It doesn't take a genius

I'm re-reading The Caine Mutiny for the 200th time. Though Herman Wouk's Pulitzer Prize-winning 1951 novel depicts the Navy during World War II, the Navy of my father and grandfather, it's the same Navy I served in in the '70s and '80s and, no doubt, the same Navy as yours, no matter when you served.

It contains the quote that was still passed around freely in my first band in 1975:

"The Navy is a master plan designed by geniuses for execution by idiots."

I thought about that a lot when I was a seaman, when I was a petty officer and, particularly, when I was a chief. It's a funny, concise summary of a life we've all lived.

And it's a broad exaggeration; I met few idiots during my service, and fewer geniuses. But I did encounter a system that worked, sometimes sluggishly, sometimes incomprehensibly.

And sometimes unfairly. From the smallest of injustices ("I cleaned the urinals last week, it's the second squad's turn now.") to those of lasting consequence ("How did that lazy dirtbag get orders out of school straight to the Academy Band, when I've been auditioning for years?"), there was a lot to bitch about, and plenty of sailors to handle the task.

But the system worked. Not because a few geniuses wrote the manual for a fleet of idiots, but because a few centuries of self-correction can work the kinks out of any system.

Every year, I am amazed by the smoothness with which our Navy Musicians Association reunions run. Members report aboard. Word gets passed. Schedules are posted and followed. Newcomers are shown the ropes. Schedules get changed and the word gets passed again. We gripe: not enough free time, too much free time. We laugh at stories about shipmates we haven't seen in years, and mourn those we'll never see again. The ship sails on time, accomplishes its mission and, in a few days, the cruise is over.

It works. No geniuses, no idiots, just a self-correcting system operated by people who care. Some work year-round, some make their contributions during the few days we're together.

Does it change? Yes. For instance, our rock band is now an integral unit of the reunion, the logical consequence of the fact that we are now attracting members who are as at home with the music of Tower of Power as that of Count Basie.

But the important things stay the same. We get together to share our stories and talents with old and new friends, have the times of our lives and then go on a 51-week liberty pass.

Fifteen years without a mutiny. I'd say we're doing well.

I'm alive.

I now emerge from a near-lethal dose of the creeping crud, having been laid low by a combination of reunion exhaustion and a day of close-quarters captivity in airplanes full of travelers exhaling the respiratory souvenirs from their own travels.

I apologize for my recuperative silence. The period immediately following the annual Navy Musicians Association reunion is always a time of reflection, not only on the events of the week, but on the memories the event always dredges up; the combination of sea stories and camaraderie is an effective memory prod.

Let's look at this as a mere delay, a modification of orders, so to speak.

Resume blogging. That is an order.

The week in review

Bleary-eyed, exhausted and home. That's what I am. Actually, I got home late Monday, but have spent the intervening time in a recuperative stupor.

But my brain is back, and I find myself already looking back fondly at a reunion that was a stand-out affair.

-- It was big. I'll get the true figures, but the last time I looked at the sign-in sheet on Friday, over 120 of us had reported in.

-- We attracted lots of new-comers and long-time-no-sees. A lot of us work hard during the year to convince shipmates to give the reunion a try, the result of interlocking recruiting efforts. I, for instance, wanted to assign myself full credit for getting Dave Czohara to his first reunion, but discovered a dozen others trying to bathe in the same glory. I'm already excited about next year. Like Virginia Beach, Orlando, our destination next year, is home to boatloads of retired and former MUs. This could jolt the size and quality of our get-togethers up another notch.

-- We brought in younger MUs. No one has ever confused the NMA with the Fountain of Youth; age, we accept, is relative and subjective. But the energy brought by newcomers Marty Nau and John Jensen, and active-duty member Carl Gerhard--energy shared in the lounge and lobby as well as on the bandstand--was a palpable force. We can, indeed attract younger members, and it is they who can best attract their peers.

-- The music was excellent. John Branam has hit his stride as rehearsal director, and, aided by volunteer assistants, kept bands playing. Concert band director Wilbur Smith's programming choices presented a challenge, and the band responded with fervor and finesse. Friday night's concert showed both bands at their best. To see the concert band's members and director performing later in the rock band showed that the versatility of Navy bandsmen is a life-long trait.

The NMA is a year-round blessing that keeps me in touch with old friends and helps me feel a part of something important. But those four days at the end of June are crucial to maintaining that enthusiasm. Our Board of Directors outdid themselves this year. Or the players outdid themselves. Or the newcomers, or the old-timers. I don't know, but something's working in the NMA.

A quick note while the WI-FI is working

Nothing would please me more than to spend this day, my last in Viriginia Beach, than dumping streams of photos, videos and tall stories about the NMA reunion onto the Internet.

Sigh. As regular visitors have notice, the Internet service in the hotel has been, shall we say, spotty. It comes and goes; when it comes, I do my best, and when it goes, I fume. In fact, I spent a long, productive phone call straightening out IP numbers with the hotel's tech consultant, Ashwanibad Kabindawal, who dispenses Internet advice from Bombay.

Rest assured, I will do my best to provide more. If fate conspires against me, I'll redouble my efforts on Tuesday, when I'll be back home in corn country on good old FarmNet, about which I will never again complain.

In recent years I have observed an inverse relationship between the quality of a hotel and and the dependability of its Internet service. The better the digs, the worse the web.

Perhaps the Board of Directors would consider holding the next reunion at the Orlando Econo-Lodge.

Retire the colors

Until we meet once more...

Our seabags are packed and we're heading home.








Our homes are in different ports, and they call us back to families, jobs, responsibilities.







But throughout the lobby on Sunday morning, you'll hear everyone saying the same four words, words that sum up our feelings about the week, each other and the NMA:

"See you next year."

Good morning. Good night.

I did something I haven't done since the days of the Brass Bell, the Shipwreck Lounge and the Reef: I closed the place down.

It was the last night of the NMA reunion. Now it's the first day of the rest of the year.

But first, a few more hours of shut-eye. I will be back. With stories. With photos.

And with a glad heart.