FRI, 14JUN19 - The Daily Poop -- Effin' A Sea Bag

Effin'-a sea bag.

If I remember correctly, packing for a Navy band cruise or road trip took about 12 minutes.

You folded your uniforms, put 'em in your sea bag, tossed in socks, skivvies, toothbrush and razor, and you were done. Okay, maybe the socks went in first, uniforms last. The point is, you could do this with one hand while holding a Budweiser in the other, and when the Bud was done, so was the packing.

That was then, this is now. Yesterday, I started packing so I can get out of here tomorrow. I spent a half hour trying to decide how many shirts I needed; I'll be gone for eight days, but I'll want to change into nicer clothing for the evening functions. But I could wear the Friday-night shirt again the following day, and who cares what I wear for the trip back home? And short sleeves are great, but I'm going to an evening Brewers game, and it might get chilly. So another long-sleeved shirt goes into the mix.

In other words, I spent yesterday picking out a stack of shirts. Today, I'll do the pants. This could take all day, as I need trousers that (a) aren't torn or ragged and (b) fit.

Not so sure I'll get out tomorrow after all.

FRI, 14JUN19 - The Daily Poop - "24 ≠ 25"

Add Terry Chesson to the list of Sunday arrivals for the NMA reunion. Anybody else?

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Is it safe to wear your Chicago Cubs gear at a Brewers game in Milwaukee? Asking for a friend.

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A topic that will come up during the reunion is the fact that next year will be the NMA's 25th anniversary. However, let it be noted here that next week, for our 24th anniversary, we'll be holding our 25th reunion. Do not offer other opinions. Faith-based math carries no weight. The first reunion was held in 1995. In the following year, 1996, we held the second reunion on our first anniversary. In 1997, we had our third reunion on our second anniversary. Keep counting and you'll come to the ironclad fact that this year,  2019, we're holding our 25th reunion on our 24th anniversary and next year, at our 26th reunion, we'll celebrate our 25th anniversary.

We had a similar argument five years ago while looking forward to our 20th anniversary, celebrated at our 21st reunion. Voices were raised. Fists were shaken. Truth was denied.

Fortunately, reality doesn't care about your opinions.

THURS, 13JUN19 - The Daily Poop

Our day-earlier-than-usual reunion this year means I won't be the only member arriving on Sunday. Kim and Deb Holl, key players in reunion preparation, plan a Sunday arrival. I have great respect for the Holls. Kim sponsored me during CPO initiation and pinned on my anchors. Deb could pin me to the deck if I get out of line.

Sunday arrivals a few years ago:
Me, Bill Sterck, Wilbur Smith, David Blakeley.

Wilbur Smith also arrives on Sunday, to organize band music, work on concert preparation and, I would assume, sample the sort of beverage that made Milwaukee famous. Smitty was one of the many MUs with whom I crossed paths now and then but never served with. How common it was to sort of know someone in our small program.

David Blakeley also arrives on Sunday. I never served with David, but have come to know and respect him through the NMA.

Altogether, three tours with Kim: once in Yokosuka and twice at the School of Music. Two brief overlaps with Wilbur: first in Newport and later, at the School. Zero tours with David, who I know only through the NMA.

Yet, they're all shipmates I look forward to seeing every year. That's how the NMA works.

WED, 12JUN19 - The Daily Poop

 

            Time.
            Is.
            Marching.
            On.

In a matter of days, I'll be in Wisconsin with the finest people I know, the Navy Musicians Association family.

Thus, I launch the 12th annual season of the Daily Poop, my annual, pre-reunion pep rally of NMA news, thoughts and slander. The Poop will appear daily until the reunion starts on Tuesday the 18th (or maybe the day before). At that time, we'll switch to round-the-clock reunion coverage: LiveBlog 2019.

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Are you coming? When will you arrive? Are you staying home? What's wrong with you? Let me know. I don't feel bad about spreading gossip; I just call it "passing the word."

