We moored pier side. I was back in Palma, one of my favorite liberty ports of all time.

The other time I had visited Palma de Majorca, the island’s large city, I was the Anti-Submarine Warfare (ASW) Officer aboard the USS Stephen B. Luce (DLG 7). Majorca was the epitome of my vision of a Mediterranean island.

The city of Palma is as old European as you can get except for the weather, which seemed to always be Mediterranean perfect. The perimeter of the island was composed of separate beach communities of different nationalities filled with tourists on vacation. On that previous stop, a shipmate and I traveled the perimeter, stopping every five miles or so when we could detect a community of different nationality, seeing Spanish, German, Dutch, French, Italian, and so forth. Better yet, all of the beaches did not require tops. And nearly every commune had a disco.

It was fun, but I was married with a brand new daughter back in Paris, Texas. So I had a drink and watched. Also there was great shopping with great prices back when a sailor could get a bargain in Europe. Best of all was sitting around at the tapas bars on the streets and drinking Sangria.

This time, it was different. I was the XO, in charge, leading by example. We greeted the welcoming party, which included U.S. expatriates in the Navy League. The Navy League has good and bad points. I had been exposed to both on previous tours. I was a bit wary, but these folks when they met with the Captain and this XO in the captain’s cabin were anxious to reach out to help the sailors have a good time. Even though I was somewhat concerned with Palma being the first real liberty port for this ship with women in the crew and thought I should remain on board and monitor the situation, I could not evade a dinner at the home of an elderly Navy League couple when they invited Captain Boyle and me to their home for dinner two evenings later.

The first night of liberty gave me my first inclination of how having women as part of the crew could be beneficial. The wardroom officers on liberty had taken off to various attractions in the city and the island. I went into the “gut” with George Sitton, Ken Clausen, and Steve Strzemienski to check out how our sailors, men of course, were behaving.

The “gut” is Navy slang, somewhat of a generic term for an area in a big city, mostly in Europe, where sailors liked to hang out. It was an area filled with floozy bars and floozy women. It might even be labeled as a “red light” district. In many places, like Naples, Italy, it has been declared off limits to sailors by SOPA (Senior Officer Present Afloat) or the shore commander because of the unsavory and even dangerous reputation, certainly deserved in most “guts” I knew. Of course, sailors of the old guard loved to go to those kinds of places.

But not Yosemite sailors on this voyage. The gut was essentially empty of our sailors. We finally found an old, spacious bar with our sailors, about a half dozen of them. But they were chiefs, not junior enlisted. Master Chief Weaver, our command master chief; Master Chief Brewer, the leader of the huge R-2 Division, the heart of the Repair Department, Yosemite’s main producer of repair and maintenance work; Chief Johns, the boatswainmate chief who was always annoyed that most of the other chiefs had not been on deploying ship before; and several other chiefs sitting around a large table, drinking beer.

They asked us to join them, and we did for a couple of beers. It was an enjoyable hour or so. Master Chief Weaver, after an inquiry from me, acknowledged he never drank any alcohol except beer. He told me he quit the hard stuff because it made him crazy and angry and only got him into trouble.

When we got back to the ship, I puzzled over why our sailors had not flooded the gut. It wasn’t off limits and Palma’s “gut” was the prototypical area for old Navy liberty hounds. It finally dawned on me our sailors didn’t go there because we had female sailors, and female sailors certainly wouldn’t be attracted to the gut. We had arranged for a tour program in Palma. On Saturday the day after our arrival, day tours were scheduled for La Calobra, a magnificent beach reached on a winding narrow road with incredible views, and the Caves of Drach, four wonders including an underground lake. In the evenings, a “Medieval Banquet” was on Saturday as well as a BBQ dinner show at Son Amar, a venue just outside Majorca, famous for comedy, show horses, and acrobatics.

It was the beginning of a liberty transfiguration for the Navy. The women were interested in these tours and shows.

So Yosemite male sailors went where the female sailors went, not to the gut. I hoped it would last.

Palma was as enchanting as Captain Boyle and I recalled from our previous visits. We enjoyed our evening with the Navy League couple. It was fortuitous for me as they invited me to join another Navy Leaguer for golf at the Palma Country Club the next day. I accepted.

The gentleman picked me up at the ship and drove me out to the club where we played 18. The course was extremely nice, and I liked the layout. Being on a Mediterranean island, it was dry and dusty. Still, it was a good time, and the gentleman and I had appetizers and a gin and tonic before he took me back to the ship. Even though my golf game was its usual awful, I felt like I was in high cotton.

