Still Trying

1. How I would improve an Eclipse trumpet.

There are two areas for improvement, which might be considered. The first area is functionality. I played an OLDS Recording trumpet for years. It has a trigger operated third valve slide. I never met a Recording player, who did not appreciate this arrangement, which is very convenient for those of us with small hands. I would like to see this option on an Eclipse.

I also wish someone would invent a way of extending both the first and third valve slides with the same lever/trigger device. Maybe it is because I do have small hands, but I’ve always found it awkward to operate tuning slides by extending both the left hand ring finger and the left hand thumb and still hold a trumpet securely. I’d like to see a variation on the old OLDS Recording trigger device that when operated in one direction extends the third valve slide, retracts to a center position where both slides are closed, and when operated in the other direction extends the first valve slide. But I don’t know if this is either possible or practical- just an innovation I would like to see some day.

I would also like to see very fine graduation lines added to the tuning slide. It is not uncommon for a trumpet player to have to tune to different pitches with different groups. For example, in the jazz band I'm in, we tune to the leader's baby grand piano at rehersals in his den, but we tune to his electric key board for performances (different pitch). We tune to another different pitch for community band, and still another pitch for the piano/key board at church. I think graduated lines on the tuning slide would be a nice feature, when switching back and forth among various tuning pitches. It certainly is not a necessity, but it would prove convenient at times.

The second area in which I would offer a suggestion is in the area of horn cosmetics. Eclipse is already beautiful-one of the most beautiful instruments I have ever seen. But I think you need to add the option of brushed silver to your finish line. In addition a time honored method of enhancing beauty in a work of metal, and truly converting it into a work of art, is with engraving. And I would like to see this option added to the Eclipse stable.

2. Theme for my dream Eclipse: Gabriel’s Trumpet

The details and rational for my trumpet theme are included in the story below. Leigh said to “write a short story”, and I interpreted that to mean make one up. I’m certain all readers of the following, will have no trouble determining that it is the product of my imagination. The instruction was to also include several items, which were bolded in the original Word document, but which failed to carry over as bolded on TM. But all the necessary elements are there.

3. Gabriel’s Trumpet (a story by Still Trying-this time I’m trying to win a horn!) This story has two chapters. The first chapter describes among other things the looks and importance of Gabriel’s Trumpet. The second chapter explains how Gabriel came to acquire his horn. As I thought about my entry, which at first consisted only Chapter One, the story seemed to me to have a loose end. The question was asked as to how Gabriel acquired his horn, but never answered. The question intrigued me until I figured it out. At that point I finished the story. I hope everybody enjoys this little saga.

CHAPTER ONE

It all happened so quickly. There was really no time to plan and react-even if he had had the experience that only age can bring. But then if he had been an adult, his reflexes might not have been as quick as they were. In any case it would not have mattered. The car that hit him was traveling so fast on the slick street that no amount of age, experience, or reflexes could have prevented his being hit and thrown from the bicycle. It’s funny, he remembered thinking. He had heard stories of people whose lives passed before their eyes, when they were facing death. But all he could wonder about before he hit the pavement was how badly his trumpet in the case secured behind his bicycle seat had been damaged, and would his teacher understand about his being late for his lesson.

He awoke with a start. He could not tell if he had been asleep for just a second or for days. But he felt fine-no pain or aches from the accident at all. Then he realized that he had this sensation of floating. He felt light as a spirit.

“Welcome home, Scott”.

A surge of surprised joy swept through the lad’s thoughts, as he recognized the voice. “Pawpaw!” he shouted and turned to see from where the voice had originated. His Grandfather had died two years earlier, but Scott recognized that voice as if it had just whispered, “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning” in his ear. In fact his Grandfather had whispered those words in his ear the night before they discovered that he had gone to be with the Lord in his sleep.

“Pawpaw, what are you doing here, and where are we?”

“Well, Scott, This is where I live now. This is where you live now too. I know you’ll have a thousand questions, and I can’t wait to start showing you around.”

