I hear Fanfare for the the Common Man with my kith and kin in mind. Those that left the farms of Alabama, the Georgia redclay, the heat of the Mississippi summer sun, and the shadow of Lookout Mountain to retrieve their fallen brothers for their last trip home, rain fire from the sky, take a night watch under a pacific moon, and spent horror filed nights in a filthy foxhole in Europe. They didn’t make any of the decisions that brought the fight. They were just working men that took their place in the breach of the wall. I, and the generations they never knew, honor and appreciate their sacrifice.
And, for the record, I have a hard time hearing Fanfare for the Common Man without wiping my eyes. This country wasn’t defended by presidents and senators. It was defended by railroad hands and hillbilly farmers that paid the price with pieces of their heart and soul. They included a peaceful night yet unslept in every body bag they filled at Inchon and rained down their own mental health with fire over Europe. Give honor to the leaders of the land but never forget the common man that carried the full weight on his back.
— Donnie Bryson