Just over a year ago, i wrote one of my favorite sea stories here about one of my favorite Navy men in my career. Then two days ago, i received a comment on this blog, which blew my mind. Robert Rininger commented: 

Thank you for your story. I also served under Captain Hayes on Belleau Wood and remember the incident you refer to. I was Boatswains mate on the bridge at that time. Many fond memories of a truly great man.

Now, the Belleau Wood was a very large ship, in fact  the largest at the time after carriers. There were a lot of sailors on her. But on the bridge entering port, there wasn’t more than a dozen, if that. So here, twenty-seven years after the fact, some guy somehow out of the blue reads my post about Captain Hayes. Robert has to be one good guy. After all, he read my post, he was a boatswainmate, one of the oldest and best ratings in the Navy, and he admired Captain Hayes.

I repeated the sea story to Maureen when i told her about Robert’s comment.

It is a small and good world if we just let it be a small and good world. i enjoyed it so much, i decided to repost it.

Have a good night.

Captain J. C. Hayes is someone i will never forget.

I met Captain Hayes in August 1980.

I had been high-lined from the USS Cayuga to the USS Belleau Wood as Amphibious Squadron Five was en route to Vancouver Island, British Columbia. I had been serving as executive officer of the Cayuga for two months due to the standing XO having a breakdown (another story). When the new XO arrived, i returned to my job as the staff’s current operations officer (by high-line).

Captain Hayes had just relieved as commanding officer, and was senior to our commodore, Captain Jim McIntyre, an E2 pilot who preferred to be known by his aviation handle of “Silver Fox.” This seniority business made things, i later found out, a bit awkward.

After the high-line and settling back into my quarters, i made my official visit to the ship’s commanding officer, Captain Hayes, in the late afternoon. He was a big man. We hit it off. The captain was from Easley, South Carolina, which made it easier. I enjoyed our visit and decided i liked him. The surface line officers stuck together in the amphibious environment where many senior aviation officers went to get their major sea command tours for furthering their careers.

I later was told in World War II, Captain Hayes had been a coxswain of an LCM3 (5 generations earlier of the landing craft LCM8, which were the state of the art during my service). His ship was involved in the invasion of Okinawa. Captain Hayes, then a third or second-class boatswainmate, took supplies into shore after the beach head had been established. As the story goes, when he returned from his run, he could not locate his ship: Japanese gunnery or a Zero fighter had sunk it.

He also was in a underwater demolition unit (the origination of Navy SEAL’s) in the Pacific, was awarded a masters degree in nuclear physics from the Navy Postgraduate School in Monterrey, California, and was in Admiral Byrd’s command in the admiral’s last exploration of Antarctica.

He was legendary among surface sailors and had been known to go out on a bridge wing and cuss out the line handlers on the forecastle several hundred feet away. And they heard every word. He was an old school surface mariner, my kind of Naval officer.

After getting back on the Belleau Wood for the next couple of days, i was deeply involved with catching up on my duties. I had been on Cayuga for over two months. I saw little of anyone except at the morning message meetings with the staff.

After we entered Puget Sound and set sea detail for going into Esquimalt, the Canadian navy base, the staff assembled on the flag bridge directly below the ship’s bridge. As the Belleau Wood closed to the harbor entrance, we received an intercom message from the ship’s bridge. The boatswainmate of the watch told us the port master wanted to talk to the commodore on the bridge-to-bridge UHF radio, which was not on the flag bridge.

The Commodore was loath to leave his post and directed me to go up to the ship’s bridge and talk with the port personnel.

I climbed the ladder to the bridge, feeling a bit awkward. The port should be talking to the captain of the ship, not the commodore, and there was this aviation-surface tension, not to mention the reverse seniority awkwardness. As i arrived, Captain Hayes in his gravelly booming voice directed his junior officer to give me the microphone to the bridge-to-bridge radio.

The port officer pointed out crosswinds had picked up significantly, the harbor entrance was narrow, especially for a ship such as a helicopter carrier, and the tight berth would be difficult for ship of such size with the wind to moor without some damage. He then asked if the commodore would agree to going to anchorage, a mile-long liberty boat transit for the liberty party.