It was about then that Scott realized that something was very different. He and his Grandfather could see and talk to each other, but they were more like apparitions than real people. And his grandfather did not look old any more. Instead he looked like a young man in the prime of life. Before Scott could ask about that, his Grandfather turned, surprising agile for a man well advanced in years, in spite of appearances, and started walking down the most beautiful flower path Scott had ever seen. The path led to a large grassy meadow in which hundreds of people, all spirits like Scott and his Grandfather, were sitting and visiting around large tables. All were wearing white, flowing robes. The tables were piled high with what appeared to be food, but Scott could not recognize any of the dishes, except for loaves of bread and bottles of wine.

Scott and his Grandfather found seats at a table and soon Scott was being introduced to family members going back many generations. There was much laughter around the tables and friendly chatter. Scott did not hear a single voice that sounded disturbed or irritated from any of the multitudes in attendance.

Just then, Scott heard the most beautiful trumpet playing he had ever heard in his life. The sound seemed to come from both very close and from very far away. The tone was absolutely flawless-crystal clear with body from overtones ordinary human ears cannot even detect, and with lyrical qualities that gave Scott the impression he was listening to the most beautiful sun set he could imagine converted to music. The unseen trumpeter played melodies spanning unheard of ranges with ease and with a technical mastery that simply could not be believed.

“Pawpaw, who is that trumpet player, and can I go watch him?” Scott’s face reflected pure awe.

“Oh, Scott, I nearly forgot about your interest in trumpet. Sure-you can meet that fellow. His name’s Gabriel”.

Before Scott’s Grandfather had time to fully stand up, Scott was running toward the source of the sound. When Scott found Gabriel, the angel had his eyes closed, almost as if he were in a trance and was playing softly, singing some internal, soulish lyric through the bell of his horn. The lad was hesitant to even make noise, much less actually interrupt the musician. So he stood very still and listened and watched, as the angel serenaded heaven with song after song suitable even for the King of Kings, Himself.

Time means nothing in Heaven, and Scott was not the least concerned with how long he listened patiently, understanding from the music one of the things that makes Heaven to be Heaven. At length the angel removed the trumpet from his lips and without turning or even appearing to notice that the boy was present, he said, “Welcome, Scott. It’s always nice to have another trumpet player join us”.

“How did you ever get so good?” Scott blurted out in amazement. I could never play that good-not in a million years. Gabriel laughed. “Well, we’ll see after you’ve had a million years or so to practice. Just think how good people get on earth with only 50 or 60 years to practice and limited by twenty-four hour days. Up here we aren’t handicapped with time. Neither are we handicapped with fatigue or physical limitations of any sort. And you will discover that your mind works better also. You can play as long as you desire and never stop improving. If you like, I will even give you lessons for a thousand years or so to get you started.”

Scott found himself really attracted to this angel. But he found himself also really attracted to something else. “Mr. Gabriel, Sir, would you mind, if I looked at your horn for a second?”

“Sure, look at it as long as you like”.

Scott examined the horn. The trumpet looked vaguely familiar somehow, but he couldn’t quite place it among his distant memories. It looked just like an Eclipse trumpet, he had seen once, finished in gold and silver, except that it had a brushed silver finish. The valve caps, top and bottom, were polished gold. The slides were polished gold. The inside of the bell was polished gold. On the bell was an engraving in gold of a sheep, a cross, and a lion. Scott noticed the tuning slide was part of the bell curve, not like most trumpets he had seen, and it had a continuous lead pipe all the way from the mouthpiece receiver into the third valve casing. The third valve tuning slide had a trigger control on it so that one extended the slide by flexing his ring finger instead of by extending it. The main water key was of traditional design, but the third valve slide had an Amado water key. Just down from the mouthpiece receiver, etched into the side of the leadpipe was the inscription, “Gabriel’s Trumpet”.

“This is the most unusual horn I have ever seen. Do the pictures mean something? And where did you get it? Did somebody up here in Heaven make it?” Scott had a lot of questions about the horn.

