Some readers ask: “Why didn’t you post my comment? I thought this was a place for bitching.”
It is. But there's bitching, and then there's bitching.
And it's good to review this once in a while. We have limits around here; they're minimal, but they do exist:
-- This is a very public place. It’s not the Shipwreck Lounge, so keep it reasonably clean. The definition of “unacceptable language” is difficult to codify and can vary by situation and context; certain frank and direct conversation bay be quite appropriate in the Acey Deucey Club; at the admiral’s reception, not so much. In the end, someone has to make these sometimes difficult decisions. Frank Mullen is the decider.
--No slandering of identifiable persons. "I worked for an idiot chief in the ‘80s” is fine. “The bandmaster at Navy Band WestEast in 2004 was an incompetent fat slug” is not.
--In general--and this may be hard for some to believe--Navy Lyres exists to support Navy music. If your comments call fall into the “Military bands are a waste of taxpayer’s money” category, you’ll have to look elsewhere for a platform. That’s not the song we’re singing around here.
Frank Mullen's very unofficial source of poop, skinny and bitching for present and former U.S. Navy Musicians.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Navy Birthday - 13OCT11
Warning: This 60-second clip has been known to awaken dormant feelings of pride in viewers who have served in the United States Navy. Side effects may include leaping to one's feet, snapping to attention and shouting "Oo-rah!"
Great Moments in Navy Leadership, # 73: Find the Best Man for the Job
MUCM Ken Davenport had called the Navy Band Newport staff together and announce a few changes in responsibilities.
"And Frank," he concluded, "as administrative petty officer, you'll come in at 0730 every day to get the coffee ready."
Coffee? 0730? Neither concept was enticing.
"Wait a minute," I said. "I don't drink coffee."
"So?" said the master chief.
"So, why should I make coffee if I don't drink it?"
"Because your shipmates drink coffee. Lots of it." He gestured around the office and I had to admit it: Dave DeKoff, Ed Helm, John Farquhar, Dave Lock, the master chief, everyone but Frank Mullen had a cup of coffee in hand. "And the bands are in and out of here all day on different schedules, mustering for rehearsals, returning from gigs." he said. "It's a great convenience if someone has made the coffee when they come in."
"Well, it'd be a great convenience to me if someone would light my unfiltered Camels for me when I come in," I said.
"Funny," Master Chief Davenport said. "Just make the coffee."
"I don't know how."
"Ed Helm will show you."
"But--"
"No more questions?" the master chief said. "Dismissed."
Day One
I came to work the next morning at 0730 to make the coffee. "Ed told me to put in a pound of coffee," I reminded myself, "but that seems wasteful." I pondered my responsibilities as a Navy man. "It's every sailor's job to fetter out fraud, waste and abuse," I said, and put about 1/4 pound of coffee into the 4.3 gallon urn.
Morale was poor that day. The sailor's right to bitch was exercised fully. "Who made this crap?" was the most common response to the change in staff assignments.
Master Chief Davenport was no fool. "Nice try," he said at the end of the day. "And before you ask, no, you will not be relieved of coffee-making duty. This is the Navy, not vocational training day school Sailors like their coffee strong. Make the coffee strong."
Day Two
"Aye, aye, master chief," I said to myself the next morning at 0730 as I poured a pound of coffee into the urn. "If my shipmates like their coffee strong, they'll get it strong." I opened up a second pound of coffee and dumped it into the mix. "That ought to make them happy," I mused as I whistled a medley of jaunty nautical jigs. I saw yesterday's open pack of coffee sitting on the shelf. "No point in wasting that," I said and topped the brew off with another 3/4 pound of coffee.
Screams filled the passageways of Navy Band Newport that day. Four-letter words were used with forceful regularity. Mouthfuls of coffee were spit into ashtrays. My name was cursed.
Day Three
At 0728 I parked my car in the parking lot and walked around the building to the main entrance. Outside the door, Dave Dekoff stood at attention in his crackerjacks. When I got to the door, he stuck a cigarette in my mouth. "Can I light that for you, Frank?" he said, and whipped out a lighter. "By the way," he said, "The master chief says Ed Helm is going to make the coffee from now on."
Of course, I'd already figured that out.
"And Frank," he concluded, "as administrative petty officer, you'll come in at 0730 every day to get the coffee ready."
Coffee? 0730? Neither concept was enticing.
"Wait a minute," I said. "I don't drink coffee."
"So?" said the master chief.
"So, why should I make coffee if I don't drink it?"
"Because your shipmates drink coffee. Lots of it." He gestured around the office and I had to admit it: Dave DeKoff, Ed Helm, John Farquhar, Dave Lock, the master chief, everyone but Frank Mullen had a cup of coffee in hand. "And the bands are in and out of here all day on different schedules, mustering for rehearsals, returning from gigs." he said. "It's a great convenience if someone has made the coffee when they come in."
