Frank Mullen's very unofficial source of poop, skinny and bitching for present and former U.S. Navy Musicians.
Showing posts with label Navy Musicians Association. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Navy Musicians Association. Show all posts
Monday, April 14, 2025
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
The Daily Poop - Wed, 11JUN14
Welcome to the first 2014 issue of the Daily Poop, the annual, laser-guided, heat-seeking bag of crap that fills the two weeks leading up to the reunion of the Navy Musicians Association.
The Daily Poop will appear every morning here at NavyLyres. It's a compendium of reunion news, views and scuttlebutt as well as a dumping ground for self-absorbed chronicles of my personal doings.
The reunion officially begins on Wed., 25JUN, but things at the hotel will start stirring up a few days early as early birds arrive and preparations begin. A day or so before 25th, the Daily Poop will mutate into LiveBlog2014, constant reportage featuring photos, videos and blather.
Yes, this gets my shipmates p.o.'d, but I consider it worth the sacrifice.
A lot of MUs made their first reunion appearances last year and we're expecting even more in 2014. You probably have questions (Is there a dress code? What do I do when I arrive at the hotel? Can I bring a buddy who's not an MU?). You'll find answers to common questions at the First-timer's Guide.
The Daily Poop will appear every morning here at NavyLyres. It's a compendium of reunion news, views and scuttlebutt as well as a dumping ground for self-absorbed chronicles of my personal doings. The reunion officially begins on Wed., 25JUN, but things at the hotel will start stirring up a few days early as early birds arrive and preparations begin. A day or so before 25th, the Daily Poop will mutate into LiveBlog2014, constant reportage featuring photos, videos and blather.
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One of the things I love the most about NMA reunions is overhearing people complain about me. There's something special about the wonderful whispered phrase, "That damn Frank." This is because I always spend the springtime dieting so as to lose the evidence of winter excess and get myself into fighting trim by reunion time. I've got the poundage down to MU1 level and expect to reach MU2 by the reunion. Yes, this gets my shipmates p.o.'d, but I consider it worth the sacrifice.
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A note to first-time attendees:A lot of MUs made their first reunion appearances last year and we're expecting even more in 2014. You probably have questions (Is there a dress code? What do I do when I arrive at the hotel? Can I bring a buddy who's not an MU?). You'll find answers to common questions at the First-timer's Guide.
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Got gossip? Coming for your first reunion? Chained to your oar in the galley? Lemme know.
Friday, May 16, 2014
A few years back...
Every Navy Musicians Association reunion brings new members, new music and new challenges. But the camaraderie, the sea stories and the joy of sharing ourselves through music--these things never change.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Another NMA member caught gigging.
I recently posted about the shocking discovery that certain members of the Navy Musicians Association are actually performing in public during the 51 weeks of the year between reunions. I have vowed to "out" those members who practice, perform or lead ensembles.
Now, it is my sad duty to inform you that I've caught NMA member Bob Marquart in the act of performing in, of all places, New Orleans.
I could understand it if he were gigging in East Peoria or downtown Moose Crossing, Idaho, somewhere where his scandalous behavior would go unnoticed. But no, Marquart has the effrontery to do it in front of the cameras in Jazz City, USA.
Now, it is my sad duty to inform you that I've caught NMA member Bob Marquart in the act of performing in, of all places, New Orleans.
I could understand it if he were gigging in East Peoria or downtown Moose Crossing, Idaho, somewhere where his scandalous behavior would go unnoticed. But no, Marquart has the effrontery to do it in front of the cameras in Jazz City, USA.
For years, Bobby was one of the most active on-call trumpet and banjo players in Virginia Beach. I guess he thought this background, combined with his talent, would open doors for him in New Orleans.
And I guess he was right.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
December greetings to my MU family
Today is my birthday. I am sixty-one years old, pondering my place in a world that managed without me fairly well before my arrival in 1948, and will one day carry on again without my gifted leadership.
I'm also thinking about brotherhood, fellowship and camaraderie.
