Lieutenant Dogberts

“If we don't get fired for this, we're never gonna get fired.” I whispered that to my buddy as we stood in front of 500 guests at the Langley Officers' Club. We were about to sing a song mocking the impressive comb-over of our departing wing commander, Brigadier General Gregory “Speedy” Martin. Two weeks earlier, Colonel Richard “Dick” Banholzer had asked me to provide entertainment for the VIP studded going-away party. “Write one of those songs,” he'd said, “like the one you did for Brick's going away.” I hesitated. “Sir, these songs aren't funny if they're nice.” “I've got your back, Deacon.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Don't hold back.” I considered his words, then made an important business decision—I believed him. On the night of the party, Speedy was seated next to his beautiful, long-suffering wife, Lynn. She had a bemused smile on her face and held Speedy's hand. With an acoustic guitar strapped across my shoulder, I scanned the audience. The front row was littered with general officers. My friend took a sip of beer and shook his head. "There's more stars out there than a dark night in the Rockies.” I adjusted the mic. “I was asked to … uh, provide entertainment … um, for tonight's festivities.” I glanced at Banholzer—the one who'd promised to have my back. He was standing in the wings, swaying to the music—except there was no music yet. He shot me a thumbs up, then tossed back his cocktail and motioned for a lieutenant to bring him another. He looked in no shape to have my back. He looked in no shape to have anything—except for another cocktail. I considered faking a heart attack. Anything to stop this train wreck. My friend picked up on my hesitation. “1's ready,” he said with eyebrows raised. I swallowed. “2's ready.” I knew what was coming next in this dogfighting communication sequence—and he didn't disappoint. “Fight's on!” he said. I took a deep breath. "With apologies to Glenn Frey and Don Henley." I strummed the first chords to the song—the iconic acoustic intro to the Eagles' “Peaceful Easy Feeling.” Then we began to sing. I like the way the strands of hair lay, Against your dome so bald.
 I'd like to see what you look like with some hair,
 Artificially installed … That should have been the laugh line. Instead, it was crickets—utter silence. I began preparing for my staff job to the Keflavik Commissary. Then Speedy's wife laughed. It wasn't just a giggle. That delightful woman let out a full-throated, career-saving guffaw—and the four-star commander of ACC joined in. With this tacit approval, the entire audience erupted. The cacophony was too loud and too sustained for us to continue. I looked at my buddy, who just shrugged and downed his beer while I rested my arm on my guitar and waited. When the din finally subsided, we sang the first verse again, then reached the chorus: I have a cheesy, greasy hairpiece,
 And I'd like for you to try it on.
 'Cuz we're so tired of staring,
 At your dome … More laughter. More waiting. And one more verse. You found out a long time ago,
 What a woman can do to your hair.
 But it looks like you made Lynn so mad,
 She spiked your shampoo with Nair. We exited to thunderous applause. Over the years, I wrote more than fifty songs for going-away parties. Most got their share of laughs. But only this one required a brigadier general’s wife and a four-star general to decide I was funny instead of insubordinate. The image is an AI reconstruction based on personal photos from that period.