It was May of 2009, and I flew home from Chicago to Denver to witness the Change of Command ceremony in which my oldest brother, Ralph, would be assuming his first post as a battalion commander in the Army Reserve. He had just made Lieutenant Colonel about a year prior. Ralph put his advancement to me in Navy terms: “It’s like becoming the captain of a Navy ship.” That’s huge; I didn’t want to miss it.
I brought along my dress blues (the “Cracker Jack” uniform) to wear at the ceremony as an expression of armed forces solidarity and as a show of support for my literal “brother-in-arms.”
It turns out that there is a formal dinner thrown for the outgoing commander the night before the Change of Command. My brother and his wife were going, and Ralph thought it would be great to have me come along. Dress uniforms were in order, so on went the Cracker Jack.
The dinner was held in a nice hotel ballroom on the outskirts of downtown Denver. My sister-in-law, Marianne, looked lovely in her formal black dress. Ralph looked dashing in his Army dress uniform: light green shirt with black tie, dark green jacket (in military parlance, a “blouse”) replete with a large array of ribbons and shiny brass, light blue trousers with a dark blue stripe running down each leg, and shiny black shoes. I looked, well, like a damn fine sailor (in Army parlance, a faggot).
The three of us arrived at the hotel and found the ballroom, and I walked into a sea of Army officers and enlisted personnel, most of whom had brought their significant other. No other branches of the service were represented – no Air Force, no Marines, no Coast Guard – it was all Army, and the Lone Sailor. I stuck out like a sore thumb.
The evening opened with everyone mingling just outside of the ballroom enjoying drinks from two cash bars. Ralph and Marianne walked about shaking hands with various people and introducing me to them. It soon occurred to us that I had no seat reserved in the ballroom. Ralph and I went in and looked the situation over.
The seating consisted of about a dozen large, round tables for all of the guests complete with little name tags at each place setting. Then there was the head table, like at a wedding: a long, rectangular table with six settings all the way across. The outgoing commander and his wife were to have the place of honor in the middle. To his right would sit Ralph and Marianne, and to his left would sit the Sergeant Major of the battalion, with his girlfriend seated next to him on the very end. There seemed to be a few spaces available among the round tables, and Ralph said that when people came in to sit down, I could pretty much choose whatever empty seat I wanted.
We went back out to mixing and mingling, and Ralph led me to the table where they were taking ticket money. Being only an E-4 (that’s the fourth rung out of nine on the enlisted ladder – the Sergeant Major was an E-9), my fee for the dinner was less than most people there had to pay. Being almost a nobody has its advantages.
Ralph introduced me to the major who was collecting the money, and she asked where I’d be sitting. Ralph told her the situation, and she came up with a better idea.
“You know, Sergeant Major’s girlfriend couldn’t make it tonight, so why don’t we have him sit at the head table?” She knew I had flown in from Chicago, so I guess she wanted to honor my show of support for my brother. Ralph thought that would be a great idea, and we found the Sergeant Major and he agreed. Sergeant Major was just the kind of guy you might imagine him to be: an Army bull dog who neither gave nor took bull from anyone, but very cordial and with a good sense of humor. So, the issue of seating was settled.
About this time, the outgoing commander and his wife formed a greeting line with my brother, his wife, and the Sergeant Major. So, everyone who had been mingling formed a line (a long line) and pressed the flesh with those in the greeting line. The idea was that those who had gone through the greeting line would then enter the ballroom and take their seats in preparation for dinner.
Feeling deferential to my Army comrades, I went all the way to the back of the line. The people running late to the event took their place in line behind me. I made a little small talk with those near me as the line progressed. Finally, I made my way through the greeting line. Of course, my brother and I made nothing but silly comments as I shook his hand. After shaking Sergeant Major’s hand, I entered the ballroom only to see that no one had taken their seats. Everyone was still milling about and chatting it up out by the cash bars.
To show that at least someone in this crowd knew how to follow orders, I walked up to the head table and stood next to my chair. I looked out at all the empty tables and realized how dumb I’d look sitting down in the ballroom all by myself. I already stood out enough – no need to put a spotlight on me. I walked back out to mill.
There were still quite a few people going through the greeting line, so hanging out with Ralph and Marianne was out of the question; I was on my own. I looked about the room, and my eye caught a color guard forming up. They were easy to spot with their shiny, silver helmets, white mesh belts, flags and rifles. This was good as I knew that these guys would most likely be E-3’s, 4’s and 5’s – my peers. I decided I’d feel most at ease striking up conversation with them. Making my way through the crowd, I approached the color guard. My opening salvo was:
“So, you guys gonna be up for an Army-Navy brawl later on tonight?”
They laughed a sort of laugh that said, “That was funny. Who the hell does this guy think he is?”
One of them smiled and said, “I think you’re a little outnumbered.”
“Well, maybe,” I replied. “You guys a part of this battalion, or are you just coming in to parade the colors?”
“This is our battalion,” they offered.
“Cool,” I said.
We weren’t two minutes into the small talk when references were being made to the Village People as they examined my outfit.
“Oh, yeah?” I said. “Well, you guys look a lot like the construction worker with those helmets.”
