On Veterans Day, the Rock Island Argus and Moline Dispatch published a column I wrote about a young MU from my area, Jerry Cox, who died, with all of Band 22, on USS Arizona during the December 7, 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor. (I've posted it here.)
Recently, I got a letter from a man who read the column, telling me he remembers Jerry Cox from his childhood. In the '30s and early '40s, when he was a youngster, his father ran a neighborhood grocery store in East Moline. Jerry Cox lived down the street and stopped at the store often, a big kid with a lot of musical talent.
He said he was surprised at the memories the column brought back. Mostly, though, he was surprised that, after all the years that have passed since Musician 2/C Gerald Cox died, anyone would remember him.
I've written back and told my correspondent that the story of Band 22's sacrifice has always been remembered by those who have served in U.S. Navy bands. We remember that Navy musicians were among the first American troops in World War II to give their lives. We remember that "in harm's way" is not a destination unkown to Navy bands. We remember that bands are not mere decorations, trifling sequins and ribbons to be admired and discarded, but binding threads woven into the very fabric of the Navy.
How can we not remember?
Frank Mullen's very unofficial source of poop, skinny and bitching for present and former U.S. Navy Musicians.
