Washlesky’s Law – It’s easier to take it apart than to put it together.
All posts by Jim
Triple Play Replay: Introduction
This is the first of a series of posts. The “triple play” in the title does not deal with baseball, in spite of the title. That title came to me in the middle of the night, as many ideas i think are too good to not record on a scrap of paper or this damnable machine they call a computer.
These posts are, in fact, about opportunities to tell folks about my book, Steel Decks and Glass Ceilings. They include my trip to Middle Tennessee, Newport, Rhode Island; and Boston, Massachusetts. They are as much about my return to times and places past as they are about my book. I have began composing them on my journey back home from my notes during the two-week adventure.
It seemed appropriate. I liked it.
The trip’s generation came from several conversations after my book was published.
Andrew Maraniss, the author of Strong Inside: Perry Wallace and the Collision of Race and Sports in the South and several other excellent books, had discussed many aspects of writing my book. with me during the process and suggested when it was published for me to come and present my book to Vanderbilt students.
Concurrently, Ed Hebert, a friend through golfing and a retired Navy captain, told me i should present the book to the Surface Warfare Officer School’s (SWOS) initial training (newly commissioned officers who are in the line of suvrface warfare attend to learn the basics of their new duties). Then, in an email exchange, Emily (Baker) Black, the Damage Control Assistant (DCA) during Yosemite ‘s 1983-84 deployment with me, also recommended i make a presentation to the SWOS training.
After that, Noreen Leahy, who was the operations officer on that deployment, was having lunch with her friend, Margaret (Peg) Klein, a retired two star admiral who is the dean of the “Leadership and Ethics” college at the Naval War College in Newport, Rhode Island. Noreen and Peg were in the second graduating class of the Naval Academy that included women. Peg read the book and set up my making a “presentation”Lecture of Opportunity” at the Naval War College.
Peg read my book and during ensuing discussions, the plan was set for me to do a “Lecture of Opportunity.
i was thrilled. The trip to Tennessee and then Rhode Island would launch my getting out to try and sell my book and also let me travel to four places i had yearned to visit for quite some time.
i’ve been trying to get back home to Lebanon, Tennessee for several years without success. Now i would get to stay with my boyhood friend, Henry Harding, and wife, Brenda. Even better, i would be staying In Henry’s home where he grew up and was my briar’s patch as Brer Rabbit had his. i spent almost much time in this home as i did my own up until i left town for good to attend Navy Officer Candidate School (OCS) in Newport.
i would be going to see Andrew Maraniss and a number of Vanderbilt friends. Andrew is the resident writer in the Vanderbilt sports department. He also is a writer for ESPN, and his other books include Games of Deception about the first U.S. men’s basketball team in the Olympics, Singled Out: The True Story of Glenn Burke, and the recently published Inaugural Ballers about the first U.S. women’s basketball team. i admire his writing and consider him a good friend.
Following that stop, i would be in Newport, Rhode Island, one of my favorite places on earth. Better yet, two of Yosemite’s officers who were with me on that deployment lived there. Even better, Linda Schlesinger, the ship’s stores officer followed by becoming disbursing officer and now lives in Carlsbad, was traveling there as well. It would be a mini-reunion of the wardroom. To add icing on the cake, Andrew Nemethy, who shared a stateroom with me on our first ship, USS Hawkins (DD 873), announced he would be traveling down from Vermont to spend some time with me.
And finally, i would cap off the fortnight trip with a weekend in Boston with my brother Joe and his family.
i was excited.
Following posts will address each of my three stops in more detail. To summarize, the trip was one of the most rewarding experiences i have had. It was flat wonderful.
Mr. Murphy and Me
Okay, folks., i am resurfacing my Murphy’s Law posts and thought for those of you who have not read my posts of how Mr. Murphy and i developed a relationship beginning over 43 years ago might appreciate them.
i was on a deployment to the Western Pacific as the Current Operations Officer on the Commander, Amphibious Squadron FIVE staff in autumn 1979. i received a package at the Subic Bay Naval Base before we left for a Hong Kong Christmas (undoubtedly the best Christmas i ever had away from family). i decided to wait until Christmas day to open my gifts received in the family package.