Palma was a very successful port visit. I was amazed. There were no liberty incidents. I had never been on a ship that did not have some kind of an international incident during liberty in an overseas port and my liberty ports in foreign countries was extensive. I was also astounded when I received the Welfare and Recreation report of tours. Over three-quarters of enlisted personnel had gone on ship scheduled tours. No ship I had ever been on had more than twenty percent, if that, to go on tours.

Again, I simply hoped all of our port visits would have the same happy ending.

*     *     *

From the day I relieved as executive officer and throughout our voyage to Diego Garcia, XOI and Captain’s mast were frequent occurrences, often twice a week.

When someone was charged with a violation under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, a long way from the Navy’s original Rocks and Shoals, the procedure aboard ship was for the accused to be screened by the executive officer . The XO could either dismiss the charges or send the accused up the chain to Captain’s Mast. My part of the process was called XOI for “Executive Officer’s Inquiry.” While the executive officer was not supposed to mete out any punishment, also prohibited from the department head, the division officer, the division chief, or leading petty officers, this prohibition was often circumvented with threats like “…if you don’t want to go see the captain, then I’ll put you in hack (stay on board the ship) for three days.”

When I first came into the Navy, liberty cards were dispensed at quarters or after the working day to all personnel who did not have the duty that day. Those precious cards were often missing when a sailor had done something to displease the LPO, CPO, division officer, etc. and the sailor had no option but to remain on board. During my early Navy days, the old system of Rocks and Shoals had not completely disappeared at the lower levels. It was not uncommon for an offending sailor to be taken to the boatswain’s locker and return black and blue from an unofficial disciplinary beating. Many sailors considered that a better option than being sent to captain’s mast.

I never participated in that, but I was involved with others delivering such punishment several times when I was a junior officer on the old destroyers. I certainly didn’t offer punishments or threats during my XOI’s on Yosemite. However, I became pretty good at chewing sailors out and then dismissing the charges before captain’s mast. After all, I had many opportunities to watch executive officers and commanding officers do some pretty amazing acts to scare or intimidate sailors at mast before dismissing the charges. To put it another way, I had learned from the masters.

Even though the rules and regulations for shipboard discipline had been spelled out and there were few options for the XO to mete out discipline, he…or rather I could be an effective disciplinary force.

The word about my ability at chewing out sailors at XOI quickly became known in the wardroom, especially by the seasoned warrant officers. By the time we reached the Indian Ocean, over two months, my ability became so well known, a warrant officer would sometimes call me aside to tell me he had put a sailor on report and was sending him to XOI but the case shouldn’t go to the captain.

On one occasion, the warrant officer explained, “XO, this kid I’m sending to you is a pretty good kid who did a stupid thing. He doesn’t need to see the Captain; he just needs a good ass chewing; and you are the best at that.” And after I gave the sailor a superb chewing out, and as the party was leaving my office, the warrant officer turned to me and gave me a “thumbs up.”

There was one occasion after the deployment where the sailor who appeared before me had been four hours late in reporting aboard from liberty. He limply explained he was sitting in his apartment and had waited for his ride from another sailor. When I asked him why he had not called the ship to tell his superiors he would be late, or why he had not called his ride to find out if the ride was coming, he told me he thought it was best for him to just wait.

“Are you telling me you just sat in a chair in your apartment doing nothing for four hours and thought that was the best way to handle the situation?” I asked.

When he meekly nodded assertion, I arose from my chair behind my desk and walked into my small head leading forward to my cabin. The mirror above the sink faced aft and could be seen from the position of attention before my desk where the sailor stood during XOI. I looked in the mirror, making sure the sailor was watching my reflection. I studied my face, twisting it, looking at it from different angles in the mirror before returning to my desk.

“Do I look that stupid?” I yelled, “I don’t think I look that stupid. Do you think I look stupid enough to believe your story?”

I then chewed him up and down for his stupidity for about five minutes, going on a rage, pounding my desk, before finally turning to him and his chain of command to announce.

“This time I’m going to dismiss this case. But if it ever happens again, I will see you go to a court martial. Got that?” I yelled.

When the sailor nodded numbly, I announced, “Case dismissed. Get him outta here.”

But there were some difficulties in my tough guy XO image.

