Phil Kowzan, 83, drives 45 minutes to play trumpet at veteran funerals. For 23 years, he has performed taps at over 2,400 services.
Dressed in Army blues pressed by his wife, Carol, Phil plays the 24 notes slowly and respectfully. He began after a neighbor veteran passed away and continues because families deserve the real thing, not a recording.
Phil Kowzan is 83 years old. An age when most people are fully retired, limiting physical activities, spending time with grandchildren rather than committing to demanding schedules. But Phil drives 45 minutes—each way, presumably—to play trumpet at veteran funerals.
For 23 years. That’s not a brief charitable phase or something he did for a while then stopped. Twenty-three years of consistent service, funeral after funeral, veteran after veteran. Over 2,400 services. Do the math—that’s roughly 100 funerals per year, about two per week for 23 years. The commitment is staggering.
Dressed in Army blues pressed by his wife, Carol. That detail matters. Phil isn’t just showing up casually. He wears proper military dress uniform, maintained to standards by his wife who presses them. This is done with respect, precision, honoring both the deceased veteran and the significance of military tradition.
“Phil plays the 24 notes slowly and respectfully.” Taps is 24 notes. Simple melody, but loaded with meaning—the military bugle call played at funerals, symbolizing a service member’s final rest. Playing it requires not just technical skill but emotional weight. Phil plays it slowly, respectfully, understanding that for families, these 24 notes are their final musical goodbye to their veteran.
“He began after a neighbor veteran passed away and continues because families deserve the real thing, not a recording.” That’s what motivated Phil. His neighbor—probably someone he knew, respected, maybe served with—died. At the funeral, they played a recorded version of taps. And Phil thought: this veteran deserves better. His family deserves live music, not a recording.
So he started. One funeral became two, became dozens, became 2,400. For 23 years, Phil has ensured that veterans in his area get live taps at their funerals. That families hear actual trumpet notes echoing through cemetery, not recorded music from a speaker. That the final military honor is performed by a human, with breath and heart, not a digital file.
“Families deserve the real thing, not a recording.” That statement captures Phil’s entire motivation. Recorded taps is practical—reliable, doesn’t require coordinating with live musicians, works anywhere. But it’s not the same. Live taps, played by an 83-year-old veteran who drives 45 minutes and dresses in pressed Army blues, carries weight that recordings can’t match. It says: your veteran mattered enough for someone to show up, to play these 24 notes live, to honor them personally.
The photo shows Phil in full military dress uniform, trumpet to lips, playing taps. He’s elderly but standing straight, performing with dignity. You can see the precision, the respect, the understanding that what he’s doing matters immensely to the families watching.
This story matters because it highlights service after service. Phil served his country during his military career. Then he continued serving for 23 years by ensuring every veteran funeral in his area had live taps. That’s service extending from active duty through retirement into elderly years—a lifetime of choosing to show up for others.
It challenges assumptions about age and capability. At 83, Phil isn’t sitting at home feeling useless or forgotten. He’s driving 45 minutes to funerals, standing in cemeteries in all weather, playing trumpet with precision required for military honors. Age hasn’t stopped his service—it’s just changed the form.
And it reminds us that traditions matter. In our digital age, it’s easy to use recorded taps—easier, cheaper, more reliable. But Phil understands something important: some moments require human presence. Families grieving their veteran don’t just need the sound of taps. They need to see the elderly veteran in pressed uniform, raising trumpet to lips, playing those 24 notes live because their deceased family member deserved that respect.
2,400 funerals. 2,400 times Phil drove 45 minutes, put on Army blues pressed by Carol, stood in a cemetery, and played 24 notes slowly and respectfully. 2,400 families who got the real thing instead of a recording. That’s not just service. That’s a lifetime dedication to ensuring America’s veterans receive the dignified goodbye they earned.