On Christmas Day, i opened my gifts. My Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Pipey (James) Orr had sent me a “Murphy’s Law” desk calendar. i was delighted after reading the first several days.
The staff would meet in the staff wardroom every day at 0800 except when in a liberty port or during a holiday routine. The commodore would sit at the head of the table. The chief of staff would be to his right and the operations officer would be at his right. The other officers would find the seats to their liking and the enlisted staff members would sit in the remaining seats or stand behind those seated.
The commodore would receive the status and updates beginning with the operations officer and continuing clockwise around the table, ending with the chief of staff comments, followed by the commodore’s thoughts on what had been reported and any news he wished to depart to to the entire staff.
Mike Peck, a lieutenant commander like me, who was our “tacron” officer and responsible for air control during squadron operations, and i conferred and decided we would sit next to the chief of staff and thus be the last ones to make a report since all of the staff who wanted to seem important sat where they could be one of the first to speak, by the time it got to Mike and me, there was nothing to say. Pete Toennies, a lieutenant and the UDT advisor assigned to staff for the deployment, recognized what we were doing and started to sit with us.
As i was reading my daily Murphy’s Law calendar entry in mid-January, i realized many of the laws applied to our staff. i was also beginning to feel a bit guilty about n1ot saying anything at the morning message meetings. The next day, i began reading my daily laws to the commodore and the staff. It was a big hit. The daily reading became a part of our message meetings until i left the staff in August of 1981 to become the weapons officer of the USS Okinawa (LPH 3).
As i began to read the daily calendar, i cut it out and taped the law onto my notebook sized yearly calendar. i filled up about a dozen of those calendars with Murphy’s Laws.
My Uncle Pipey (James Orr) passed away in 1990. i suspect he was the originator of my Christmas present. Aunt Evelyn continued to send them until dementia kept her from doing so. Their daughter, my cousin as close as a sister continued to send them for several years. Then i began to order them for special family and friends until they quit selling them about four years ago.
For a number of years, i would pull out my old calendars and post a Murphy’s Law. i did this in several ways. i missed them.
So, for you all of you, i once again give you a daily Murphy’s Law. They may not be daily, but they will be regular.
For today:
Murphy’s Law – Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Zero Stress Golf
It wasn’t planned. Not at all. It was a weekend i had been looking forward to for at least six months, if not a year. i had kept the weekend free from obligations for marketing my book to ensure this weekend was free: Thursday for travel, two days of golf with folks with whom i have golfed for two and a half score years, with Sunday free for recovery.
It didn’t turn out that way and, as with many things in my life, even the turn of events surprised me in a different way from what i expected.
Damnable arm.
Last Monday, the dermatologist looked at my arm and studied my record he held in front of him. “Don’t think we should wait,” he said authoritatively. When i got the biopsy report about a month ago, it didn’t sound bad, like melanoma bad. Some annoying little skin bump with a fancy name i told myself. i delayed the procedure until i returned from my wonderful trip back home with wonderful experiences at Vanderbilt and the Naval War College in Newport, Rhode Island, ending with a great weekend with my brother and his family in Boston.
So the doc’s reaction rather surprised me.
“Well, i’ve got this golf tournament out in the desert next weekend.” i explained, “It is a group with whom i’ve played golf with for a long time, and it is in honor of the guy who ran the whole things for years before he died several years ago. Couldn’t we wait a week?” i pleaded.
“Being a golfer, I understand,” Doc Hardy responded, giving me a glimmer of hope. “But,” dashing that hope glimmer, “It’s already been put off longer than it should have been,” sealing my fate.
Now concerned, I asked what i did not wish to hear answered, “Can i still play?”
