It was a scorching hot day, with humidity hovering around the ninety percent mark. All of us musicians, even wearing white uniforms, were soaked through to the skin. The Norfolk Parade had not been too bad, though; the route was only about two miles, and we didn’t have to march behind the horses.

We had a Marine color guard and contingent immediately behind us. Rather than calling out a cadence, the Gunnery Sergeant told his troops to follow our cadence for the parade and any other marching. They were all used to doing that; they did it every morning, marching from the Recreation Hall to the flag poles and back for Morning colors.

For that particular Memorial Day, we had two parades on our schedule. After we finished the morning parade in Norfolk, we were scheduled to play the Portsmouth parade in the afternoon. Because the two cities are only about three miles apart, someone in command decided that it was simpler to have the busses drop us off in Norfolk, then drive to Portsmouth and park, waiting for us there. Three miles, at a marching tempo of 120 beats per minute, with each pace thirty inches, only takes about forty five minutes to traverse. The Portsmouth parade route was a short one; only about a mile long. Our total walking for the day was less than ten miles, on paving and reasonably level terrain.

Now, you have to understand; for Marines, marching is merely a matter of walking in step with their rifles at right shoulder arms. The same is essentially true for most musicians, unless we are actually playing. We simply carry our instrument at a comfortable position for that particular instrument. But for drummers, marching is work. They have to play a cadence the entire time. So Dick Klotz was playing a cadence, just doing his job. We marched along and Dick played, Shunk! Diggity-dum-dum-digittydiggity-dum. Shunk! Diggity-dum-dum-digittydigitty-dum . Occasionally he mixed it up , playing Diggity-shunk-dum-dum. Diggity-shunk-dum.

But suddenly, about a mile and a half into the march from Norfolk to Portsmouth, Dick decided to do something different. We’ll never know just what went through his head, because he never told anyone. Perhaps he was thinking about the argument he’d overheard in the Exchange, where one of the Marines was bragging to one of us that Marines could march circles around any sailor. Perhaps it was the stage-whispered comments we had all heard from the Marines during the last appearance of the Navy Silent Drill Team at an affair of state at the Supreme Allied Commander Atlantic Forces Headquarters. But whatever the reason, Dick started just playing quarter note triplets. Dum-dum-dum. Dum-dum-dum. Dum-dum-dum. Of course, being musicians, we all knew exactly what was going on, and just continued marching along. Left, right, left, right.

And for about a block, the Marines did too. But then something snapped. Some of us snuck a look behind us over our shoulder, and saw they were out of step, and falling all over themselves trying to make three paces match our four for distance. Finally, after about two blocks, we heard the Gunnery Sergeant begin shouting, “HUP! HOOP! TREE! FAWR! HUP! HOOP! TREE! FAWR! … “

Well, just about the time he had his troops all squared away and marching properly again, Dick went back into the cadence. But he started the first beat on the Gunnery Sergeant’s four. We heard a scuffling of feet as all the Marines did the Teaberry Shuffle to get their left feet on the heavy beat of the measure.

I don’t recall anything else about that particular Memorial Day, except that afternoon, when we got back to the base and changed out of our dress whites, the beer in the NCO Club tasted especially good.

I am a member of the Navy Musician’s Association. There are a few of us who were in the Band of the Commander in Chief, Atlantic Fleet at that time. We still laugh about Memorial Day, 1964, when Dick Klotz messed up the Marines.