“Everything about this horn has a meaning, Scott. To begin with the horn is brushed silver because it’s my horn and the silver represents me. I’m pure, as that is how God made me, but my glory is to glorify Him. I do not wish to receive any of the glory due only to Him or attract attention to myself. So the part of the horn that represents me, is pure, but brushed in finish so that it does not compete with the polished gold for dominance. The gold engraving of the lamb, the cross, and the lion represent the ministries of the Lord Jesus Christ. As a Passover lamb He died on a cross for the human race. But when He returns, He will reign as king, the Lion of the Tribe of Judah. The gold color of the engraving refers to the fact that He is deity, either as a sacrificial lamb or as a king. The valve caps, the slides in polished gold can all be seen from either side of the horn. The polished gold is a reminder of His deity where ever it is found on the trumpet. The inside of the bell is gold because I will play this horn as His messenger one day, the most important performance of my existence. And as it will be His commands coming from the end of my bell, the bell is finished in gold. You can see gold representing God from any direction, as you examine the horn. No one would ever play this horn in a setting, which did not glorify Him”

“But where did you get it,” Scott asked. Again the angel smiled. “It was custom made for me by a very skilled craftsman in England.”

“Oh sure”, said Scott, skeptically. “You just waltzed into a shop in England wearing your robes and all, and ordered a horn”.

“Not quiet”, said Gabriel. “The horn craftsman, a man named Leigh, thought he was making it for someone else. But that’s another story.”

“How did you pay him for it? Angels don’t carry money, do they?”

“Believe it, or not, Scott, this trumpet was made and presented as a gift. The artist, who made it, could have sold it for many thousands of dollars, but he gave it away as a gift. It was a very, very generous thing to do. And had he not chosen to give his skill and artistry away freely, we could never have used it here. God doesn’t buy things from the human race. He chooses to bestow His gifts and blessings on mankind freely. And He only accepts from men what they freely give back.”

Scott was silent for a time as he thought about what the angel had said. It truly was unusual for a man to give away something from which he could have profited. Finally he said, “You spoke of a very important engagement you would play with this horn some day. What did you mean by that?”

“Scott, you may have noticed that you don’t have a physical body, just a spiritual body. But one day God will send me to earth to blow this horn, and your physical body will be resurrected from its grave. Not only your body, but the bodies of every one here in heaven will be raised. That’s called Resurrection Day, and this horn will sound the command that announces it. For hundreds of years people have gone to sleep in the Lord expecting to hear me play trumpet on that day. As yet, no one on earth has ever heard me play-not yet. But one day that will change. That day is very special and demands a trumpet worthy of the occasion. I was commissioned to locate the finest trumpet that could be found any where-in Heaven or on earth. And you’re holding the trumpet that was selected as being worthy of heralding the great event about which I spoke. Scott, that’s the significance and the uniqueness of Gabriel’s Trumpet.”

CHAPTER TWO

“Gabriel, if the trumpet was built in England, how did it get to Heaven?” It had been a while since the first meeting between the angel and the boy, but Scott’s curiosity to know the answer to that question had grown stronger and stronger since their first meeting.

“How do you want your answer, Scott? I can tell you the story or just let you watch it.”

“How can I watch it?” Scott asked. “We’d have to go back in time.”

“Actually once in heaven, you can observe things, which happened in the past”.

“How can we do that?” Scott had a puzzled look on his face.

“It’s kind of an advanced concept, Scott. But eternity doesn’t have a beginning, or an ending. And time is kind of a sub set of eternity. Being part of eternity, it always is. What has happened in the past from the perspective of time, is still part of eternity and therefore still is. And what is still future in time, is also an element of eternity. Therefore, it also exists, even if it has not occurred yet. That’s one of the ways God knows what is going to happen in the future, because He’s already seen it. Any of us in heaven can observe what is going to happen, but unlike us, God also controls it.”

“You mean we can just go back and look at any thing in history we wish-like we’re watching a movie?

“Something like that. From our perspective we can also sense what someone in time is thinking too. Do you want to get started?”

“Lead on, Gabriel, I’m right behind you?”

……………..

Thomas looked up when his office phone rang-two short rings signaling an outside call. He picked up the phone and answered it.

‘Baby”, his wife spoke on the other end of the line, “The doctors have just diagnosed Scooter”.

“Again? They’ve already diagnosed him three times before this”. Thomas mentally rehearsed the list of pathologic conditions previously and erroneously ascribed to Scooter’s condition. First it was failure to thrive. Then it was cerebral palsy. Then it was Russell-Silver Syndrome.

