It was in the late spring of 1957. i was already a love lorn teenager at 13, a seventh grader at Lebanon Junior High School. It was a Saturday. i had once again gone to a Saturday afternoon matinee at the Capitol Theater, a “B” Western preceded by the “Movietone News” reel, a Looney Tunes cartoon (hopefully), and a serial, “Rocket Man,” “Lash Larue, or “Buck Rogers.” Admission was a quarter. i had a Three Musketeers candy bar for a nickel and a coke for a dime.
After the movie, i went to the Tasty Shop next door and had a “suicide coke.” i don’t remember the cost but if was more than a dime, i would be shocked.
For some strange reason, perhaps because i was a lazy teenager, i called home for a ride instead of walking five blocks. i walked across Main Street to await my ride on the sidewalk by Bradshaw’s Drug Store. Perhaps it was from the Bradshaw’s soda fountain counter by the prescription order and pickup window. i really don’t know.
But while i stood there, a song wafted through the air. It was the Coaster’s just released “A” side of a two-sided 45 RPM. The “B” side was “Young Blood,” which still makes me smile today. The “A” side was supposed to be humorous as well, i suppose. But in my state of mind, it connected with me. “Searchin’.” Yeh, i thought, even then i was searchin’ for the love of my life.
My search took off and i found many wonderful women, two of whom i married, i thought had ended my search. But i found out the search had a ways to go: nobody was at fault; the fit just wasn’t long term.
The search continued. The Coaster’s song was on my mind:
Yeah, i’ve been searchin’ Ah-a, searchin’ Oh yeah, searchin’ every which a’way yay-yay Oh yeah, searchin’ Ah-a, searchin’ Searchin’ every which a’way yay-yay But i’m like the Northwest mountie You know i’ll bring her in some day (Gonna find her) (Gonna find her)
Well now if i have to swim a river You know I will And if i have to climb a mountain You know i will And if she’s hiding up on a blueberry hill Am i gonna find her? Child, you know i will
‘Cause i’ve been searchin’ Oh yeah, searchin’ My goodness Searchin’ every which a’way yay-yay But i’m like the Northwest mountie You know i’ll bring her in some day
Well Sherlock Holmes Sam Spade got nothing Child, on me Seargent Friday Charlie Chan And Boston Blackie No matter where she’s hiding She’s gonna hear me coming Gonna walk right down that street Like Bulldog Drummond
‘Cause i’ve been searchin’ Oh Lord now, searchin’ Mmm child, searchin’ every which a’way yay-yay But i’m like the Northwest mountie You know i’ll bring her in some day
Tonight, Maureen and i concluded a five-day personal celebration of our 40th anniversary by going to one of our favorite places, one where we had celebrated before, the Wine Vault and Bistro. It was a six-course, paired wine with Turley Zinfandel’s featured. It was forty years from when my search came a wonderful conclusion.
You see, i remember every detail of when we first met. She does also, but her memory is a little faulty. Of course, she thinks the same about mine, and in the short term, she is nearly always right. Of course, i allow her to think i have acceded to her claim she’s right all the time, except for this one particular moment. A man would have to be bordering on, if not steeply mired in crazy to claim his rightness with his wife.
40 years.
For many. years, i have posted the story of how we met. i am undeterred this year and that story is at the end of this long winded explanation about us, you know, the forty-year folks.
Sunday will be our fortieth anniversary.
We were not what many people would consider alike.
Maureen is a San Diego native, born in Coronado, and growing up in Lemon Grove. She spent four summers in Europe, a couple with a Parisian couple in a VW van speaking only French. She lived in Monterrey for two years after college, and spent a year with me in Jacksonville, Florida, during my last operational tour in the Navy. She is high fashion, gourmet dining and cooking, refined, experienced in interior design, and an incredible mind and eye for detail. Oh yeh, did i mention beautiful. And that beauty may have changed a bit, but she remains one of the most beautiful women i have ever met.
Me? i am a small town, country boy, from Tennessee. i am into sports, loved life at sea, once chewed tobacco twists and drank beer at the same time, cuss like a sailor because i was one, clumsy, forgetful, overlook the small, and sometimes important stuff.
Oh yeh, she was fluent in four languages. i spoke Tennessee Southern.
