NavyLyres Commodore's 2026 Navy Birthday Message

To: All Shipmates

From: Frank Mullen III

The Navy Birthday always prompts me to look back at my service. I didn't save democracy or prevent the enemy from reaching our shores, but I did my part. Sometimes that doesn't seem like much. At other times, it feels like a lot; not everyone has stepped up and sworn to support and defend the Constitution against all enemies.

But my mind wasn't on such noble promises when I joined the Navy. Fact is, I was at loose ends, broke, and needed a job.

And oh, what a job it turned out to be. Before I'd completed my first tour, I knew I'd found the life I wanted. 

I've heard countless former Navy musicians say that joining the Navy was one of the best decisions they ever made, a close #2, right behind getting married. (Generally, when they say this, their wives are listening. This is because we're at an NMA reunion.)

I was blessed to serve for 13 years before a medical discharge put me back in civvies. I've never forgotten the trauma of suddenly leaving the life, the job, the shipmates. And I'll admit to some bitterness. You're throwing me out? Well, okay, Mr. Navy, just for that, I'm forgetting about you.

But you don't forget about the Navy. Life goes on, but it's a different life. Different kinds of people, different kinds of rules. Even before the internet came along, I'd learned how to moveon.org.

Then starting in the late 1990s, I began to hear occasionally from an old Navy shipmate. Terry Chesson had been my bandmaster and friend. He'd given me opportunities, responsibilities, and stern advice, the things a petty officer needs when he's got dreams of khaki. 

We talked on the phone a coupla times a year, remembering and laughing. And he always told me he belonged to an organization of former Navy musicians who got together once a year. He'd suggest I give one of their reunions a try.

Maybe, I'd say. Possibly. Might happen someday. (See "Bitter," above.) I didn't want to come right out and say hell no. (See "Friend," above.)

After six or seven years of these conversations, I took Terry's advice and drove to Louisville for the 2006 reunion of the Navy Musicians Association. Within ten minutes of entering the hotel, I'd met up with two of my unit band leaders, a guy I'd taught with at the School of Music, and the sponsor who'd pinned my chief's anchors on my collar. By the time the reunion ended, I'd met scores of MUs I'd never served with.

These folks, and so many more I've met at reunions over the years, have become my shipmates, friends I look forward to seeing every June. An NMA reunion brings out the best in all of us, a best that's as good as it was when we wore Navy blue. 

Compared to our shipmates who served honorably for decades, my time in the service was brief. But NMA reunions--the stories, the music, the friends--have shown me how much those few years shaped me. I am a far better man for having decided to serve my country as a Navy musician. 

And I'm certainly a happier man for having joined the NMA. It was one of the best decisions I ever made; a close #2, right behind getting married.

(See "Wives are listening," above.)