“This time they’re certain. They ran some genetic tests that confirmed it.”

“What did they find out?”

“It’s not good. It’s really, really bad. It’s something called Cockayne Syndrome.”

“That’s a new one on me. I never heard of that before.”

“It’s so rare there are only about 60 known cases in the whole world. But it’s very bad. Scooter’s life expectancy is only 12 years, and there are all kinds of degeneracy things that are likely to happen before the condition finally takes its toll. His body will slowly atrophy and deteriorate until it can’t sustain life any longer. He was born with a genetic condition that makes him allergic to ultra-violet light. Being exposed to it triggers an irreversible reaction in the way his DNA synthesizes proteins. The first time he was exposed to ultra-violate light, maybe from the hospital lights when he was born, or maybe from carrying him to the car in sunlight, his fate was sealed. There’s nothing doctors can do for it.”

Thomas had already entered the grief process before he hung up the phone. He mechanically started an internet search for whatever information he could find about Cockayne’s Syndrome. Thomas and his wife had always called their grand son “Scooter”, although that wasn’t his real name. But the child had always been crippled and under sized. He was five years old now, but could not walk or speak clearly, and he scooted on his behind to move from place to place. It hurt him to try to crawl.

But Scooter always had a smile on his face, and was the best natured kid Thomas had ever seen. And the kid was gutsy too. After navigating laboriously across a room to reach a chair in which he wanted to sit, Scooter would strain and strain, his little emaciated muscles twitching and shaking, to climb into the chair. By the time he pulled himself into the chair, he would be sweating from the effort. But he wanted to do it by himself. And one could see how pleased he was with his accomplishment, when he finally attained the seat. Everyone, who met the kid, was impressed by his courage. Everyone, who met him, fell in love with him. But while friendly to everyone, he with the innocence of a child, only openly displayed his love for Thomas and his grandmother (Pawpaw and Grammer).

The lad was the product of two teenagers getting married too early because of necessity, and the mom taking flight from both the marriage and the child, as soon as it became evident that the baby was going to require much more of her time than she was willing to share. Taking care of Scooter was a full time job because he never reached the stage of independence expected of normal children. There did not appear to be anything wrong with Scooter’s mind, but he had no control over his muscles. They just wouldn’t do what he told them to do. The mom panicked, when she contemplated the years of “imprisonment” ahead of her, and she never loved the child’s dad anyway. Besides, the baby’s paternal grandparents (Thomas and his wife) were more than willing to take care of the baby, and could do so better than the mom any way-or so she reasoned.

Scooter’s dad loved the baby and willingly accepted responsibility for the child to the extent he could. But he was a single parent and had never completed his education. And now, due to a youthful indiscretion, he was faced with the task of entering the workforce and providing for a family, when he lacked the necessary training or job skills. Still he worked at any job he could find to meet his baby’s needs. Nevertheless, he could not work and take care of the baby all at the same time. Day cares would not keep anyone with Scooter’s health issues. So Scooter’s dad finally gave in to the requests of his parents to allow them to raise Scooter as their own. But it was with the understanding that the dad would get Scooter back, as soon as he found a way to care for him.

For the first year or two of his life Scooter couldn’t sleep at night. He woke up crying out, as if having bad dreams, every few minutes. So Thomas learned to sleep in a recliner with the baby sleeping on his chest. That way he could comfort Scooter and calm him, whenever the child would scream out in his sleep. Scooter’s first full night sleep, came on his grandfather’s chest.

Eventually, Scooter’s dad learned a craft and remarried-this time to a woman trained as a nurse. The dad had had to move to a different town to accommodate his job, and he decided to take Scooter with him. Actually, one of his chief motivations for selecting the woman he married was her ability and willingness to help him reassume his responsibilities as a parent. And he was anxious to be reunited with his son.