We laughed. Just some good-natured inter-service rivalry.
“And, by the way,” I continued, indicating their name tags (I don’t wear one on my dress uniform), “I am memorizing all your names. The incoming commander, your new boss, happens to be my brother, so feel free to say anything you want about me. He will hear everything!”
That got me some wide-eyed looks, and some more good-natured laughs. It was a well placed zinger. Suddenly, they were noting the resemblance (everyone in the battalion already knew my brother as he’d been acting as the executive officer for some time). A call went out for people to begin taking their seats for dinner, so I exchanged friendly handshakes with the color guard and told them to do a great job.
We were all standing next to our chairs as those in the greeting line were announced to the room, and they filed in to the head table and took their places next to their chairs. The color guard marched in and took their place in front of the head table as everyone in uniform held a salute. The national anthem was played through the sound system, the colors were posted, the salute was concluded, the color guard exited (having done a very honorable job), and everyone took their seats.
No sooner had we sat down than Ralph leaned forward and looked down to my end of the table.
“Nice date, Sergeant Major!” he gushed. “He’s really cute!”
Everyone within earshot gave a hearty laugh. I just smiled and nodded. I was, indeed, outnumbered. What else could I do?
To my left and a little behind me was a podium with a cordless microphone. Directly in front of me was the round table reserved for the “full bird” colonels, the highest ranking officers in the room (just one step below brigadier general). And there I sat in full view of the entire room – nowhere to hide.
Dinner opened with a prayer by the battalion chaplain, and out came the food. It was quite good. Soon after the meal began, the outgoing commander had a crown placed on his head, everyone was instructed on the exact protocol should anyone in the room wish to address him, and anyone who screwed up the protocol was sentenced to the “chair of shame” which was placed in front of the head table. I soon discovered that there was an entire script prepared for the evening. Suddenly, the night transformed from what might have been a stuffy, formal affair, to what felt like a medieval feast complete with court jesters and ribald humor. The Sergeant Major saw my bewildered face and explained the tradition. Dinner was served with lots of laughs.
Things settled down after awhile and it became time for the outgoing commander to make a farewell speech. He approached the podium and turned on the mic. A little way into his opening remarks, the commander said:
“And I also want to mention that I think it’s really great to have one of our sister services represented here tonight.” A few chuckles were heard sprinkled throughout the room, and the commander reiterated, with emphasis, “Sister services.” A few chuckles became general laughter. I smiled and nodded, outnumbered.
Toward the close of the evening, the cordless mic was going from table to table, and one person from each table was given the opportunity to make remarks to the outgoing commander, usually in the form of a funny story from times past, and then some sort of farewell gift was presented from that table. I leaned over to the Sergeant Major and asked if I might make a few remarks. He initially didn’t think it would be a good idea, but after I reminded him I had flown in from Chicago to support my brother and promised to be brief, he changed his mind. After all the tables had had their turn, the Sergeant Major called for the mic to be brought to me. I took hold of the mic and stood up. I first addressed the commander, who was standing at the podium.
“Sir, on behalf of the United States Navy [which got a few laughs], I just want to say that, from what I have heard here tonight, it sounds like you were a great officer to work for. Thank you for your service. And it is truly an honor for me to be here among all you fine Army officers and enlisted personnel, and I never imagined I’d be sitting at the head table, which is also an honor. I flew in from Chicago this morning to be here because, as you know, my brother will be taking over command of this battalion, and I am [a slight pause, and then, with playful emphasis] heterosexual. Thank you very much.”
Eyes in the room lit up as I handed the mic to the commander, and the room exploded in laughter and even some applause. As I sat down, I looked over at my brother who was enjoying a hearty laugh, and Sergeant Major shook my hand with a big grin and said, “That was perfect!”
The Lone Sailor becomes the “Army of One.” Who’s outnumbered now?
Epilogue
The following morning, the battalion and attending audience had all taken their places for the Change of Command ceremony. The audience had a side view, and I was standing up in the back row at a point that put me easily within the peripheral vision of the soldiers standing in formation. In fact, I kept catching many of them looking over at me. Again, in my Navy dress blues, I stood out like a sore thumb. And having so recently learned how the Army tends to view Navy personnel, I knew exactly what they were thinking.
The space we were in looked like an airplane hangar, and there must have been four or five times the number of soldiers that had attended last night’s dinner. The outgoing commander and the general he served took to the podium, made their respective speeches, and then partook of the ceremony along with my brother and the Sergeant Major. The ceremony went without a hitch, and then my brother, the new battalion commander, stepped to the podium and took the cordless mic from its stand to give his speech.
It was a fine speech, but Ralph was holding the mic a little too far away and it was difficult to hear him in such a large space. I was just about to do my brother a favor, but in a split-second I calculated that my conspicuous uniform, coupled with an unexpected and very particular motion of my closed hand, would cause more than a few eyes to turn my way, and I knew that many of those who would look over had heard my speech last night. I couldn’t chance having a bunch of soldiers giggling in ranks during their new commander’s inaugural address. The “favor” I had come so close to performing was to flash my brother the international sign for: “Hold the Microphone Closer to Your Mouth.”
Sometimes it’s just better to stand down.