Doc went into a detailed explanation comparing my situation to a twin-screw ship losing an engine. i knew, in spite of holding a thread of hope, the next exchange was not going to turn out well for golfing. After his explanation, he gave me a chance, “We’ll move up the change of dressing to Thursday morning. We can make a final decision then.”
i was not overjoyed.
i conferred with the rest of my foursome. They reassured me i should do what is prudent, something they and my wife knew was not a forte of mine. The new leader of the group, Jim Hileman, who shared Padre season tickets with me for twenty years or so, told me they could work it out if i didn’t play, but i should attend regardless. i thanked them all.
Thursday morning. The medic , Edward Perez, a retired submarine riding corpsman, took the dressing off my arm. Now, mind you, the cut was about the size of a quarter but pretty deep — i chose to not to look close enough to know just how deep — the sutures seem to crisscross several times, the bandage applied ran from the base of my hand to my elbow. When the elaborate dressing was removed, it looked as if we had somehow been teleported from the Mohs surgery room to a butcher shop.
“You can chip and putt,” Doc said, “But no full swings. Too much stress on the wrist. Could pull the stitches out. We would have to start over,” he said with his best clinical face on.
i said, “i want to do what won’t make the situation worse.” i’m thinking, “These guys are very conservative, as they should be, but when i get there, i can try out a few swings and check it out.” i didn’t tell them, but they both knew. i knew they knew.
Friday morning came, and i had not made a final decision until i was walking down the stairs from the pro shop to the carts. It hit me the stress would come when i cocked my wrists at the top of the backswing. That is when i decided i wouldn’t play.
i informed the group. They, again, were supportive. i putted a bit before they teed off. i fore-caddied, i pin tended, i looked for lost balls, i held clubs while our three players chipped or putted. i laughed with them. i cheered for them. i drank a few beers.
We finished respectfully, winning a few, losing a few.
There were six groups, two with just three players. In its heyday, the San Diego Telephone Company Golf Association, loving referred to as San Diego TELCO, had to limit members to 100. Year ending tournaments were first class, big prizes, lots of door prizes, big tournament dinners at the conclusion. Members retired and moved. Some experienced accidents or illness and could no longer play. Some passed away. A few new folks joined but not enough to stem the tide.
Art Fristad and others like Marty Marion, Phil Greco, and my friend Jim Hileman, kept it going: monthly tournaments at different courses in the Southwest corner. The numbers continued to dwindle. Monthly tournaments went away. The association remained an official entity. And yearly, those that remain are out in the desert, playing fun games for two days.
The tournament is now named The Art Fristad Desert Classic. That is as it should be. It is really a statement about a group of men from an accomplished, successful past. We are not politically correct. We are together. Politics, religion, and other differences do not matter. Friends. Competitors together. Laughter. At each other. At ourselves. Good stuff. We are what i hope is not a vanishing breed.
And Thursday and Friday, i experienced zero stress free golf. i did not have to worry about my next shot. i did not think about what i should or shouldn’t do. i’m not a very good golfer, but i love to play. i don’t have a lot of interest in walking around a course with a bunch of guys hitting the ball that is beyond my limited capability. i’d rather be banging it around a course myself. But this weekend, i found watching my friends play the game i love a great experience. i rejoiced at their good shots. i moaned at their miscues. i laughed at their really goofy moments.
It was a great and different experience. You should try it sometime.
Thanks, Jim Hileman, Pete Toennies, Jeff Middlebrook, and all of those in San Diego TELCO Golf Association.
Thoughts from an Old Man
When i woke early this morning, which is my custom, it occurred to me:
One the best things about being old is you can go to sleep whenever you wish.
One of the worst things about being old is you are always sleepy.
And another one of the worst things about being old is you never can sleep when you want to even though you have the time.
* * *
i hope my death is not untimely.
i’m not too keen on my death being timely either.
As my father said, “i’ve had a good life. Now, all i want is to go quick.” (He did just shy of 99, 11 years later.)
* * *
Bob Seger sang “I wish I didn’t know now what i didn’t know then.” i agree.
But i add, i wish i knew then what i know now.