But to Scooter mom and dad were just words with little meaning. Grammer and PawPaw had always been mother and daddy to him. He couldn’t understand that he belonged with his dad, who genuinely loved him with all his heart. The dad had worked long, hard hours every day for several years and gone to school at night to acquire the skills and financial means to reassume his responsibilities to Scooter. But all Scooter could understand was that he wanted to live in “PawPaw’s house”. This kept both Scooter and his dad unhappy and depressed after they were reunited. PawPaw took up the habit of playing trumpet again, an activity he had forsaken long before as a necessity for caring for his own family, in an attempt to keep his own mind occupied with different things.

About one weekend a month, Scooter got to visit PawPaw and Grammer. By this time PawPaw had acquired some recorded accompaniment CDs of hymns and church music, and found some time to play along with them nearly every day. On the weekends when Scooter visited, whenever Thomas started to play, it was just a matter of minutes before Scooter found him. He would scoot into the bedroom on his butt and announce he wanted to play “Frumpet” with PawPaw. Thomas had set aside an old cup mute and a mouthpiece especially for Scooter. Scooter would place the mouthpiece into the mute and practice “frumpet” along with PawPaw. When Thomas placed the trumpet on its floor stand, Scooter would scoot over and gaze at the trumpet for the longest. Sometime he would reach out and caress the horn like he was petting a puppy. He always did so with extreme tenderness. When PawPaw wasn’t practicing, but had the stereo playing, Scooter would sit and listen to the music for hours and try to dance to it.

Then Thomas won a contest for a custom made Eclipse trumpet. Part of the contest had been to describe how he wanted the horn to look, if he were to win. Because church music had become such a bonding point for him and Scooter, he thought of Gabriel’s Trumpet as a theme for the horn and had tried to imagine how he would want it to look, if he were Gabriel and ordering a horn for himself.

The trumpet was a prize and a half. A custom made trumpet had always been a dream, but never a mental reality. And then he won this fantastic horn. Thomas felt very grateful, not only to the Eclipse folks, who had awarded him the trumpet, but also to God. After all, it was God who had given him the ability to write the entry, which had been selected as the winner of the contest. So he dedicated the trumpet, which had a Christian theme, to the purpose of glorifying God, when ever he had the opportunity.

Opportunities to do just that were not long in coming. It started slowly. A lady, who played in the community band with Thomas, saw the trumpet and invited him to come play a solo for a worship service at her church. The horn had a most beautiful sound. It drew appreciative comments from both trained musicians and ordinary listeners. Thomas played it from the depth of a very emotionally filled heart. And all who saw or heard the horn were fascinated by being able to actually look at and hear “Gabriel’s Trumpet”. Somehow the word spread about the horn and Thomas’s willingness to play at worship services, and within a year, someone was inviting him to play nearly every Sunday. Many of the churches, which invited him to play, were in other towns. In time Thomas found himself away from home on many, if not most, weekends.

“Thomas,” his wife warned him, “I’m concerned about your priorities. Scooter was over last weekend, and instead of spending time with him, you drove 200 miles away to play your trumpet in another church filled with total strangers to you. You had to leave Saturday to practice with their organist, and you didn’t get back until after Scooter had gone back home on Sunday night. He spent the whole weekend asking where PawPaw was, and watching out the window for you to come back. And that wasn’t the first time. It’s getting so it happens all too frequently. One of these days you will regret the time you are not spending with Scooter. It’s not like we have all the time in the world with him. You know how much he loves me, but he loves you even more. It breaks his heart, when he sees you just for a few minutes and then you get in your car and drive away for the weekend.”

“It breaks my heart too”, Thomas responded, “but we never know ahead of time, when his dad’s work schedule will allow him to meet us half way, so we can pick up Scooter for the weekend. And I have usually already made a commitment somewhere to play for someone’s church service. I don’t know what to do. I feel a responsibility to God to play for His glory, whenever I have the opportunity, and when it is announced that a congregation will have the opportunity to see and hear Gabriel’s Trumpet, there is always a good turn out for the service. Many people are enticed to hear the gospel of Christ, who might not hear otherwise. My conscience rips me apart, when I drive off and leave Scooter crying for me. But my conscience also rips me apart, if I think about some soul departing this earth for eternity without Christ, if I might have done something to prevent it. I don’t know what to do about it. I love my horn like no other material possession, but I feel such an obligation, as its owner. If I stay here I feel guilt. If I go, I feel guilt.”