There were a couple of people who always attended XOI. The legal yeoman, YNC Lucy Gwinner recorded the proceedings. The admin/legal officer, Ensign Mike Jackson also attended to provide Navy legal advice, the command master chief, BMCM Weaver, the chief or LPO and division officer of the accused, and finally the Substance Abuse Coordinator, or SAC. The Yosemite’s SAC was EMC Paul. She was the only female chief electrician in the Navy at the time. She had had a rough time with alcohol but had gone through a recovery program and wanted to help others, a perfect mindset for the job of counseling sailors concerning drug abuse, the recovery programs available, and the options sailors had. She attended XOI in case I needed expert opinion on what we should do when drug or alcohol abuse might be involved and also there to be assigned counseling duties for the sailor in front of me. EMC Paul was also tough as nails. She was old Navy. I admired and respected her.

She knew my act.

So when I was putting on my act, going on my tirades, she knew I was on stage, performing at the top of my game. But occasionally, I would do something, like the mirror looking stupid stunt she knew was an act, and she found what I was doing humorous. It was very difficult to continue with my rage charade when EMC Paul was stifling her laughter in the after section of my office, behind the accused.

Then there were a few occasions when a female sailor came before me and I had to strike the fear of US Navy justice in her heart. Male sailors could break down. I could not only handle their breaking down, it fueled my performance because I knew they were absorbing the lesson. But when the female sailor began to break down and cry, it was very difficult for me to continue in my tough guy role. EMC Paul laughed at that as well.

Once when she started laughing quietly behind the accused’s back, I lost it. Another sailor and done something really stupid and ended up reporting to duty late. After hearing another long winded and worthless explanation, I started beating the desk with my fists again, but stopped and asked Chief Paul if she knew what diseases the doctor could handle.

Chief Paul looked puzzled.

Then, I explained, “I need to know if he can cure terminal dumbness because this guy has it so bad I’m afraid he’s going to die right here.”

Chief Paul began to shake while muffling her laugh. Seeing her, I could feel myself losing it. I spun my chair around and began laughing into my handkerchief, hoping the sailor would think I had a coughing spell. Finally, I turned around and dismissed him with my usual fit of an angry warning.

Then, Chief Paul and I both had a good laughing session.

I may or may not publish an installment of my book today, a Thursday, as i have taken to doing on a regular basis. i have a higher priority for the next several days.

Our very good friends, Pete and Nancy Toennies invited us to join them in Palm Desert for two rounds of golf and three nights of good eats. We did.

We left on Wednesday morning and stopped at what is becoming our regular rest stop for lunch in Temecula. The Meritage is a wonderful restaurant in the Callaway winery. It is extremely good food with a great view, unpretentious but great service with, of course, wonderful wine.

We played at Shadow Ridge today and tomorrow. It is a wonderful course and the weather was the best spring in the desert can offer: temperature in the mid 80’s, humidity in the 20 percentage, and snow on the mountains. And these three made it worthwhile in being my top priority.

There was another incident leading to disciplinary action also with a long term effect.

As we transited the Atlantic, she had introduced herself as Petty Officer Schmidt. It was just before midnight.

I worked until past midnight almost every night underway, sometimes as late as 0200. As a break, I would call radio and ask for the latest radio messages to be delivered. Reading them would give me a jump on the next morning.

That’s when RM3 Schmidt introduced herself. She was a pleasant, smiling delivery person. I thought she should progress up the ranks quickly. Little did I suspect she would become one of my greatest headaches for almost my entire tour, at least equal to the problematic MMFN Schmidt’s headache quotient.

Petty Officer Schmidt was a single mom. She had left her child, a daughter if I remember correctly, with her mother when she deployed. What I didn’t know when we hit Rota and began the transit to Palma for our liberty ports, she fell in love with another radioman.

Apparently, she became infatuated with the second class petty officer, RM2 Bilbo (for innocents inadvertently involved with the guilty i have also made generic with the name of of one of my favorite literary characters — before the movies), who was already married. Again apparently, she made a run on him while the ship was in Rota and Bilbo spurned her advances. This upset Petty Officer Schmidt, and she decided to get revenge.

After thirty-five years, I still cannot fathom how Schmidt came to decision about how to exact her revenge.

It was before the morning mess after we had passed Gibraltar and before we reached Palma when LTJG Leahy called me. She informed me she had already reported to the captain that the daily “crypto cards” were missing. “Crypto cards were the encoding and decoding pieces changed daily, usually after midnight Greenwich time to match with the crypto systems on other military forces platforms. They were highly classified and intelligence sensitive. About the only thing guarded more closely was the system for safeguarding nuclear weapons.

