On the night of November 2, 2005, Richard Adjei hopped on a subway train in downtown Toronto. Slung over his shoulder was his faded black canvas bag on a thick black drawstring. No one ever really knew what was in it, but everyone was sure of one thing: his trumpet was almost always there.
After his college classes finished, Richard was on his way to music practice with the Royal Regiment Band of Canada. He had been a member for a handful of years, and had his high school music teacher, Nathan Haynes, to thank for the recommendation to the military band.
Richard was last seen on a platform at Osgoode subway station by two strangers: one on the subway platform and the driver of the subway train pulling into the station the way he would on any other night.
But there was no way the driver would have known what Richard was thinking or what Richard was going to do.
As the train sped through the tunnel, 22-year-old Richard Adjei consciously set down his bag and jumped in the train’s path.
On the platform on a nearby bench, lay his canvas bag, his trumpet inside.
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Late on Friday, November 4, Richard’s friends were calling each other in a panic with terrible, unconfirmed rumours about something impossible. They tried his cell phone — it was out of service.
Early morning on Saturday, November 5, his friends were still trying to piece together what happened and no one wanted to call his family to find out the truth.
At 11 a.m., I dialed Richard’s home number and his father picked up. He asked, “Who is this? Who is this?” I told him I was a friend of Richard’s from high school and I’d played in the school band with him and Mr. Haynes and he said, “Hang on,” and I waited to hear Richard come to the phone.
But instead, I heard his mom and she asked, “Who is this? Who is this?” And when I asked for Richard again, she abruptly began sobbing and my heart lodged in my throat.
She managed to choke out, “Richard’s dead.” She couldn’t speak through her cries. A soft click on the other end of the phone ended the call.
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For students at Richard’s high school, he was That Quiet Guy or The Guy With A British Accent. Passing him in the school hallways, he’d smile a little smile and if you were lucky, he’d give a little salute and call your name — your last name. It was never “Emily,” it was always “Ms. Afan.”
Mostly, those who attended the school from 1997 to 2002 knew Richard as The Trumpet Guy. As a member of the school band, Richard was immediately recognized as the guy who stood alone in front of the entire student body every Remembrance Day and played a bugle call on his trumpet. That solo bugle call is played around the world and is called “The Last Post.”
Knowing that Richard would never again play that song hit Nathan Haynes especially hard. Haynes arrived at the school in the fall of 1998 as the sole music teacher. He and Richard were not just student and teacher, but also friends. When Richard graduated in 2002, he asked Richard to play the trumpet with the Royal Regiment Band of Canada. Haynes soon left for a new school, but continued inviting Richard to play with his new student band.
On the morning of Friday, November 7, a teacher pulled Haynes aside. She had heard the news about Richard through an e-mail from the first school’s chaplain. Haynes had not yet checked his e-mail that day, and the teacher didn’t want him to find out while sitting alone at his office computer.
Haynes was “devastated, simply devastated” recalls the attendance secretary. On his way to the photocopying room that morning, he broke down in tears, eliciting looks from students and teachers who were worried that perhaps something had happened to his pregnant wife and unborn baby.
I am holding up the best that I can, writes Haynesin an e-mail on November 11, Remembrance Day. This has been a really tough week. “The Last Post” was hard to hear this year. I even found it difficult to work with one of my grade ten students who had to play it. I ended up calling him Richard three or four times.
I talked with Richard’s mom (on November 11). That was really hard to do, I just wanted to burst into tears. She wanted to know if Richard could be buried in his military band uniform, if the band could play and if anyone had pictures of Richard in his band uniform. I never realized that he liked playing the band that much, I was really shocked. I’m trying to do whatever I can to make these things happen, but I don’t know if they will be possible. I really hope so though.
The visitation was set for the evening of Friday, November 18 and the funeral for the following morning, two and a half weeks after Richard’s death to allow for family to fly in from the U.S., England and Africa.
A few hours before the visitation, three of Richard’s friends -– Christina, Sandy and I –- visited Haynes at his new school, where we watched videos of past high school concerts. For 15 happy minutes, we laughed and pointed and felt no sense of loss. Reminiscing was the easiest part.
There was Richie, with green reindeer antlers on his head from a Christmas concert in 2000.
There was Richie, twirling his trumpet in the way that always drove Haynes crazy.
There was Richie, wailing away on his trumpet while his fellow bandmates were packing up their sheet music and instruments.
The drive to the funeral home was a quiet one. Christina had begun sniffing quietly in the backseat and tears were streaming down her face as we got out of the car. She shook her head.
“I can’t do this,” she protested. “I can’t go in there, I can’t do this.”