The conflict in Thomas’s life continued for many months, but he still had not found a way to resolve the conflict. He prayed continuously for God to give him wisdom. And then one weekend, God gave him the solution he had been seeking.

In heaven God turned to one of the cherubim, who were always found about His throne, and instructed him to summons Gabriel. Instantly, the angel responded to God’s call. “Gabriel”, God said, “I have an assignment for you tonight. Remember when I asked you to locate a source for a one-of-a kind trumpet to be played at the resurrection? And you selected Eclipse as the finest available trumpet. Then I whispered in Leigh McKinney’s ear to conduct a contest with an Eclipse to be awarded as a prize. I wanted the generosity of his heart to be manifested to all, and I will reward him accordingly. When he arranged for the contest, I had you whisper in Thomas’s ear a description of the trumpet you wish to play at that very special day. It’s time to bring the trumpet home, Gabriel, and when you do, deliver this message for Me.”

That night, Thomas played for a very responsive congregation in a rather large church several hundred miles from his home. Thomas had never played more beautifully, and the horn’s voice seemed to grow more lovely every time it spoke. He was constantly aware, as he sang praises to God through that horn, how fortunate he was to be the owner of Gabriel’s Trumpet. There truly was none other like it anywhere. But it was another week end that required leaving Scooter at home in tears, and the depression of knowing Scooter would be gone, when he returned, left a pall hanging over the joy he would otherwise have felt. After the completion of the service he lingered in the semi-darkened auditorium, wiping the trumpet down with a polishing cloth, as was his habit, before returning it in its case. His cell phone rang. He punched in the code for caller ID and saw a number he did not recognize. If it’s another church, they are calling kind of late, he thought. Then he answered the phone.

“Thomas!” He could hear the concern and the desperation in his wife’s voice. “It’s Scooter. I’m calling from the hospital. Scooter’s heart is failing, and he’s in critical condition. Thomas, the doctor said Scooter is dying. Please try to get home as soon as you can. He’s calling for you constantly, and we don’t know how long he can hold on.”

The spontaneous sobs from inside Thomas came with such violence that he felt physical pain in his chest and throat, and his hand was shaking, as he returned the phone to his pocket. He felt like screaming in pain from the agony caused by the mixture of grief and guilt. All the times he had left the baby at home and gone off to play engulfed him like a tidal wave, and he found himself struggling to breathe. The church altar, standing in the center of the auditorium, was illuminated continuously by a beam from an overhead spot light. Thomas found himself drawn unsteadily toward this light, Gabriel’s Trumpet still in his hand. He gently placed the horn in the center of the blue velvet cloth covering the altar. The overhead spot light captured the trumpet in its beams. Truly, Gabriel’s Trumpet had never gleamed more beautifully. Thomas collapsed to his knees in prayer.

“Father, You know how much I love You and how I have tried to honor You in the manner in which I played this trumpet. It was a wonderful gift. But Scooter is also one of Your wonderful gifts. Ever since I received Gabriel’s Trumpet, I have been making choices between Your two gifts. If Scooter dies before I see him, I don’t think I can live with the guilt. I feel as if I abandoned him, not once, but many times. But, Lord, I couldn’t have lived with the guilt of not using this horn to bring the lost into a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ either. This load is too heavy for me, and I am too weary and confused to be able to carry it any longer. I am returning to you Gabriel’s Trumpet. I pray You find someone stronger and more deserving to play it for You. And I pray with all my heart that you spare Scooter. Please let me be able to make up to him somehow all the times I have left him.”

Thomas didn’t know how long he prayed, but when he looked up, he saw Gabriel watching him. He had heard no one approach and the sudden sight startled him. “Who are you?” he stammered partly in amazement and partly from fear.

“I’m not God, so please stand upright. One only kneels before God”. As Thomas found his feet, the angel continued. “My name is Gabriel, and God has sent me in response to your prayer. He told me that I am to assume the responsibility for playing this trumpet for His honor and glory. He knows you have come to the end of your strength in that endeavor, but He is well pleased with your efforts.”