"Well, it'd be a great convenience to me if someone would light my unfiltered Camels for me when I come in," I said.
"Funny," Master Chief Davenport said. "Just make the coffee."
"I don't know how."
"Ed Helm will show you."
"But--"
"No more questions?" the master chief said. "Dismissed."
Day One
I came to work the next morning at 0730 to make the coffee. "Ed told me to put in a pound of coffee," I reminded myself, "but that seems wasteful." I pondered my responsibilities as a Navy man. "It's every sailor's job to fetter out fraud, waste and abuse," I said, and put about 1/4 pound of coffee into the 4.3 gallon urn.
Morale was poor that day. The sailor's right to bitch was exercised fully. "Who made this crap?" was the most common response to the change in staff assignments.
Master Chief Davenport was no fool. "Nice try," he said at the end of the day. "And before you ask, no, you will not be relieved of coffee-making duty. This is the Navy, not vocational training day school Sailors like their coffee strong. Make the coffee strong."
Day Two
"Aye, aye, master chief," I said to myself the next morning at 0730 as I poured a pound of coffee into the urn. "If my shipmates like their coffee strong, they'll get it strong." I opened up a second pound of coffee and dumped it into the mix. "That ought to make them happy," I mused as I whistled a medley of jaunty nautical jigs. I saw yesterday's open pack of coffee sitting on the shelf. "No point in wasting that," I said and topped the brew off with another 3/4 pound of coffee.
Screams filled the passageways of Navy Band Newport that day. Four-letter words were used with forceful regularity. Mouthfuls of coffee were spit into ashtrays. My name was cursed.
Day Three
At 0728 I parked my car in the parking lot and walked around the building to the main entrance. Outside the door, Dave Dekoff stood at attention in his crackerjacks. When I got to the door, he stuck a cigarette in my mouth. "Can I light that for you, Frank?" he said, and whipped out a lighter. "By the way," he said, "The master chief says Ed Helm is going to make the coffee from now on."
Of course, I'd already figured that out.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
John Pastin: "I can help with music."
The mood was tense. Hurricane Irene had forced hundreds of distraught New Jerseyans to seek shelter in Rowan University's gymnasium. The college president put out a call for volunteers.
"The first thing that came to me was 'I can help with music,'" said the dean of the Department of Fine and Performing Arts. A saxophonist as well as conductor of the Rowan University Concert Band, he took his sax out of the case and, along with another member of the music faculty, gave the shelter's residents an impromptu concert.
And so, as described in this story from the Gloucester County Times, Navy Musicians Association member John Pastin continues his life of service through music.
Like so many of us, John was once a talented high school musician. "All I wanted to do is perform,” he recently told the Times. He thought of college, of course, but his band director, a former Navy musician, told him about another way a young saxophone player could gain experience. John looked into enlistment as a Navy musician. "I found out what they did for a living and how they supported the services,” he said. “Then the next, I guess you could say, is history."
It's a history I'm proud to have shared with John Pastin, on staff at the School of Music and now at reunions of the NMA.
Military musicians dedicate their talent not to their own glory, but to a cause greater than themselves. Each, at some point, looked at his or her personal desires and abilities, balanced them with the needs of our country, and, like John Pastin, said:
"I can help with music."
Here's our shipmate, former leader of the U.S. Navy Band Dr. John R. Pastin, conducting the Rowan University Concert Band.
"The first thing that came to me was 'I can help with music,'" said the dean of the Department of Fine and Performing Arts. A saxophonist as well as conductor of the Rowan University Concert Band, he took his sax out of the case and, along with another member of the music faculty, gave the shelter's residents an impromptu concert.
And so, as described in this story from the Gloucester County Times, Navy Musicians Association member John Pastin continues his life of service through music.
Like so many of us, John was once a talented high school musician. "All I wanted to do is perform,” he recently told the Times. He thought of college, of course, but his band director, a former Navy musician, told him about another way a young saxophone player could gain experience. John looked into enlistment as a Navy musician. "I found out what they did for a living and how they supported the services,” he said. “Then the next, I guess you could say, is history."
It's a history I'm proud to have shared with John Pastin, on staff at the School of Music and now at reunions of the NMA.
Military musicians dedicate their talent not to their own glory, but to a cause greater than themselves. Each, at some point, looked at his or her personal desires and abilities, balanced them with the needs of our country, and, like John Pastin, said:
"I can help with music."
- - - - - - - - - -
Thursday, September 1, 2011
The School of Music's rigorous training regimen
Computers in the classroom. MP3 players in the practice rooms. What's next--private bathrooms in the barracks?
Oh...never mind.
Oh...never mind.
.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
When in doubt, go for cute.
We take take pride in our appearance. We have to; when we are on duty, we're in public. One of the first things drilled into us was was the military musician's foundational priciple: "How you look is just as important as how you sound."
But I gotta tell you: cute goes a long way, too.
But I gotta tell you: cute goes a long way, too.
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