John S. Armstrong – 50th Reunion Essay

John S. Armstrong

781 11th St

Boulder, Colorado 80302

johnarmstrong@q.com

720-490-2661

Spouse(s): Liza Carlson (1997)

Education: Berklee College of Music, BM

National Service: US Army (1967-70)

Career: Musician

Avocations: Sailing, writing

College: Timothy Dwight

I left Yale feeling incomplete. Never before, in my short life, had I started something and not finished it. In school, I got the best grades. In sports, I won. In the music competitions that were my bread and butter, I took the prize. I worked hard, but it didn’t feel like work. At Yale I got D’s and F’s. When my teachers spoke, I didn’t understand them. When I wrote papers, I missed the point. In Physics 25, I was clueless. When I tried out for the chorus, I couldn’t sing. The only thing that I could do was chug beer for the Tang Cup and play Beatles songs on the piano as people lined up to eat at Timothy Dwight.

After two years, I left on a temporary break that has now lasted 52 years. I enlisted in the army and played music for Special Services in Berlin. I remember being a stage hand for Bob Hope with Les Brown and his Band of Renown. When my enlistment ended, my friends and I formed a band. We did demo recordings in New York. Our manager was famous. We waited to be recognized and hopefully played our gigs until our patience ran out. We titled our album “Rude Awakening.”

When the band dissolved, I went to Berklee College of Music in Boston. After I graduated, I taught there, playing gigs with all the great old Boston jazz players. I was lucky enough to play at Tanglewood, Symphony Hall, and in the Broadway pit, but after seven years, I was restless and went on the road conducting the Mikado. I took a position as music director on a cruise ship sailing from New York to Bermuda for a month and stayed for 12 years.

Cruising was a blessing because it showed me more of the world than most people ever see. My running shoes were stolen in Mombasa, I climbed sand dunes in Namibia, purchased hashish in the casbah of Tangiers, played with Buddy Greco, and saw a 13-foot python swim across the Amazon River. I saw Rastas, Mexican peasants, and Russian refugees; I’ve seen the slums of Rio literally leaning up against the sides of luxury high-rises; I’ve seen the modern malls of South Africa flanked by guards with automatic weapons; I’ve walked through the ankle-high trash of Madras, India, been swarmed by hungry children on Bali on Tuesday and jostled by rich Singaporeans on Thursday. What I’ve seen has made me realize how lucky we all are. We are a select few and we should appreciate that fact.

When I met my wife, Liza, in 1991, I stopped working aboard ships and moved to Boulder, Colorado. Since then I have played and taught music, advocated for liberal causes, and had a life. Four years ago, Liza and I bought a boat and as I write this, we are on a mooring ball in Boot Key Harbor on Marathon, Florida waiting for a weather window before sailing north.