“Thomas,” the angel continued gently, “you need feel none of the guilt from which you are suffering. The Lord has seen your heart, and knows that the struggle in your conscience was in trying to determine the correct choices. He also knows you consistently chose what you thought would most please Him. He told me to convey to you this promise. He has restored to you the years the locusts ate.”

Thomas recognized the quote from the prophet Joel in the Old Testament. But it was a passage dealing specifically with the Children of Israel, and the end times. He did not see how it applied to him. “But what does that mean?” he asked.

“What does it mean?” the angel repeated the question and looked thoughtful for a moment. “You are shortly to discover that no one can out give God.” And with that final word the angel disappeared from Thomas’s sight. And so did Gabriel’s Trumpet from the altar.

For a few moments the excitement of meeting the angel had almost made Thomas forget about Scooter. The whole event had been so surreal that he would have thought it an illusion, but for the fact that the trumpet was missing. His cell phone ringing brought him back to reality. This time he recognized the number on caller ID as coming from the hospital, and his hand started shaking again as he reluctantly answered. He was scared of the massage he was about to receive, and dreaded to take this call.

“PawPaw!” The voice on the other end of the line was strong and excited and bubbling with joy.

“Scooter! Is that you? You are speaking so clearly!” The tone of Thomas’s words were pure incredulity. He could hear a plethora of excited, laughing, joyous voices in the background.

“It’s not Scooter any more, PawPaw. It’s just plain Scott. I can walk now. And something’s happened that no one can explain. I’m well! Grammer said it’s a miracle from God. I can’t wait to see you. And Grammer said you would teach me how to play trumpet now. See. I don’t have to call it a “frumpet” any more.”

Back in Heaven Scott had been following this whole drama attentively. At this point he erupted with “Gabriel, I knew I’d seen that trumpet somewhere before!”

Gabriel started laughing. “That’s true. You used to scoot up to it on your bottom just so you could touch it.”

“How come I didn’t recognize my grandfather until now?”

“I kind of clouded that for you,” confessed Gabriel. “I like surprise endings.”

“What did my Grandfather say, when he saw you playing Gabriel’s Trumpet in Heaven?”

“I asked him, if he wanted it back. He said to show him the trumpet. Then he asked me whose name was on it? When I said Gabriel’s, he smiled and said that was correct. Then he told me that as much as the trumpet meant to him, the years the locusts ate being restored to him meant so much more.”

“So, Scott, now you not only know the significance and the uniqueness of Gabriel’s Trumpet, but also its history.”


4. Why should you make Gabriel’s Trumpet for me?

I would like to think that I am a candidate for winning the Eclipse because of the effort I put into my entry. It might not be a great story, but I literally spent weeks working on it. Stories are designed to be read for enjoyment, and I wanted the reader to feel he had not wasted his time by reading this one. I tried to make this composition appealing enough so that people would keep reading it, once they started, even if it were not just another entry in a contest.

I really want to win an Eclipse trumpet-enough to have spent all the talent, mental power, and effort I possess in trying. To me winning this contest would be the trumpet world equivalent to winning the Super Bowl. I still can’t believe Leigh is just going to give one of his trumpets away. I think I must have spent more time on my entry than Leigh will require to build a trumpet for the winner. If I don’t win, I at least gave it my best shot. I didn’t hold anything back.

I also tried to be reasonable and conservative in the suggestions I offered to improve the horn because I would really like a trumpet that has the same sound and playing characteristics as the Eclipse trumpets reviewed by Noel, Bruce, and Jarrett. I don’t want a horn with a different lead pipe, bore size, bell design, etc. because I do not see how a horn with these types of changes could still play like an Eclipse. I would prefer a horn without a lot of ornamentation added. I’m afraid the extra weight will affect the response and sound of the horn. Besides that type of cosmetic change detracts from the natural beauty of the horn-at least for my tastes. So I limited my suggestions to small functional improvements and cosmetics. But if Gabriel’s Trumpet does get built, I don’t think Leigh will be ashamed to add its picture to his custom page. It should still be a very beautiful example of his skill.

I would also like to thank Leigh and Trumpet Master for arranging this contest, and allowing me to compete.