It’s a wonder she agreed to go out with me to the Belly Up Tavern to see John Lee Hooker that Saturday night after we sealed the deal on the partitions she sold me for my ship. Then, she actually agreed to go out the next Monday to the Belly Up again to see Doc Watson.
That first night, she made fun of the plaid inserts in the seats of my RX7, and probably turned up her nose at the rust red color, too but didn’t tell me.
A somewhat disinterested Maureen and me in my Coronado Cays condo i shared with JD Waits, my shipmate, and his sailboat.
She spent a lot of time in the RX7 that summer. i would leave my ship at liberty call, change clothes and clean up. Then, i would drive across the bridge, maneuver onto the 94 freeway, and exited on College Avenue. She and two other young women shared a small home a few blocks off of College. i would pick her up and we would drive to La Jolla. This seemed to happen about two to three times a week. We ate a numerous restaurants in La Jolla.. The one that was my long gone favorite was the Blue Parrot. It was in the lower level of a shopping and dining complex on Prospect Avenue. The menu was good, the Caesar Salad was terrific, and a jazz trio played most evenings. We would talk after we ate and i would drive her home. That’s when she would turn on a classical FM station, and promptly go to sleep. i usually got back to my apartment after 11:00 and went aboard my ship the next morning about 0600.
Another difference she turned up her nose for beautiful interiors at my old pea green couch that was very comfortable and cost $100 when i bought it in College Station, Texas in 1977.
That was the basics of our first spring and summer: lunches, dinner, a few concerts, and an occasional sailing on my shipmate’s sailboat. That September 1982, JD and i moved into the photo condo with my daughter Blythe’s approval. JD got engaged in December to Mary Lou. Maureen and i became engaged in February. He and i moaned and moaned how we had screwed up one of the greatest bachelor pads ever.
Then, there was one night we had dinner in Kensington. We were headed to Hotel Del Coronado’s Boat House. It had been converted into a restaurant downstairs with a small bar upstairs. The room next to the bar had couches, chairs, and occasional tables. Hors d’oeuvres, and desserts were served. We would have a dessert and a liquer for Maureen and an after dinner drink. But for some reason, i pulled over the curb and stopped in a nicer section of down. We were on an overpass with a canyon with plush vegetation below. We were talking about life, philosophy, and all that stuff. i don’t know why. But i do know that it was the first time i realized we thought alike in the most important things. It was a big moment for me.
In another six months, we were engaged.
We were married in her father’s backyard, Saturday, July 30, 1983. Maureen had rejected some beautiful venues for weddings because of the cost. So she spared no expense on the catering. There were tables set up around the yard with each having their own special hors d’oeuvre. i have included the menu at the end of this post. My brother Joe, a Methodist minister, came from New England to perform the service.
Maureen and i wrote our vows. Several days ago, i reread them. A particular segment stood out for me:
It has cast the light of clarity on relations with other people important in their lives, redefining and deepening those relationships.
It struck me how we both have a plethora of friends of almost every kind. We have friends across the political spectrum. We have friends of many of the religions in this world. We have friends who are just few steps away from homeless. We have friends who are pretty close if not already independently wealthy. We have friends that cover the racial and sexual preference spectrum. We have friends who are Hell’s Angels. We have friends who are deep into spirituality. We enjoy them all. And they all have made our two lives together enriched.
As i have said many times and deeply believe, “I am a lucky man to have her enter my life.”
Forty years, actually forty-one years, and 137 days from the day we met. But who’s counting?
The annual repeat of how we met is below:
It was early March 1982. i was the Weapons Officer of the USS Okinawa (LPH 3) home ported in San Diego. The Weapons Officer billet was titled “First Lieutenant” on other amphibious helicopter carriers. Regardless, it meant i was charge in pretty much everything not aviation, engineering, operations, or supply related.
One of those responsibilities was being in charge of the quarterdeck where all visitors entered the ship. From previous regimes, we had a large red torah that spanned the entrance into the helicopter deck below the flight deck. It was impressive, but Captain Dave Rogers called me to his cabin one afternoon. “Jim, I want our quarterdeck to be the best quarterdeck on the base. I want it to be the most impressive and known to be the best by everyone home ported here.”