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Bob Grindle just wrote to tell me he'll be at the reunion. Oh, "Boomer," how we've missed you.

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Lee Hudson--are you coming this year? I need to decide whether to start drinking again.

Shipmate Versus Wife

Two of the most important people in my life are Illinoisans. Terry Chesson, Navy shipmate and dear friend, is a son of Chicago. My dear wife, Jo Knox, is a daughter of the Illinois prairie. You'd think they'd be pals, drawn together by their Midwestern roots and Middle American sensibilities.

Sadly, this is not the case. Terry is a lifelong fan of the Chicago Cubs. Jo, since childhood, has rooted for the St. Louis Cardinals. Here in the Heartland, such a difference in team allegiances is not like the slight doctrinal differences between the Presbyterians and Lutherans or the disagreement  over the merits of Jose Feliciano's cover of "Light My Fire" as opposed to the Doors's original. In the central Midwest, Cubs and Cards fans, like gin and turpentine, do not mix well.

2006 NMA reunion in Louisville, KY. Shipmate Terry
Chesson, (l.) and wife, Jo Knox (r.), begin the Battle Royale
while Frank Mullen (cravenly cringing in the background)
watches on with deep concern for his future.

Jo and Terry have been at each other's throats for years now. They exchange vituperative emails, gloat over victories, slander players and generally snipe at each other over trivial, perceived slights.

"Stay out of it," you say. Oh, if only 'twere so easy. Problem is:

I'm a Cubs fan.

This puts me in the middle of a vicious arena, trying to balance the sacred marital duties of a husband, to protect his wife with the life-long bonds of camaraderie forged by those who have served together as defenders of freedom.


Sadly, the fires of fandom never burn hotter when Jo and Terry face each other at the NMA reunion. If you're wandering the hotel and find me cowering in the laundry room or tiptoeing through a fire door, don't think that I've flipped out. I'm just seeking a few minutes of respite.

Frank Mullen vs. The Singing Sergeants

The Air Force's Singing Sergeants gave an evening concert at the base theater in Little Creek when I was an instructor at the SOM in the early 1980s. Attendance was mandatory for staff as well as students, so I put on my dress  blues and showed up, taking my usual seat at the end of the third row, a seat that allowed a quick getaway through the side door to the parking lot when the concert ended.

The concert featured a Broadway-wannabe solo singer who did some sappy, dipstick number from The Carpenters' Songbook ("Sing, sing a song, Make it simple to last your whole life long). During an extended instrumental interlude, the guy took his microphone out into the audience, sharing the mic with audience members as he interviewed them: "Hi, what's your name? Susan? Nice to meet you, Susan." You get the idea.

The spotlight followed him as he worked his way up the aisle in my general direction. "Please," I said under my breath, "don't come my way." But he kept coming, sticking his mic in people's faces:"Good evening, and what is your name? Dick? Have a great night, Dick."

I sent out a final plea to the universe; "Please, please do not let this guy stick his microphone in my face, for I cannot be held responsible for my actions." (I'd come to the theater straight from The Brass Bell Lounge on Independence Boulevard. I was planning to be back on my stool within five minutes of the concert's close.)

My plea to the universe went unheard. The guy game up to me, stuck the mic in my face and said,  "Hey there, sailor, what's your name?"

"Ron Van Hoose," I said, invoking the name of the commanding officer of the School of Music.

When the audience's howling finally died down, he said, "Are you having a good time tonight, Ron?"

The guy clearly didn't know why the crowd was enjoying the repartee so much, but when your shtick is getting a thunderous response, you go with it.

"I'm having the time of my life," I said.

"Well, I hope you have a good night, Ron."

"You can count on it, pal" I said.

I learned a lot from this experience. Specifically, I learned that a Command Master Chief may be a nice guy to have a beer with in the evening, but he's not so jolly at 0800 the morning after you've publicly impersonated your commanding officer.