Volosaurus rex
Doctorate in Volology
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- Dec 2, 2009
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I have not posted on Vol Nation for more than two months, due to the rapidly deteriorating health of my 94-year-old mother. To quote the immortal words of John Gillespie Magee, Jr., Rosalie Schmittou succumbed to a decade-long battle with Alzheimers Disease, slipped the surly bonds of Earth on April 15, 2016, put out [her] hand and touched the face of God. On the night before Mom was laid to rest, something truly extraordinary happened at the funeral home, which may be of particular interest to those of you who share our fanatical devotion to Tennessee football. At approximately 5:55 pm, I was sitting in the quietude of the visitation room, where Mom lay in state, her coffin resplendently draped with a Tennessee orange fleece blanket. As you can imagine, it was a time of heightened emotional and spiritual sensitivity. At that moment, however, I had no expectations other than the opportunity to put the final editorial touches on the eulogy I would deliver for Mom the following day.
To my utter astonishment, I began to hear faintly but clearly the strains of Fight, Vols, Fight, followed by Rocky Top. These were no garden-variety renditions of those songs. They bore the unmistakable signatures of the Pride of the Southland Band. As a UT grad and fan of UT football for almost 50 years, I am thoroughly familiar with the context within which those songs are performed in the few, short minutes that immediately precede kickoff, just before the giant T opens and the Volunteers race onto the field.
I went to the visitation room entrance and, as the music continued to play, attempted on several occasions to identify its possible source. It seemed to be most audible through a ceiling vent to the left of the door. I have no idea how long the music lasted, but I asked several people if they heard it. Bob, my brother, said that he had heard nothing out of the ordinary. However, Phyllis Powell, one of the two visitation hosts then on duty, said that she clearly heard Rocky Top. After the music finally faded, I walked over to my deceased mother, gently stroked her hair and said, Mom, are you trying to communicate something?
The following morning, I asked Philip Charland, the Funeral Director, if, to his knowledge, any paranormal activity had ever been reported at their funeral home. He said, No. After informing him of what happened, Philip told me that they had, indeed, laid to rest a Tennessee fan on Tuesday, April 19th, but that the service was performed at another funeral home. Although they did have a recording of Rocky Top on file, it was not preceded by Fight, Vols, Fight, nor was it on the loop that was played at Harpeth Hills the evening prior to Moms funeral. I was also informed that nobody was ever in the upstairs offices at the time I heard this music. Nor was music ever played on cemetery grounds, except for a lone bugler at the occasional military funeral, and those never occurred after 3 pm. In short, the staff of Harpeth Hills Memory Gardens, Funeral Home & Cremation Center could not have been responsible for this music, particularly at the time I heard it.
To what or whom should these ethereal melodies be attributed? I dont know. I must say, however, that their timing, although completely unexpected, was impeccable. Never before had I witnessed paranormal activity of any kind. Given the context of the event, however, its message was utterly perfect in terms of appropriateness to the recipient.
I can certainly understand why anybody would be skeptical of this narrative. As God is my witness, however, I have faithfully recounted the events of April 19, 2016, without exaggeration or embellishment whatsoever.
In relating this experience to persons who attended Moms funeral, I stated that Mom was Pennsylvanian by birth, Tennessean by choice, but, through her endless patience in tolerating our fanatical devotion to Tennessee football, she EARNED her status as an honorary member of the Big Orange Nation. After completion of graveside services and interment, I asked Dr. Bettye Davidson, the officiating minister, if, in her professional career, she had ever experienced or heard of anything remotely similar to the events I have just described. She replied simply, No, Doug, you are one of a kind.
P.S. If you choose to dismiss this account as fiction, please respect my mothers death by refraining from comment.
To my utter astonishment, I began to hear faintly but clearly the strains of Fight, Vols, Fight, followed by Rocky Top. These were no garden-variety renditions of those songs. They bore the unmistakable signatures of the Pride of the Southland Band. As a UT grad and fan of UT football for almost 50 years, I am thoroughly familiar with the context within which those songs are performed in the few, short minutes that immediately precede kickoff, just before the giant T opens and the Volunteers race onto the field.
I went to the visitation room entrance and, as the music continued to play, attempted on several occasions to identify its possible source. It seemed to be most audible through a ceiling vent to the left of the door. I have no idea how long the music lasted, but I asked several people if they heard it. Bob, my brother, said that he had heard nothing out of the ordinary. However, Phyllis Powell, one of the two visitation hosts then on duty, said that she clearly heard Rocky Top. After the music finally faded, I walked over to my deceased mother, gently stroked her hair and said, Mom, are you trying to communicate something?
The following morning, I asked Philip Charland, the Funeral Director, if, to his knowledge, any paranormal activity had ever been reported at their funeral home. He said, No. After informing him of what happened, Philip told me that they had, indeed, laid to rest a Tennessee fan on Tuesday, April 19th, but that the service was performed at another funeral home. Although they did have a recording of Rocky Top on file, it was not preceded by Fight, Vols, Fight, nor was it on the loop that was played at Harpeth Hills the evening prior to Moms funeral. I was also informed that nobody was ever in the upstairs offices at the time I heard this music. Nor was music ever played on cemetery grounds, except for a lone bugler at the occasional military funeral, and those never occurred after 3 pm. In short, the staff of Harpeth Hills Memory Gardens, Funeral Home & Cremation Center could not have been responsible for this music, particularly at the time I heard it.
To what or whom should these ethereal melodies be attributed? I dont know. I must say, however, that their timing, although completely unexpected, was impeccable. Never before had I witnessed paranormal activity of any kind. Given the context of the event, however, its message was utterly perfect in terms of appropriateness to the recipient.
I can certainly understand why anybody would be skeptical of this narrative. As God is my witness, however, I have faithfully recounted the events of April 19, 2016, without exaggeration or embellishment whatsoever.
In relating this experience to persons who attended Moms funeral, I stated that Mom was Pennsylvanian by birth, Tennessean by choice, but, through her endless patience in tolerating our fanatical devotion to Tennessee football, she EARNED her status as an honorary member of the Big Orange Nation. After completion of graveside services and interment, I asked Dr. Bettye Davidson, the officiating minister, if, in her professional career, she had ever experienced or heard of anything remotely similar to the events I have just described. She replied simply, No, Doug, you are one of a kind.
P.S. If you choose to dismiss this account as fiction, please respect my mothers death by refraining from comment.