I, of course, replied, “Aye, Aye, Sir!”
i discussed how we could make the quarterdeck renowned across the waterfront with my division officers and Boatswain Warrant Officer 4 (CWO4) Ellis. The Bosun had a bit of a beer gut. He was married to a wonderful Filipino woman who created a lovely macramé lanyard for the boatswain pipe the bosun gave me when i was transferred. She was about 4’8″ and almost that wide. Great lady, just a bit wide.
My team came up with the idea of a sitting area next to the quarterdeck. At the time, when guests or visitors came aboard, they had to wait for the watch to contact whomever they were there to see. That sailor or officer would have to come to the quarterdeck to escort the visitor. Often, the time it took to get to the quarterdeck was lengthy.
So we decided we could create a sitting area with panels, some chairs, maybe a sofa, and hang framed photographs about the Oki on the walls. That way, the visitor wouldn’t have to stand around in the working bay of the helicopter deck. Great idea.
We had to decide where and how to get panels. Since the Bosun and his first class were going to make a supply run Friday, the next day, i asked them to check out panels while they were on their run. Liberty call was early and the Bosun and his first class left around 1300. They were dressed in their standard liberty civies. The Bosun had on Levis with a blue tee shirt with his thick black hair combed back as much as it could to resemble a ducktail. His first class had on his biker’s jeans, white tee shirt with a leather jacket and a silver chain dangling down from the jeans. He had straw blond hair also combed back and the gap of a missing tooth was the final touch. They left for their mission.
i had a bunch of paperwork to work through and continued on after liberty call. The bosun came into the office with several boxes of toilet paper (i never understood why he didn’t get it through supply).
“i didn’t think you would be coming back to the ship, Bosun,” i remarked.
“Well, i didn’t want to keep this stuff at home over the weekend,” he replied.
“Did you find any panels?”
“Well sir, we went to Dixieline (a local lumber and home center). They didn’t have them, but they told us to go to Parron-Hall.”
“Parron-Hall?” i puzzled.
“Yes sir. They’re an office furniture place downtown across from the county admin building. We went there, but that place was way too classy for us. They had desks in the showroom worth more than my house.
“You are gonna have to go down there and see about them panels.”
“Aww, come on, Bosun, i have a lot on my plate.”
“No sir, you are gonna have to go down there. It’s on Ash Street.”
Then he added, ” You know sir, the woman who waited on us was really pretty. i noticed she didn’t have a ring on her finger. i’m pretty sure she’s single.
“And she’s way too skinny for me.”
Epilogue
Maureen, 1983
Midday on Monday, i drove down to Parron-Hall Office Materials. i asked the receptionist to see the person who had given her business card to Bosun. i stood at the entrance to the showroom. Maureen came walking across the show room with the sun shining in the window behind her (think Glenn Close in “The Natural,” only prettier). She claims i had my piss cutter on my head. That, of course, is not correct: i am a country boy from Lebanon, Tennessee raised correctly by my parents, Army ROTC at Castle Heights, a Naval career and, by the way, an officer and a gentleman. My hat was off.
We had numerous discussions about the panels, which required about four or five “business” lunches over the five or six weeks for the panels to arrive. When the deal was done, i asked for that date to see John Lee Hooker at the Belly Up. We attended several events over the summer including sailing with JD in the “Fly a Kite” race where we became (or at least JD became) a legend. We went out to dinner too many times to count.
And, as i have noted before, one night up in Mission Hills, i was driving and just pulled over and parked in a residential area overlooking one of canyons. We talked. And i realized we thought a lot alike. It took until early February before we determined it was, as they say, it was meant to be.
Tomorrow, we will go to the zoo and probably a Balboa Park museum or two, and like eat and Artifact, a great dining experience in the Mengei Museum. And on the day of the 40th, we will go back to the Wine Vault and Bistro, one of best dining experiences ever. i even posted a photo of us there on a previous anniversary.
i would emphasize that the amazing thing about all of this is her putting up with me and my antics for 40 years.
i’ve always been a bit ditsy and forgetful, but sitting here on the kind of day that allows the Southwest corner to put a spell on me: mid-70’s cumulus clouds hanging east behind Mount Miguel but none here and a sea breeze cooling me while i grill a steak, it occurred to me i think of myself as a practical and logical man.
But i’ve noticed in today’s culture, being practical and logical has become impractical and illogical.