Noreen has sent me redacted copies of her letters back to her new husband, Jim Leahy who was the Main Propulsion Assistant of a frigate in Mayport. Below is an extract of one of those letters describing the incident (CMS is the abbreviation for Classified Material System):

Made it to Palma and approach went smoothly.  My nav team is pretty sharp!…

Speaking of CMS-bad news. The other day one of the radiomen …got angry at her watch supervisor and maliciously destroyed day 24 of the weather broadcast key card. I didn’t find out at first. They first learned of the missing card during the watch to watch inventory at noon. They didn’t tell me until I navigated the straits (good move I thought). Anyway they told me the next morning. I had a heart attack. Well anyway, I gathered all of the radiomen together and asked (begged) for info concerning the lost card. I told them that I suspected foul play and the entire shack would stay on board and undergo lie detectors.  Well, 10 minutes later, this daffy chick admits she did it ‘accidentally’.  She was boohooing, etc.  I was relieved that I knew what happened. Of course I had to send a message immediately.  The CO/XO were pretty understanding considering.  There was nothing anyone could do. I pulled her TS clearance and pulled her from radio.

As Noreen wrote, she, then the communications officer, and Kathy Rondeau, the operations officer reported the missing cards to higher authority. The failure to find what happened to the cards could have jeopardized the entire crypto system. An even worse result would be for them to have been stolen by a foreign agent, not likely on a ship at sea.

The details began to emerge. The captain and I were flabbergasted. LTJG Leahy and LT Rondeau were distraught but handled everything properly in reporting the incident and dealing with the aftermath.

After her Top Secret clearance was pulled, Petty Officer Schmidt was taken out of radio and assigned a Special Court Martial, and with the help of our admin officer and legal officer, Mike Jackson, we began the process of an administrative discharge.

The administrative discharge was an executive officer’s best friend. If someone failed to meet up to standards – as mentioned at the time, two drug usage offenses allowed the command to administratively discharge an enlisted personnel with a “general” discharge. The administrative discharge could also be used to discharge someone who had been to Captain’s Mast, non-judicial punishment several times or a court martial and a good case could be made the individual had become a disciplinary or administrative burden.

The admin discharge was a quick and effective way of getting rid of a problem. During my tour on Yosemite, the process also gave me a clear picture between the roles of a commanding officer and executive officer. Captain Boyle and I would discuss the use of this tool in a number of situations throughout my tour.

*     *     *

After the incident, we set the sea detail to enter Palma de Mallorca, the beautiful European jewel of a city on the Spanish resort island less than 200 miles directly south of Barcelona. The uniform for entering port was “Service Dress Blue.”

I took my post at the navigator’s chart table in the after part of the pilot house on starboard side. Soon, the pilot came on board walked up to the bridge and proceeded to the open bridge with the captain. The navigator’s job became pretty much a backup safety measure after that, but I continued work diligently with the quartermaster’s to ensure we were not standing into dangerous shoal waters.

As mentioned, the sea detail uniform was service dress blue. The doctor, Lieutenant Frank Kerrigan, still new to the Navy had received instructions on what “service dress blue” entailed from at least two of our prankish prone women officers. Frank came on the bridge and over to me in the proper uniform except he had on the navy blue long sleeve shirt rather than the white dress shirt underneath his service dress blouse, not the white dress shirt. He looked like he might have hired out to Al Capone. I doubled over in laughter. Frank recognized his faux pas and started to leave the bridge. I stopped him and said he couldn’t leave without the captain seeing his outfit. Protesting slightly, Frank accompanied me to the open bridge. I tapped Captain Boyle on the shoulder as he stood by the pilot before we passed the breakers into the harbor.

“Sorry to interrupt, Captain, I said as he turned around, “but I wanted to be sure you got to see this” When he saw the doc, he laughed also, but it was more controlled compared to my original outburst. The captain quickly gained his composure and resumed his work with the pilot.

With the doc by my side, I walked to the ladder aft of the pilot house, and muttered something to him about I understood he was new to Navy uniforms. Frank went below.

With the navigation detail essentially having completed their duty, I turned to my executive officer duties, seeing the bridge watch was shipshape, and then doing a quick tour of the topside spaces to ensure everyone topside was in the appropriate uniform and no “looky-loos” were sticking their heads out of hatches, wearing dungarees or work coveralls rather than the proper uniform.

