Stonewalk

Walk softly and carry a big drum
Bobby Miles, Bobby's World August 26, 2004

Being a musician, I'm not much into strenuous activity. So when my mother mentioned the Stonewalk peace march I didn't give it much thought.
But then, she explained that the walk is a peaceful demonstration that is marching from Boston to New York City. The idea is to bring attention to the civilian victims of war, and the people behind it are relatives and friends of those who were killed in the terrorist attacks at the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001.

The walk took on a whole new meaning, and I decided to be part of it.

My mother told me that two Buddhists were playing drums on the walk to help everyone keep a steady pace, so I brought my Djembe drum with me.

The Djembe is a heavy, solid, hand-carved drum. It weighs about 30 pounds and it's about 30-inches tall. This particular one has a heavy bass sound that carries a long way.

We got to the Orange firehouse at about 8 a.m. The people in charge of the Stonewalk did a short presentation explaining what it was about.

A woman named Adele said a few words. Her son was a New York City fireman who was killed in the line of duty right there in the towers.

She told the Orange firefighters, "When that alarm goes off, you don't know what you're getting yourself into or if you'll come back."

The walkers and firemen exchanged mementos and then they rolled a caisson onto the Boston Post Road to start the walk.

The caisson carried a 1,400-pound granite headstone with the words, "Unknown Civilians Killed in War" carved into it. There was a flower arrangement like you see at a funeral and two books, one for people to sign and one with photographs and short biographies of the Sept. 11 victims.

As we walked, we got to know each other a little. There was this one young guy from Japan, named Kenichi Kato, who walked barefoot. We were side by side behind the caisson for the entire walk. I held my Djembe drum out and he went to town on it for a bit. He seemed to really enjoy it.

I tried to slam out a cool tribal groove, but the angle that the drum was sitting made it hard to play with both hands. Luckily Jun, an older Buddhist woman, started up a six-beat rhythm. She played her "walking drum" and I filled in the low end with my drum.

No one really talked during the walk except to encourage one another to push harder on hills. Every once in a while someone would talk on a cell phone, but it was a solemn event so we were pretty quiet along the way.

Even though we didn't really talk much, I felt comfortable with Jun and Kenichi. We sort of bonded.

We walked along the Boston Post Road, pushing the heavy caisson up hills and feeling a sense of purpose. People came out of stores to walk a short way with us, and some cheered. Passersby in their cars beeped. It was really a good feeling.

We all seemed to be on such common ground that when I heard one guy yell something about "job," I assumed it was "good job" or something along those lines.

Then he repeated it. This time, loud and clear, I heard, "Get a JOB! Go to work!" It was a bit unnerving. All of us were there with a sense of purpose, and suddenly this guy is loudly objecting to our actions.

We brushed off his negativity and kept walking.

The group stopped and took a break in front of Gloria's near the center of Milford.

Jun put her hands together and said a prayer over the caisson before having lunch.

We all sat and talked, and Kenichi took out some rice rolls and miso that he had made and shared them with everyone. It was pretty good.

After that stop, it was time for the Stonewalk to continue on toward New York City, but my leg of the walk was over.

Before everyone started walking again, they put their hands on the stone and had a moment of silence.

I took some photos with Jun and Kenichi, said goodbye to everyone and went home.

All in all, it was a pretty cool thing. I felt like I was part of something important. I met some nice people, took time to think about something besides music, and I'm glad to have done it.

This column reflects the opinion of Bobby Miles, son of Hometown editor Terri Miles, and does not necessarily reflect the views of Hometown Publications.