All aboard!

I haven't started packing yet, but I'm planning my trip to to Virginia Beach for the Navy Musicians Association reunion at the end of June.

And all the while a certain song keeps running through my head:

Gonna take a Sentimental Journey,
Gonna set my heart at ease.
Gonna make a Sentimental Journey,
to renew old memories.

Got my bags, got my reservations,
Spent each dime I could afford.
Like a child in wild anticipation,
I Long to hear that, "All aboard!"

Seven...that's the time we leave at seven.
I'll be waitin' up for heaven,
Countin' every mile of railroad
track, that takes me back.

Never thought my heart could be so yearny.
Why did I decide to roam?
Gotta take that Sentimental Journey,
Sentimental Journey home.

---------------------------------------
Copyright 1944 by Morley Music Co., Inc.
31 West 34th Street, N.y., N.Y. 10019
Copyright renewed 1971. All Rights Reserved.

Random Reunion Thought #2

Next month I'll attend my fourth Navy Musicians Association reunion. Once again, I look forward to those few days when I am startled by the difference between

how I look . . .

. . . and how I feel.

Random Reunion Thought #1

Navy Musicians Association reunions are like being back in the Navy, only better: you actually look forward to rehearsals, nobody tells you to get a haircut and somebody else cleans the urinals.

Name that Band

Here's a clip of Bob Hope, entertaining sailors with Brooke Shields with a Navy band. It's dated 1984.

I'm wondering which band this was--any ideas? (Bob's ball cap says "USS John F. Kennedy.)

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Bad Duty Gig #37

In 1976, the combo from my first band, San Francisco, was booked, through an incredible feat of mismanagement, to play in the lounge of the Alameda officers' club the afternoon of the Army-Navy game.

The bar was crowded with young officers watching the game on TV, cheering a Navy advance, booing an Army recovery. In the corner was a quartet playing "Do the Hustle" and "Bye Bye, Blackbird." Every time we started a new tune, the patrons would shake their fists at us and tell us to shut the f**k up. A crazed lieutenant got in the bandleader's face. The bandleader said, "Just doing my job, sir," turned to the band and called up "A Foggy Day."

We only lasted three or four songs. The club manager came up to the bandstand and asked us to quit. He was nice about it, and handed us forty dollars for our trouble.

The occasion still stands out in my mind; it was, and still is, the only time in my life I have been paid to stop playing.

Sweepers, man your brooms

A large public function took place today in the meeting room of the library where I work part-time. After everyone left, the room needed a thorough cleaning. 

Being the junior employee, I got the job.

I spent the afternoon wiping doughnut crumbs off tables. I washed out the coffee urn. I moved stray chairs back to their proper positions. I vacuumed the carpet, emptied the wastebaskets and, on my own initiative, straightened out a few shelves.

Finishing up, I looked the room over with a small sense of pride. 

The task didn't require advanced technical expertise, but it's important to keep a facility clean and ready for use. After the director looks the room over tomorrow morning, I suspect I'll get a compliment. I'll appreciate it, because I've only been there a few months and am looking for greater responsibilities.

I'm 60 years old and finally learning how to be a good E-3.