus chapel with the exception of West Point you would have a feeling of recognition. Ed and I were struck by the similarities between the Old Post Chapel and the chapel on the campus of the University of Maryland.
When the military Chaplain led funeral service began you could hear the cadence of marching feet as the casket bearing John was removed from the hearse, borne up the chapel steps, and placed on a dolly. We all stood as a prayer was said and John’s casket, draped in the American flag and lead and followed by an Army soldier, was guided to the front of the chapel. Once at the front John was positioned around to the correct locus.
The service of the Chaplin focused on two parts. The main point was the gift of John’s service to the military, the Army, the nation and the ongoing war against the nation’s enemies through himself, his wife, his parents, and his grandparents, what might be called in parentalis locus. Now those former entities were giving John back to his multiple families and rendering homage for both his service and a job and duty well and nobly served. The secondary point was the service to God and the personality characteristics of John, of how he was special in his ways with family, and friends and comrades. This was not John lying is state; only an empty shell lay in state. John had gone on and waited elsewhere for reunion.
Again we stood together for the final prayer, as John’s two escorts rotated him in correct aspect to the door. John was again wheeled respectfully, at a steady solemn pace, to the rear of the chapel and his six companions. As the doorway cleared, the congregation was released to their cars for the journey to the gravesite. Ed and I separated to drive ourselves to site 60.
We followed in file behind the hearse down through a beautiful spring setting of flowers, freshly leaved trees and shrubs, and myriad tombstones and monuments. Our way took us past the large presence of the Custis-Lee Mansion, where the only American Flag allowed in Arlington is permanently at half-staff. Down the hill we drove to the gravesite where the firing squad, the chairs, and the Astro Turf were in position. Driving down the hill I recognized we getting close to section 60 and as we spread into position I could tell that the site of John’s burial could be no more than four places from that of SSG Alan W. Shaw.
Webmaster note: Ken Howser, representing the 12th Cavalry Regiment Association, also attended the services of SSG Alan W. Shaw, Company B, 1/12th Cavalry who was killed in action on February 9, 2007 and buried at Arlington National Cemetery on February 22, 2007.
I will not talk of the gravesite service. It went well and true to form, and was short and without frills. I did take special note of the way the officer in charge received the flag from the enlisted head of the detail. Two flags were presented to the family; I was not in position to tell if they went to Aspen and Kellie, which is my assumption. Five Patriot Guard Riders were on site to render respect to John, his family, and to his service. The graveside services ended at approximately 1420 and the various family and participants went their separate ways. Ed and I shook hands and parted ways: Ed to a business meeting and I to home.
It was as I tried to recoup both mentally and on a physical level that I kept recalling the words of the Sons of the Pioneers song, “Empty Saddles” and trying somehow to integrate them to the symbolism of the Cavalryman’s Fiddlers Green. We had seen our comrade home and had paid all final and full respects. By way of symbol we had turned his horse out to rest in pasture and placed his saddle upon the corral fence - his saddle had been oiled and buffed, the silver polished and shined. His carbine had been cleaned, oiled, loaded, and placed in its sheath; as was his saber honed and in scabbard. His saddle had been placed where he would find it near to hand should he ever have need of it again, “For none but the shades of Cavalrymen Dismount at Fiddler’s Green”.
Ken Howser's e-mail address is acehigh6I@comcast.net