Feeling proud of myself for my tact, i pointed out to the port officer the commodore was not in charge of the ship, but i would ask the commanding officer, Captain Hayes, what he thought was best.

“Thanks, Lieutenant Commander,” Hayes began, “Tell them i won’t enter the harbor and will go to the assigned anchorage.”

“Aye, sir,” i replied. Then hitting the transmit button on the bridge-to-bridge, i told the port officer, “Captain Hayes said he can’t get the ship to that berth in these conditions and will take the ship to the anchorage.”

Then i heard Captain Hayes in full force:

“GODDAMMIT BOY, I DIDN’T SAY I COULDN’T GO TO THAT BERTH, I SAID, I WOULDN’T!”

“Yes, sir,” i replied meekly. “I apologize,” quickly retreating down the ladder.

The ship went to anchorage. I went on liberty, caught a hydrofoil to Seattle, rented a car and picked up Blythe, my ten-year old daughter at the airport. She and i spent a day in Seattle, rode the hydrofoil back to Victoria, stayed in the Empress Hotel, one of my all time favorite places, took a ferry to Orcas Island where we stayed with my long-time college friend Cy Fraser, spending the night in sleeping bags on the small patio of his log cabin to wake up and watch the deer grazing between us and the rocky beach of Puget Sound about thirty feet away.

Blythe and i went back to Seattle where i put her on a plane back to Austin. It was one of the nicest weeks i have ever experienced, all because i was with Blythe.

And to this day, i feel a kinship and understanding with J.C. Hayes. He taught me the difference between “can’t” and “won’t.”

Captain Hayes retired in 1983 after 40 years of active duty. He returned to his home in South Carolina where he passed away last year.

Sleep well, you wonderful mariner.

The past week has been rather busy for an old man. We are redoing the front (bonus) room. It has been Maureen’s arts, crafts, and work room. Now it will be the same, just glorious.

This renovation, of course, put me in the high gear of puttering: painting, sanding, erecting shelves, wall mounting a television, and then, even being electronically challenged, dealing with hooking the damn thing up to the cable, DVD, etc. All of this also meant my space in the garage has been filled with the old front room contents, and my car was required to remain in the driveway. i don’t even like a garage in the front of the house, much less having to leave a car, my car in the driveway.

About a week before this all began, our neighbor, Terri Dillon, without knowing it, tempted me greatly.

Terri is an extremely successful, knowledgeable, and beyond competent real estate broker. She is also a very nice person and an animal lover. A little while ago, Terri became involved with “Dog Fur Days.” This non-profit is dedicated to finding dogs in shelters, assigning them to volunteer foster homes, and then searching for new owners. Terri is a volunteer. As usual, she is very successful in her volunteer work.

Just shy of two weeks ago, i was going out to my car, parked in the driveway. Terri was coming down to retrieve her mail. The shared mailbox for eight homes is next to our driveway. Terri had three labrador mix puppies bounding around her. She told us about how much she enjoyed them, and Maureen and i played with the two males and one female. When Terri returned home, the puppies bounded all over the place but generally found their way back to Terri’s home.

i told Maureen had there just been two pups i might have argued strongly for us adopting them. But there were three, and i just couldn’t take two and leave the other one for someone else. Plus, i vowed i wouldn’t have another dog after putting our last one, Lena, down until i was sure the dog would outlive me. i don’t want to have to do that again.

i’m not quite sure i’m at that point yet, but i’m getting close. Eventually, i will have another dog. i hope he’s like my Cass, my labrador who was more my best friend than my dog.

So we didn’t bring it up, this puppy adoption thing, to Terri. She kept us up to date, and soon those three beautiful puppies were adopted.

Then in the middle of the craziness of renovation, Terri sends me a message. She has another foster pup. This time, just one. She decided to name it “Jewell” after me. i was honored.

Then yesterday, Terri and i met again at the mailbox. She had brought Jewell along to meet her namesake. She was small and cute as a button. She was also a little shy, but boy, she could make you giggle just like a puppy should.