Hmm…Well, Maureen’s salad, potatoes and green beans were great, and that steak wasn’t bad either.
i really wantedto include the names of the people who contributed to my growth as a Navy officer in this post. However, there were a couple of people who aren’t depicted in a good light. i did not publicly name them in such a fashion and, at least for now, have left most folks unnamed.
One of the most impressive sights i’ve seen in my life time occurred on the mid-watch the evening after the Hawkins had gotten underway from Málaga (the mid-watch was from 0000-0400). That, naturally, was the watch my section was assigned on my first night at sea on my first ship. The Bridge and Combat Information Center (CIC) were in four section watches. We passed through the Straits of Gibraltar around 0100. It was dark, but not dark enough to hide the massive Rock to the North, the Rock of Gibraltar (This image was copied from the “Spartan and Green Egg” website.)
i was blown away. My watch standing position was Junior Officer of the Deck, Underway, JOOD (UI). That is about a lowly of a watch position a Navy officer could have on the bridge of a Navy destroyer. i will never forget the rush i felt as we crossed the straits into the Atlantic Ocean and joined the other destroyers of Destroyer Squadron 24 for the transit across the “Pond” as we called it, and headed for our homeport in Newport, Rhode Island on a great circle route.
It may not sound like a good deal but standing the mid-watch was a good way to start your tour on a Fleet Rehabilitation and Modernization (FRAM) destroyer (These “FRAM cans” were modernized Fletcher, Gearing, and Sumners class destroyers that went through extensive upgrades in mission and armament including replacing large, if not all, steel sections of the ship’s superstructure above the main deck with aluminum that produced significant problems later).
Reason number one for a new ensign to enjoy the mid-watch was mid-rats or midnight rations. The oncoming mid-watch was awakened around 2310-2315 (11:10-11:15 p.m. for land lubbers), they would rise quickly and head for their respective messes. For my case, that was the wardroom. The stewards would prepare a super snack for the oncoming watch and the off-going watch after they had been relieved and struck below.
That watch had a few normal requirements like “shifting control” to after steering. This was done on almost every mid-watch to ensure the system was working and the watch standers in the small, cramped space above the rudders on the stern, could take control of the steering system.
After-steering as with many facets of a Fleet Rehabilitation and Modernization (FRAM) destroyers and their predecessors was devised before the FRAM upgrades to provide sustainability during an at sea conflict. Back up systems abounded in almost every aspect. If the electrical system was knocked out, most systems like the gun mounts could be fired manually. If a pump was hit in the engineering spaces, there was a manual or auxiliary steam backup. If a shaft, its fireroom or engine room were damaged and inoperable, the ship could still have propulsion from the other shaft. And if steering control at the bridge’s helm was rendered inoperable, the bridge could still steer the ship by shifting control to after steering.
In the case of after steering, the shift was made during the mid-watch but often other watches would shift control to after steering and let the watch standers there take orders from the conning officer and steer the ship.
Other than that, rarely did the tactical commander order any formation changes. During this transit, the squadron commander was the tactical commander. When steaming with a carrier, the admiral in charge of the “battle group” would order formation changes (except for the staff i was on much later in my career). So it was a relative quiet four hours. The first two hours of the morning watch (0400-0800) and the last two hours of the evening watch (2000-2400) were also pretty quiet. It was a great time to learn about being a Naval Officer and, certainly more enjoyable, hear real “no bullshit” sea stories.
The voyage to Newport was relatively serene with good seas all the way. i was introduced to the big, black rubber hood sitting over the radar repeater sitting next to the helm. During the day with light filling the pilot house, the hood allowed the watch standers to look at the dark green cathode ray tube with the white bar sweeping around, highlighting blips that most often were contacts. In the darkness of night, the hood was not necessary.
That repeater was a central character in one of the sea stories i was told on these watches.
The commanding officer was impressive and seemed to be a nice guy most of the time. He was a Naval Academy graduate and was selected for Captain before he was relieved the following August. He also was what officers and sailors called a “screamer.” For the uninitiated in the Navy world, a “screamer” was an officer who couldn’t control his temper and often would go ballistic, chewing out anyone who did not perform as he felt they should, or just go off on someone for no real reason.