These are the results of more than sharing good times and beer. If beer were all that true brotherhood required, my lifelong friends would have been the grim, watery-eyed old men I met in Broadway Charlie's in 1974. Out of work in New York, I walked into a dive, spotted an upright piano, sat down and started to play. That night I was the Toast of Manhattan, playing "Toora. Loora, Loora" and "The Wiffenpoof Song" as I soaked up free beer and lofty compliments from my new best friends.
The next morning I was hung over, still broke, still alone and unemployed. After repeating this cycle for a few months, I signed some papers, took an oath and flew to Great Lakes.
The Navy was not all fun and good times. It was work, just like it was for the hull technicians and aviation metalsmiths, except our tools were tubas and clarinets instead of wrenches and blowtorches.
But, as the recruiting posters promised, it was more than a job. The Navy gave me camaraderie and purpose I've never felt in civilian life. Every gig, whether dining-in, ship arrival, change-of-command ceremony or high school concert, served to fulfill the Navy's needs. This was easy to forget, particularly when an inebriated, 23-year-old ensign who had been a humble officer candidate in the morning tried to run my band at the OCS Graduation Ball that night. But I knew I was serving in something important, something bigger than me.
I left the service unexpectedly and abruptly. I harbored some ill-will and tried to forget my former Navy identity. For a number of years I lived within a few hours of Virginia Beach, yet refused to contact old shipmates. Year after year, Terry Chesson, my old bandmaster, would call me and tell me about the Navy Musicians Association, about the fellowship and acceptance he found in that organization. Year, after year, I'd tentatively promise to tentatively give some thought to possibly thinking about possibly joining someday, maybe.
Finally, I caved and signed up. This was one of the best decisions of my life.
As a member of the NMA, my circle of shipmates is wider than ever. I belong to a worldwide fellowship of former and present MUs, some of whom are old friends, some of whom I never met while on active duty, some of whom I still haven't met in person.
Old gripes don't matter anymore. New gripes are rare and, because of a maturity that has come only with the passing years, trifling.
An NMA shipmate, Jack Rodway, and I got into a skirmish early this year. It was a simple matter of political differences, but little things can become magnified these days when it's easy to make the Internet Mistake: E-mail first, think later.
I, of course was the righteous party in the argument. I, after all, am compassionate, committed and concerned. After one of our members, Jim Thumpston, died last December, it was I who was in contact with his daughters in Virginia Beach, consoling them and inviting them to stop by our reunion to see their dad's old sea-buddies.
It was also I who was walking through the parking lot at the reunion in June when Jack Rodway beckoned to me from the lobby. I walked inside, and Jack introduced me to Jim Thumpston's daughters, with whom he, like me, had been in contact for months, consoling them and inviting them to stop by our reunion to see their dad's old sea-buddies.
That which unites shipmates is far greater than any differences. Remember when you were on the beach and a bozo from the deck division was trying to pick a fight? It was a trumpet player from your band who jumped in and bailed you out, the same guy you'd been ready to punch during rehearsal that morning.
My December 6 birthday has always made me aware of the solemnity of the following day. Never do I feel the deep brotherhood of Navy musicians more than when I think of the bandsmen who were serving in Pearl Harbor on that day in 1941 that still lives in infamy. The members of USS Arizona's Band 22, all of whom died at their battle stations, are now more than history to me; they are my family, as are the MUs who were on other ships at Pearl, as are you, my shipmates, and all who have worn the lyre.
If you are a former or present U.S. Navy musician who is still thinking about joining the Navy Musicians Association, I urge you to sign up. A new year is approaching, and the San Antonio reunion is only six months away. You'll find information on joining the NMA here.
I'm also thinking about brotherhood, fellowship and camaraderie.
These are the results of more than sharing good times and beer. If beer were all that true brotherhood required, my lifelong friends would have been the grim, watery-eyed old men I met in Broadway Charlie's in 1974. Out of work in New York, I walked into a dive, spotted an upright piano, sat down and started to play. That night I was the Toast of Manhattan, playing "Toora. Loora, Loora" and "The Wiffenpoof Song" as I soaked up free beer and lofty compliments from my new best friends.