Today, Terri sent me another message. Jewell has been adopted.

Now that makes me happy. Jewell has a good home and i won’t be tempted…until, of course, Terri and i meet at the mailbox again.

i was driving around San Diego on my way home from lunch with one of my all-time best friends Pete Toennies when i started to thinking about truth. The thought was initiated during lunch when Pete and i discussed the many sides of politics passing each other without even knowing the other guy was going the other way.

Pete and i are about as different as you can get in most ways. Pete is 6’6″ in incredible shape; he was an All-American swimmer at St. Johns, a UDT and SEAL officer, retiring as a captain. He has attained financial success through hard work in buying houses, renovating them by himself, renting them out and then doing the same again and again until he ended up with two apartment complexes, one of which he sold for a tidy sum about a dozen years ago. His financial acumen is on spot. He is a health nut, swims three nights a week, works out every day, and practices golf every day he’s not playing. He is a successful leader and what i would like to label an independently thinking conservative.

i am an enigma. i am about as short as Pete is tall. i work out occasionally and have never had much interest in finances. i golf with some weird belief i will get better through positive thinking. That ain’t happening. i am, in my niece’s terms, a putterer, and in my older daughter’s term, a contrarian.

Not only do Pete and i get along; we understand each other and like each other even more because we understand. So after our delightful lunch that we had not done in quite a while, i thought about our discussions. i thought about “truth” and tonight, i wrote this poem (sic);

truth

what is truth?
is it your truth? their truth? my truth?
is your truth better than their truth?
i already know you think your truth
is better than my truth;
after all, your truth
is based on facts;
of course, they are your facts
based on your truth,
and
their truth is based on facts;
of course, they are their facts,
and
lord knows,
you or they can’t ever, ever
consider their or your facts worth a damn
because they conflict
with your or their truths;
and
you and they aren’t ever gonna consider
talking to each other
to understand the difference
and
come up with a truthful solution;
while my truth lies in some long abandoned
cubby hole of reasoning
because
my truth doesn’t rely on facts
or
even truth;
my truth, i hope,
relies on compassion; equality/ freedom in their purest form, understanding,
and
what my folks taught me
about doing what’s right,
and
although i am not a practicing formal Christian,
i think that guy Jesus
pretty much nailed it
when he reportedly said
“do unto others as you would have them do unto you,”
and
“he who is without guilt cast the first stone;”
but
that is another truth entirely,
which most of the folks in this world
just ain’t gonna deal with,
and
i look around to watch all of those stones flying in the air
and
wonder
will we ever get to truth?
right now, i am not real hopeful.

Bonita, California
March 1, 20-17

As i did in 1979, i again have come to realize “Murphy’s Law” desk calendar’s daily entry is a lot more than funny. Its a pretty deep (oh okay: it’s deep for me) in the realm of human nature.

For example, this weekend’s entry — there is only one entry for each Saturday and Sunday. i guess Mr. Murphy has to rest sometime and the sabbath seems ideal to me — is oh so pertinent to our country’s current situation:

Hanlon’s Razor — Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.

Looking back on my last several posts, it seems i have become hooked on Mr. Murphy and his laws. i promise (weakly) i will back off. Mr. Murphy might sue me for copyright infringement.

i often get damn near ill when people start talking or writing about generalities when it comes to people.

It seems we keep classifying people by their race, the color of their skin, their religion, their politics, their sexual preferences and completely ignore they are individual human beings.

i guess it’s easier that way.

Then last night on PBS, which many of my conservative friends will determine this post is no longer worth continuing, ran a segment that blew me away.

The story is about a Syrian immigrant to the United States who is also a Muslim.

My thought was until all of the critics of their perceived enemies with their perceived generalizations about those enemies, foreign and domestic, right or left, black, white, brown, yellow, and green (okay, okay, i sort of went a little overboard on green), and on, and on, and on, can approach doing what this amazing gentleman is doing, they should reconsider their generalizations.

http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/foster-father-cares-terminally-ill-kids-no-one/