The three of us gripped hands and approached the front doors. We went up one flight of stairs and found the rest of our friends in their black coats and black pants. For many, it was our first funeral and particularly, the first funeral in which we knew the deceased. We did not just come to pay our respects — we came to honour our friend Richard Adjei.
A collage of photographs from happier times was on display. Richie as a young boy in South London, England, wearing his little private school uniform — complete with bow tie — standing next to his older brother, Orson. Richie as an innocent child, his head cocked to the side, his lips curved in a winning grin. Richie as a young man graduating from high school.
Glimpses of a shining white casket at the front of the room flashed above and between the many heads. After several Bible readings and hymns, a line formed in front of the Adjei family, sitting in a row before their beloved nephew, brother and son.
On an easel to one side of the casket was an enlarged photo from Richard’s high school graduation. To the other side was a low table covered with a white cloth, and on that table lay Richard’s trumpet. The sight of the casket caused many tears, but the sight of his trumpet caused many more.
Lyrics from the night’s last hymn, “Farther Along” echoed into the night.
When death has come and taken our loved ones
Leaving our homes so lonely and drear
Then do we wonder how others prosper
Living so wicked year after year
Farther along we’ll know more about it
Farther along we’ll understand why
Cheer up my brother live in the sunshine
We’ll understand it all by and by
When everyone left, Haynes lingered behind to speak with Orson about the funeral the next morning. Orson was twisting his hands and there was something familiar folded between them.
A thick black drawstring hung from his clasped grasp — Richard’s canvas bag.
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Many who had come to the previous night’s visitation met again on the morning of Saturday, November 19. They included much of Richard’s high school graduating class and members of the band who had played with him, some of whom hadn’t seen each other in years. But as Richard’s friends discovered, funerals and death have an unexplainable way of bringing people together in a way that feels oddly natural, despite the circumstances.
The pallbearers arrived, bringing Richard into the room, followed by another man in white gloves carrying Richard’s trumpet. When the casket was firmly set down before the pulpit, the silver instrument was placed atop and stifled sobs resonated through the cavernous room.
Members of the Royal Regiment Band of Canada in full uniform opened the service with a song of mourning. Nathan Haynes and Richard’s girlfriend and trumpet player, Victoria, stood tall and played for their fallen soldier. When Haynes sat down, he removed his glasses and dabbed at his eyes with a tissue, his jaw clenched.
Orson slowly stepped up to the podium to deliver a eulogy, pausing several times to compose himself, then apologizing several times for his pauses. Once, he sputtered, “I can’t do this” but continued to speak. His voice became increasingly shaky and he closed his eulogy abruptly with a quick “thank you” as his eyes met the floor, avoiding the sight of his younger brother’s casket, and he hurriedly retreated to his seat.
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The softened grass sunk beneath the feet of those who attended Richard’s interment at the cemetery following the funeral. A brisk wind whipped through the staid oak trees and occasionally, rays of sun broke through the dull, slate clouds.
Standing by the grave, Victoria held her trumpet high. She paused several times and blinked several times before she could play. As soon as the opening notes of “The Last Post” sounded, shoulders shook and sobs carried through the cold air as Richard’s casket was slowly lowered into the ground. It was the final farewell and now it was someone else’s turn to play “The Last Post.”
This time, it was for Richard.
A harsh cry pierced through the gasps and sobs. Lydia Adjei, Richard’s mother, clung to her sisters, her face twisted in anguish, and she screamed, “Richard! Where are you going? Richie, come back! Where are you going, Richie?” over and over, sobbing and not moving.
“Come back, Richard!”
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Back at the church, Richard’s friends approached Orson with a gift for the family — a photo album that captured favourite moments with Richard, to show the Adjeis that Richard had friends who loved and cared about him. Touched, Orson hugged each of us and began flipping through the album, laughing and smiling for the first time we had seen him in the last two days.
His aunt stood behind him, looking over his shoulder with tear-stained cheeks and a peaceful smile. I didn’t know her, but I impulsively put my arm around her and hugged her tightly as she hugged back.
“He was an angel, you know?”
“I know.”
“He was God’s angel. They are born unannounced and they leave unannounced.”
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I’ve never liked goodbyes. Even though Richard is gone, I still can’t bring myself to say goodbye. I can’t. I won’t.
I’ll see you later, Richie. I’ll see you sometime.
Come home! Come home!
The last post is sounding for you to hear.
All good soldiers know very well
there is nothing to fear while they do what is right,
and forget all the worries they have met
in their duties through the year.
A soldier cannot always be great,
but he can be a gentleman
and he can be a right good pal
to his comrades in his squad.
So all you soldiers listen to this
Deal fair by all and you’ll never be amiss.
Be Brave! Be Just!
Be Honest and True Men!
(Lyrics, “The Last Post”)
R.I.P. Richard Adjei, 1983-2005