The next morning I was hung over, still broke, still alone and unemployed. After repeating this cycle for a few months, I signed some papers, took an oath and flew to Great Lakes.
The Navy was not all fun and good times. It was work, just like it was for the hull technicians and aviation metalsmiths, except our tools were tubas and clarinets instead of wrenches and blowtorches.
But, as the recruiting posters promised, it was more than a job. The Navy gave me camaraderie and purpose I've never felt in civilian life. Every gig, whether dining-in, ship arrival, change-of-command ceremony or high school concert, served to fulfill the Navy's needs. This was easy to forget, particularly when an inebriated, 23-year-old ensign who had been a humble officer candidate in the morning tried to run my band at the OCS Graduation Ball that night. But I knew I was serving in something important, something bigger than me.
I left the service unexpectedly and abruptly. I harbored some ill-will and tried to forget my former Navy identity. For a number of years I lived within a few hours of Virginia Beach, yet refused to contact old shipmates. Year after year, Terry Chesson, my old bandmaster, would call me and tell me about the Navy Musicians Association, about the fellowship and acceptance he found in that organization. Year, after year, I'd tentatively promise to tentatively give some thought to possibly thinking about possibly joining someday, maybe.
Finally, I caved and signed up. This was one of the best decisions of my life.
As a member of the NMA, my circle of shipmates is wider than ever. I belong to a worldwide fellowship of former and present MUs, some of whom are old friends, some of whom I never met while on active duty, some of whom I still haven't met in person.
Old gripes don't matter anymore. New gripes are rare and, because of a maturity that has come only with the passing years, trifling.
An NMA shipmate, Jack Rodway, and I got into a skirmish early this year. It was a simple matter of political differences, but little things can become magnified these days when it's easy to make the Internet Mistake: E-mail first, think later.
I, of course was the righteous party in the argument. I, after all, am compassionate, committed and concerned. After one of our members, Jim Thumpston, died last December, it was I who was in contact with his daughters in Virginia Beach, consoling them and inviting them to stop by our reunion to see their dad's old sea-buddies.
It was also I who was walking through the parking lot at the reunion in June when Jack Rodway beckoned to me from the lobby. I walked inside, and Jack introduced me to Jim Thumpston's daughters, with whom he, like me, had been in contact for months, consoling them and inviting them to stop by our reunion to see their dad's old sea-buddies.
That which unites shipmates is far greater than any differences. Remember when you were on the beach and a bozo from the deck division was trying to pick a fight? It was a trumpet player from your band who jumped in and bailed you out, the same guy you'd been ready to punch during rehearsal that morning.
My December 6 birthday has always made me aware of the solemnity of the following day. Never do I feel the deep brotherhood of Navy musicians more than when I think of the bandsmen who were serving in Pearl Harbor on that day in 1941 that still lives in infamy. The members of USS Arizona's Band 22, all of whom died at their battle stations, are now more than history to me; they are my family, as are the MUs who were on other ships at Pearl, as are you, my shipmates, and all who have worn the lyre.
If you are a former or present U.S. Navy musician who is still thinking about joining the Navy Musicians Association, I urge you to sign up. A new year is approaching, and the San Antonio reunion is only six months away. You'll find information on joining the NMA here.
There's no requirement that you put it off for years; why wait decades to find out that maybe, just maybe, your old chief isn't such an S.O.B. after all?
Monday, June 16, 2008
The Daily Poop - Tues, 17JUN08
S.S.S.S. Chapter Formed for Reunion
(Special to Navy Lyres) -- Jo Knox, wife of NMA member Frank Mullen, has announced the formation of Spouses Sick of Sea Stories, a support group whose mission is "to provide spouses of former Navy Musicians a place in the Marriott where they they will not be subjected to repetitive recollections of the good old days."
Jo is inviting NMA spouses to her room at the Marriott for a sea story-free evening of chocolate and television. "Whatever's playing on The Movie Channel," she said, "has got to be more entertaining than those endless sailor fairy tales."