The Damage Control Assistant who partook of one more drink (or more) in Málaga while i waited on the airport’s tarmac was a frequent target of the CO’s outbursts. i was told that on one night watch in rough seas, the DCA was the Officer of the Deck (OOD). The captain kicked him off the bridge in a screaming rage five times, only to call him back to the his watch. It was after the sixth time, the DCA/OOD was looking at that repeater to see if he could discern any weather anomalies and check for contacts that CIC might have missed.
Hung around the bridge were a number of battle lanterns. They were one of those backups for emergencies mentioned earlier. If power was lost, the battle lanterns were configured to detect the power loss and come on to provide emergency lighting. One of these battle lanterns was secured on the overhead directly over that repeater. As the DCA was staring intently as the scope, the captain begin another rant, cussing out the DCA for many supposed errors in hus ways. As the rants continued to ratchet up, the rough seas were building and the battle lantern was loosened by the bouncing from the waves. As the captain peered forward in an attempt to determine what the weather offered, his rant reached a crescendo. That is when the battle lantern broke loose and fell straight down, hitting the OOD/DCA on the top of the head, knocking him out.
As other watch standers went to the downfallen OOD to attend to his injury, the captain continued screaming at his officer without turning around. Finally, he turned and realized he had been yelling at a comatose Naval officer.
That was the sixth time the OOD left the bridge during one watch.
i hit the six-month mark two days ago: One half year from actually turning eighty.
i’ve got a feeling “Life Begins at 8)” was not considering me. i also wonder if it really does begin at eighty, then i’ve got one hell of a lot of fun left to experience. It should be interesting. But after another horrible round of golf during FMG (for those who not remember, “FMG” means Friday Morning Golf, something i’ve been doing with two good friends from our last tours at the Naval Amphibious School, MAJ James “Marty” Linville, USA (ret.) and CDR Rodney “Rod Stark, USN (ret.), since 1991. Yup, 32 years. My golf has never been more than average, but now, i play three bad holes, get warmed up, play better for six holes with the exception of a couple of holes that attain FUBAR status, then i continue fairly decent for a couple of holes…and then it really goes into the deep mire of golfdom (my word, apparently). As i stated to the FMG crowd, i cannot tell if i play bad golf because i’m tired or if i’m tired because i play bad golf.
Still playing with these two, Pete Toennies, one of the original curmudgeons, and a whole bunch of decent folks and better golfers than me is just flat fun. Camaraderie they call it.
But sometime after my long nap Friday afternoon, i swore to finish my first phase of organization of the first bunch of photos and memorabilia on the temporary table i set up in my home office.
As a result, i have spent most of my Saturday revisiting some things past: Eventually, many of these will be posted here, primarily for relatives who also can get wrapped up in walking down memory lane.
In this process, i found a few i wanted to post now:
Blythe at Easter Time in College Station, Texas. The photo on the left was in 1977 before she turned five. The photo on the right, same place, same time of year, one year later.
The Easter Bunny probably is still scratching his head.
Then, a few years before that when Blythe was on her way to being, i would take naps after getting home from my sports editor job at Watertown (NY) Daily Times. It was 1972. i know because that was the only time in my life my hair was long (or as long as it could be prior to my reporting for two-week active duty for training (ACDUTRA) when i would get it back to almost Marine regulation. Snooker was an absolutely great dog, and like Cass, the lab and Lena, the mutt later, we would take naps together. And yes, i did sleep like that. Blythe’s mother took this photo.
Finally, to close out today, the photos are in sorted by years and in containers for each of those years. The office is less piled with stuff than it has been in a month (but it will begin tomorrow).
This is the last one, not a photo but a can of a two-sided document from 1944. It is a letter my father wrote to my grandmother. The dateline conflicts with what i recall, or rather recall from my mother’s recounting that period of history when i was an infant. i am trying to verify that. It is the government “V-Mail” letter, required then for service members to use in their correspondence during that awful war. Daddy was either in Gulfport, Mississippi with the 75th CB Battalion waiting to get underway for the Southwest Pacific, or he was enroute.
Regardless, Daddy only wrote more letters to his wife. His mother, Mrs. Myrtle Orrand Jewell, “Mama” to us, had quite a few. i don’t know how many as those photos and memorabilia are not complete. Still, he cared for his mother, an amazing woman, and i absolutely loved her for the short time i was fortunate enough to have her in my life.
The front of the letter. It folded with directions to be the size of a post card.
You know, it can feel good revisiting some things past.
