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A Different Veterans Day Tribute
The day Paul Riley saved my life
I was an “A-School” student at the Navy’s School of Music in the early ’80s. Located in Norfolk-Virginia Beach, the school still provides a six-month basic course for Sailors, Marines, and Soldiers fresh from Bootcamp on their way to the fleet or field as military musicians.
The barracks building was named Scott Hall — and in my room was another Sailor and two Marines. Four to a room, we each had a wardrobe locker, a desk, and our bunk. Students were usually berthed together by service, so I had a rare opportunity to watch and listen to the behind the scenes lives of Marines. Fiercely loyal to each other, they treated each other coarsely in public and used a strange new vocabulary that involved a LOT of yelling. It took some getting used to, and despite spending a lot of time together in the evenings, I kept to myself most of the time. Although we had similar class schedules and performed together in many of the same ensembles, their life was quite different than mine.
When a student arrived at the SOM, there was a typical check-in period of a week or so until the registrar had enough students to form a class. A class trained for six months, with the opportunity of an early graduation mid-term if grades and your final audition were good enough. Being senior to me, each of my…