"That's it--no more Show Band stories," Jo Knox warns Terry Chesson at the 2006 NMA reunion as her husband watches in horror.
Ms. Knox is not against the telling of sea stories in principle. "These guys want to get together in the lounge at night and rehash old glories. Believe me, I understand." But her eyes narrow as she considers the plight of the NMA spouses. "We hear this crap all year long. How many times do we have to listen to tales about the time the ship was doing unreps in WESTPAC and the OOD told the MUC over the 1MC that the CO wanted ABC to XYZ the FBI? "
Information on the S.S.S.S gathering will be circulated at the reunion.
(Special to Navy Lyres) -- Jo Knox, wife of NMA member Frank Mullen, has announced the formation of Spouses Sick of Sea Stories, a support group whose mission is "to provide spouses of former Navy Musicians a place in the Marriott where they they will not be subjected to repetitive recollections of the good old days."
Jo is inviting NMA spouses to her room at the Marriott for a sea story-free evening of chocolate and television. "Whatever's playing on The Movie Channel," she said, "has got to be more entertaining than those endless sailor fairy tales."
"That's it--no more Show Band stories," Jo Knox warns Terry Chesson at the 2006 NMA reunion as her husband watches in horror.
Ms. Knox is not against the telling of sea stories in principle. "These guys want to get together in the lounge at night and rehash old glories. Believe me, I understand." But her eyes narrow as she considers the plight of the NMA spouses. "We hear this crap all year long. How many times do we have to listen to tales about the time the ship was doing unreps in WESTPAC and the OOD told the MUC over the 1MC that the CO wanted ABC to XYZ the FBI? "
Information on the S.S.S.S gathering will be circulated at the reunion.
Friday, January 25, 2008
The Skating Rink is Closed
As I flipped through the NMA Leger Lines and read Treasurer Cecil Strange's plea for members get up off their wallets and pay their 2008 dues, I thought about the skaters.
The skaters were the guys who got away with doing the least, who made life hard for everyone. While we were in training, the skaters conserved their spit and hoarded their polish, and the whole squad flunked inspection. We found skaters in our bands, too; they were the guys who didn't woodshed their parts, causing long, grueling rehearsals for everyone.
Yup, I told myself, it's a helluva shame we still have to put up with---
Wait a minute, I said as a tingly feeling crawled up my spine. I found the checkbook, looked through the register for "Navy Musicians Association" and--and nothing.
I'd forgotten to ante up for 2008. Sure, I'd made a mental note a few weeks ago to write the check but, instead, I'd been skating.
I took care of the problem right away. I not only wrote the check, I used the form in the Leger Lines to register for the June reunion in Memphis. Finding myself on a roll, I got on the phone and reserved a room at the Memphis Marriot.
Having done all this, I feel like a new man. So it with a renewed sense of honor that I say: Square yourselves away, you slimy, skating maggots--last man to pay up scrubs the urinals in the Marriot men's head.
The skaters were the guys who got away with doing the least, who made life hard for everyone. While we were in training, the skaters conserved their spit and hoarded their polish, and the whole squad flunked inspection. We found skaters in our bands, too; they were the guys who didn't woodshed their parts, causing long, grueling rehearsals for everyone.
Yup, I told myself, it's a helluva shame we still have to put up with---
Wait a minute, I said as a tingly feeling crawled up my spine. I found the checkbook, looked through the register for "Navy Musicians Association" and--and nothing.
I'd forgotten to ante up for 2008. Sure, I'd made a mental note a few weeks ago to write the check but, instead, I'd been skating.
I took care of the problem right away. I not only wrote the check, I used the form in the Leger Lines to register for the June reunion in Memphis. Finding myself on a roll, I got on the phone and reserved a room at the Memphis Marriot.
Having done all this, I feel like a new man. So it with a renewed sense of honor that I say: Square yourselves away, you slimy, skating maggots--last man to pay up scrubs the urinals in the Marriot men's head.
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