Liberty in Rota was quiet. It was our first liberty for the deployment, so I was a bit nervous. Perhaps it was because of my initial visit in 1968 to this southwestern port city of Español.

Back then, the town was off limits to all but personnel stationed at the Naval Base. I was awaiting transportation to my first ship, the USS Hawkins (DD 873). I waited for two weeks. I took a tour bus to Seville for a bullfight and a day’s walk around the old world city. The rest of the time I played golf (poorly) on the very dry base course. In the evening, I would wander from the BOQ over to the officer’s club. On my second Saturday, I hooked up with a couple of aviators and several of the nurses at the O-Club bar after dinner. We went to one of the nurse’s apartments in downtown Rota, my only time off the base during those two weeks. We played a drinking game called “Indian.” I shall not go into details, but the other officers drove me back to the base in the wee hours of the morning and poured me out of the car. I stumbled into my quarters and proceeded through the worst hangover in my life. On the following Monday, I received instructions to catch a morning flight to Malaga, Spain where I would board the USS Hawkins (DD 873), my very first ship.

Needless to say, I did not have fond memories of Rota and had concerns some of Yosemite’s personnel might follow in my experience fifteen years before.

But the crew and officers went into town and enjoyed the sights, returning to the ship in good shape (as far as I knew). Several of the officers, including Doc Kerrigan and Linda Schlesinger, our disbursing officer drove about 45 minutes to Cádiz. Cádiz is a larger city directly south of Rota across the Bay of Cádiz. It had a fairly large casino. Linda had stood watch during sea detail, then pulled shore patrol duty before joining Frank at the casino. She later told me she fell asleep out at one of the gaming tables. When she woke up, all of her chips were gone.

We pulled out of Rota in the morning. By the time we reached the straits, the world of the sea had turned gray. Crossing the Straits of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean or back out to the Atlantic Ocean was one of the most majestic sights I saw in my 15 years of sailing the seas aboard Navy ships. I transited the straits four times. This time, it appeared the transit was going to be just gray mist and black seas, no sighting of Gibraltar’s promontory this time. If you knew where to look and for what you expected as I did, you could barely make the shadow of the awe inspiring peak.

But then came something better. We gained communication with a radar contact on a parallel course eastward. It was the USS New Jersey (BB 62). She, with a speed advantage, soon became visible, a specter of a magnificent past silhouetted in the gray mist. We crossed into Mediterranean waters side by side. It was more awesome than it would have been had it been a beautiful sunny day. We didn’t need that Spanish rock. We were in the company of a legend, and she was breathtaking for this mariner.

I was even more impressed with Captain Boyle when he sent a flashing light message to the New Jersey’s commanding officer. Captain Rich Milligan, the New Jersey’s CO, later was Frank’s immediate superior in follow-on commands. Milligan became the Commander, Cruiser Destroyer Group Two out of Charleston. Frank was the Commanding Officer of the Readiness Support Group in Charleston. His direct superior was Commander, Cruiser, Destroyer Group Two, also in Charleston, Captain Rich Milligan. They became friends and golfing buddies.

Their flashing light messages made me smile. They discussed the durability of the older Navy ships like destroyers, Yosemite, and New Jersey, compared to the new ships, an appropriate observation even more applicable today. And they were doing it by flashing light messages as these two ships of World War II vintage crossed from the Atlantic into the Mediterranean.

*     *     *

But then we had an event that was upsetting to say the least. After we had secured from sea detail, we conducted a “unit sweep.”

As we got underway from Rota, we announced the unit sweep for drug testing. The Navy belatedly had begun a “zero tolerance” program for drug abuse. In 1973-75 during my time aboard USS Hollister (DD-788) as chief engineer and on USS Anchorage (LSD-36) as first lieutenant, drug usage had been epidemic. There were many crazy incidents involving marijuana and harder drugs on both ships, but it had been particularly rampant on the Hollister. During my years aboard those two ships, the Navy’s policy was unclear, at least in my mind. On the Hollister, I took the position if a sailor used drugs off the ship and his using did not impact his performance on the ship, I would not take offense. But if they used drugs on the ship or it impacted their ability to perform, which in engineering is a definite ship safety concern, then I would do all in my power to take them to mast or a court martial and use every means available to get them off my ship.

