There weren’t many activities you could sign up for as a new cadet—a “doolie”—at the Air Force Academy in the early 1970s. Actually, there were quite a few activities available, but you would only have time to sign up for one or two. That was a function of how much marginal free time you had. And, that wasn’t very much. A lot of athletes “walk-on” at the Academy—about 65% of all athletes there walk-on. Alas, I wasn’t one of those.
But, I managed to “walk-on” to the Protestant Cadet Chapel Choir. There was an audition. It was pretty pro-forma since the audition was held during Basic Cadet Training just after we first arrived and all of us were in various stages of laryngitis. At any rate, I made the Choir and sang bass.
The Choir was an outlet for me. I contributed to the sound and not too badly. Our director was the now-legendary, late James Roger Boyd. My goodness what an organ he could play. Those pipe-clearing blasts still reverberate through my mind and I wander through YouTube looking for some of the classics he would play in the loft.
As in any Air Force Academy cadet activity, there was cadet leadership and a “chain of command” for the choir. These were the leaders who could really sing. And, it would befall to them to get the rest of us on the right key for the prelude and processional before each service.
Those services would start in this way. We would walk under and around the chapel to arrive at the lower-level north entrance and assemble inside, under and behind the altar. There in that lower foyer, open on both sides to the protestant level above, we would listen for our cue from Mr. Boyd in the rear of the chapel at the organ, who would be playing the organ entrance to the service. He would usually end with the first three notes of our prelude—as we were to be singing acapella. Our cadet leader would also give us a note, and then would raise his hands to lead us all. What happened next would be one of the best parts of my Academy experience.
For we would break into song—as loudly as we could, according to Mr. Boyd—and sing a praise so strong and clear that when we were done, we could hear our voices flying around in those colored glass-lit rafters at the top of the chapel—for several seconds. It was the same prelude week after week, month after month, and so, we were really good at it. I enjoyed the trips we took to Washington to sing at the National Cathedral, or to Garden of the Gods for the community Easter Sunrise services. The anthems we performed were classics. I loved that I could contribute to that sound.
But, I went each week to sing that prelude. And hear the echoes and re-echoes. What was that song, you ask? Seventeenth century Germans Johann Rist and Johann Schop would provide the words and music respectively but it was nearly one hundred years later that another composer would add the harmony: Johann Sebastian Bach.
It was a Christmas song. It didn’t matter if it was August or April. We belted it out. And, I have been in only a few other settings where the sounds of music were as meaningful to me as this.
“Break forth, O beauteous heavenly light,
And usher in the morning;
O shepherds, shrink not with afright,
But hear the angel’s warning.
This Child, now weak in infancy,
Our confidence and joy shall be,
The power of Satan breaking,
Our peace eternal making.”
After the echoes were done, we’d climb up the stairs from that foyer and emerge from behind the altar to begin the processional while singing the first hymn. That was a time when I could sing.
Now in these later decades of my life, at Christmastime, I listen for the songs of my earlier years. No one can go back. But would there be a chariot for me, I would happily chase after the echoes in those rafters.