Okay, Skipper--You Were Right

In the late 70s, I could recite, for the entertainment of my fellow School of Music staff members, the entire speech that the commanding officer, LCDR Ron van Hoose, routinely delivered at Basic Course graduations. The text of his address is stored in some inaccessible part of my brain, along with the General Orders of the Sentry and the number of ruffles and flourishes accorded to a Minister Plenipotentiary. But I've always remembered the skipper's closing line:

"As ambassadors to the public," he'd say, looking over the ranks of eager, soon-to-be military professionals, "how you look is just as important as how you sound."

These are not words young military musicians want to hear. A new, hard-charging MU would prefer to be noted for his double high c or the speed with which he can render the head to "Donna Lee," rather than his posture or his ability to roll a tight neckerchief.

The 2007 reunion of the Navy Musicians Association culminated in a Saturday-night dinner and banquet, preceded by a patriotic opener provided by a ceremonial detachment from the CINCLANT band. It had been 20 years since I witnessed a Navy band in action.

Looking spiffy for ceremonial gigs was never a major source of pleasure for me. I guess I was more of a "casual Friday, occasional haircut" kind of guy. The phrase "wears his uniform with unmistakable pride" did not often appear in my performance evaluations.

As I sat waiting for the CINCLANT band to enter the hall, I realized I'd be satisfied with a trio playing light jazz. Heck, a cocktail piano player doing a few choruses of "The Lady is a Tramp" would have satisfied me. Why, I wondered, did the NMA organizers decide we needed to hear a bunch of marches from a raggedy-ass bag band?

Then the CINCLANT band took their positions in the ballroom. These young people looked sharp. They filed onto the dance floor and formed ranks with the seriousness and dignity you'd expect from a ceremonial unit performing at the White House. Their crackerjacks weren't just white--they were white white, with knife-edge inverted creases that looked like they'd draw blood if you touched them.

When it came time for the first march, the band met the conductor's preparatory signals with a precise three-count manual of instruments that clearly had been rehearsed with the same diligence as the music that followed.

How did they sound? Judging from the tidal waves of applause after each number, I'd say no-one in that room had ever heard a finer military band. And the middle-aged man in the back of the room, hollering and oohrahing after each number; that guy was me.

I wonder if it had something to do with the way they looked.