My approach didn’t work. I was at peace with the way I handled it, but drug usage did not abate on Hollister. On Anchorage when I was first lieutenant, drug usage was still a significant problem, but the wanton disregard for policy had abated somewhat. Still for an operator, it was a scary proposition for many reasons.

After nearly four years as the Senior Naval Officer at the Texas A&M NROTC Unit and two years in my amphibious squadron staff tour, the military’s zero tolerance for drug usage was still a concern of mine when I became weapons officer on the USS Okinawa (LPH 3) in Perth, Australia in September 1981. The military established a zero tolerance for drug usage in late December 1981. The policy used random testing and “unit sweeps” to find drug users and initiated punitive actions including courts martial or administrative separation for drug use. Drug testing included marijuana, cocaine, heroin (opiates), amphetamines, barbiturates, methaqualone and PCP. The Navy’s version of the edict was issued with the catchphrase “Not on my watch, not on my ship, not in my navy.”

From my perspective as a ship’s department head and as executive officer on Yosemite, the zero tolerance greatly improved my ships’ performance and greatly reduced the dangers associated with drug use on ships.

As part of the regulations including military justice, the procedure included the command’s ability to process any Navy personnel who had tested positive twice out of the Navy on an “Administrative Discharge.” It was a step in the right direction. Taking anything with the probability of debilitating one’s effectiveness at performing their job at sea on a warship was, and remains an unacceptable risk. I believed that then and I believe that now. Even though I drank alcohol like a champ, I never had a drink aboard any of the Navy ships on which I was stationed. To me, there was and is a distinction between alcohol and drug use.

So, I was all for the Navy’s new zero tolerance stance. Another advantage for a ship’s executive officer was that it gave me a clear and unconfused procedure to follow.

There was only one sailor who “popped positive” on the test: ET2 Schmidt, the second class who had admonished me for calling out another sailor for a gross rack during a messing and berthing inspection. It was Schmidt’s first drug offense.

When Schmidt appeared before me at XOI, I asked him why he would violate the Navy’s zero tolerance program. He told me he was raised in a family where they did not consider marijuana harmful, and they all used it as a matter of course. He continued by explaining he did not agree with the Navy’s policy. I thought his explanation was a lame excuse and did not bear any weight. He knew the consequences, and he had violated the rules. I was actually sad a productive sailor who had been a positive force for the command had chosen to cost him and the command by committing an illegal act. In addition to being a key, effective member of Rx Division in providing electronic equipment repair and maintenance, he was the division’s leading petty officer. As stated earlier, he had contributed positively to the ship’s “esprit de corps.”

That made Schmidt’s act even more severe from my perspective.

Captain Boyle, if possible, was even stronger in his belief than I was about drugs having no place on Navy ships. Following his own guidelines even though Schmidt’s division officer and department head recommended leniency, Captain Boyle held firm to his belief and administered the penultimate maximum punishment at captain’s mast: reduction in rate to ET3, half-pay for two months, forty-five days extra duty, and restriction to the ship for sixty days – the harshest punishment supposedly was three days in the brig on bread and water, but most commanding officers, including Captain Boyle and this executive officer believed the long restriction and reduction in rate would have a more significant impact on the offender. I thought the captain’s action was right on target.

If a Yosemite sailor had a second offense for drug usage, Captain Boyle’s policy was to refer the offender to a summary court martial. He believed, and again I agreed, someone who used drugs and endangered the ship, should leave the Navy with less than an honorable discharge. An administrative discharge would get the sailor out of the Navy but with a “general discharge under less than honorable” conditions. That was not sufficient punishment or enough of a deterrent in our minds.

Case closed. Or so I thought.

This is a note to thank all of you who thus far provided me feedback on the installments of my book, Steel Decks and Glass Ceilings.

Those who have complimented the book have motivated me to keep at it. That is good. i need motivation.

Others have included corrections, edits, or revisions. This changed my perspective on the installments. i now look upon that feedback as essential in making this a more accurate and much better read in the long run.

Thank you.

One issue about the book has bugged me from the beginning. That is using the actual names of sailors who did some things wrong during the deployment. i initially decided it was not big deal. i checked with several folks who have more knowledge and experience than i do. From that i concluded naming the guilty was not my problem and what risk of a law suit existed, i was willing to chance for the book being as accurate as it could be.

Several friends including my wife were concerned about possible libel suits from the guilty. Although i had considered such a possibility, this is not the reason i have changed my mind about names. But with the number of folks voicing concern, i sat down with myself and reconsidered the situation.

First off, i concluded naming those guilty folks would serve no purpose other than to put their names out there with a negative connotation for the public at large. During my two-year tour aboard Yosemite there were four crew members, one female and three males, that drove me bonkers with their disruption of good order and discipline. As a problem, they didn’t go away until i left the ship for my next duty station. Although i told myself i was only being accurate, there could have been a hint of revenge for the trouble they caused me, at least subconsciously. i believe i am better than that, above revenge, above holding a grudge.

Then there was and what continues to be my job as executive officer of the USS Yosemite. The executive officer has many facets of his job to perform. There are none more important than supporting the commanding officer in all matters, regardless of what  the XO personally believes is a better course of action. As Captain Boyle and i discussed at the end of one incident, the captain’s job includes ensuring justice is carried out aboard his ship. The exec, as i pointed out, is responsible for good order and discipline, and i added, if a few innocent folks are condemned falsely and good order and discipline has benefitted from their misfortune, the the XO, me, though sad at the fate of the innocent,  i can go with it.

That is not the captain’s position then nor is it now. He stands for justice. And if his XO is worth a damn, that XO is ultimately for justice as well. And i am. To not use the real names is justice at work.

Finally, i have tried to do what is correct in all of my personal and professional life. i certainly haven’t been perfect, but i have tried. My good friend and shipmate during my last tour, Peter Thomas articulated this well in a discussion we had several years ago when i asked him what one characteristic, one competency that was most important in being an effective leader. Peter said, “Do the right thing.” i had never articulated what i was trying to do so succinctly. Peter’s words have stuck with me, and i considered what is the right thing in this instance.

The names will be changed. i have already begun the process and will give these individuals the generic name of “Schmidt.” Why? Why not “Doe” or “Smith,” or even the old Navy moniker of “Joe Shit the Rag Man.”

Because for me, “Schmidt” is perfect. i was raised in a strict Southern Methodist family. We didn’t have any booze in the house except whiskey flavoring for boil custard at Christmas. There was no profanity. Then, my father told a joke at the breakfast table on the Sunday before Christmas. i was fourteen, my younger brother Joe, was nine.

Daddy turned to Joe and said, “On one Christmas Eve, Santa was in his sleigh in the sky headed to give gifts to all of the children. His sleigh was being pulled by his reindeer with Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer in the lead. Santa was giving instructions to Rudolph about which roof to land on next. All of sudden, Rudolph took a steep dive downward. The other reindeer followed and then came the sleigh carrying Santa.

“Rudolph and the whole shebang crashed into an outhouse. Santa climbed out of his sleigh, out of the outhouse basement and finally outside. As he wiped all of the foul content off his red outfit, he cried out, ‘Dammit, Rudolph, i said the Schmidt house!'”

My mother was aghast. My sister chuckled. Joe and i were rolling on the breakfast room floor laughing.

But as Paul Harvey used to say, that was not the end of the story. 

As we often did on Sundays after church, we went to dinner (also known as lunch in other parts of the country) along with our Aunt Bettye Kate and Uncle Snooks Hall. It was a nice family restaurant on North Cumberland near East High Street. i don’t remember the name, but it was good and on that Sunday crowded. We sat at a table in the middle of the room. The men, Joe, Uncle Snooks, our father, and i, sat at one end. The women, Aunt Bettye Kate, Martha, and our mother sat at the other end.

Sometime during the repast, brother Joe asked our father if he could tell the Santa joke to Uncle Snooks. Daddy, with a mischievous grin, nodded it was okay. Joe, all nine-years old of boy, got excited and began to tell the story. As he described Rudolph going into his dive, Joe became more excited and increasingly  louder. By the time he reached the part where Santa was climbing out of the outhouse and brushing himself off, he was practically yelling. Quite a few of the other diners had stopped eating and were listening. 

When he reached the final line, Joe shouted, “Rudolph, I said the Schmidt house!” my mother was aghast, Martha and Aunt Bettye Kate were trying to hold back their laughter, but Uncle Snooks, Daddy, and i were practically rolling on the floor.

Aunt Bettye Kate memorialized the event with a cross-stitch of the scene with Rudolph, Santa, the outhouse, and the punch line. i still have the cross-stitch and pull it out every Christmas to put it in a place of honor, and i laugh once again. My anonymous trouble makers have to be named Schmidt in honor of my family and the legendary joke.