I was looking for something else last night, and ran across an old letter. It was from my old man to me, sent about two weeks and a bit into my plebe summer at the Severn River Trade School.
I was not a particularly good plebe, as my first class detail never tired of reminding me. I had passed up offers to Duke and Virginia, and – sitting at a phone bank at the bottom of my dormitory with a dozen others just like me, wearing a uniform that had not quite broken in, sweating in a humid Annapolis night in a heat so oppressive that you could cut it and peel it back with a butter knife – I was beginning to wonder if I hadn’t made some sort of horrible mistake.
A couple of days later I received this letter:
24 July 1978
Dear Son,
We are hearing very good things about you, as we told you in our phone conversation last night. We are proud of you indeed and we are sure you’ll make it fine.
I know you won’t believe it now, but the worst is over. It is down hill from here on out.
The Congressman has received excellent reports about you from the Academy. I am surprised at the detail. Almost every significant event that has occurred apparently is documented in detail. I haven’t seen it, and I don’t know if we will.
You stand in the upper 10% of he plebes as analyzed by your upper classmen – Outstanding in adherence to the Honor Code, outstanding in military – a bit short fused. This is the chink in your armor, they have found it and will exploit it. It was mine too. I think the worst things that happened to me were the unjust punishments and criticisms – the indignities and humiliations. I never minded too much being hauled over the coals for things that I had done wrong (and there were plenty) but when I had done everything right, and I knew that it was right it seemed too much to bear and not worth it – they broke me almost, I would have quit, but I didn’t have anywhere to go but down -
IS IT WORTH IT? YOU ARE DAMNED RIGHT IT IS. The pay off came for me on a bitter cold night in the spring of 1942 rounding the North Cape south of Spitzbergen. Mists, sleety snow, eerie Northern Light, magnetic compasses spinning (we didn’t have a gyro compass). The first real action for me and most of us on the ship, DEER LODGE. A couple of squadrons of JU 88 dive bombers and a squadron of HE 111 torpedo bombers penetrated the convoy. CAPE CORSO, laden with ammo, less than 1,000 yards away blew up – JUTLAND, laden with heavy structural steel, took a hit in the stern – and went down in two or three minutes standing vertically in the water as she sank with horrible noises of exploding boilers and cargo tearing her apart – BOTAVON, her bow blown off, steamed right beneath the waves – a fascinating sight. Men in the water – you didn’t stop – they were dead already – five minutes is about all you get in thirty degree temperature. The pay off? It is easy enough to keep station, maneuver, plot, enter logs, avoid collisions, put up an appearance of confidence and nonchalance when things are relatively serene but here we had to set an example for the crew – if we panicked then everyone would. It never occurred to me – terrified – HELL YES – but the conditioning made me do my job as effectively as if we were entering Rio on a beautiful tropical day in peacetime.
Jim O’Brien told me about some advice that he gave Dennis. Pick the dumbest, least admirable upper classman around and say to yourself, “If that guy made it, then so can I.”
Maybe good advice, but I think that I would pick the one I most admire, the that has it all together the way I would like to be and say, “I want to be like him, he did it and so can I.”
I know this rambles, Son, probably with no great point, but I am banging out my thoughts as they come to me without any efforts to be logical or to write beautiful prose – forgive me.
We are so pleased at how well you did in the validating exams – I expected you to to do well in English – but Math, well I did you an injustice. Go as far as you can in the humanities – the more advanced these courses, the more interesting – and you are prepared.
Never hesitate to call – in your case, we’ll accept the charges every time.
The more we know (the Hobbit), the more we think of her, she is as supportive a woman as ever there was. As much as she misses you, and loves you, and wants to see you she is not going to whine and upset you. If there is any way that she can make your lot easier and help you over the rough spots and back you up all the way I’ll lay odds she’ll do it and there is no way she is going to place you in jeopardy at the Academy. You know the operation by now, whenever she can come – we’ll see that she gets there, if at all possible.
We do plan to come up for the parade Wednesday – I hope you can break away for a few minutes but if it is not to be, well as (the Hobbit) puts it it’s only 3 weeks, 3 days and 50 minutes until Town Liberty. (Don’t ask anybody for anything, but if they give it to you, fine and dandy).
Another way to put it is that you have, as of this writing, put away 2 weeks, 4 days and 10 minutes (Don’t check my arithmetic).
Love,
Dad
I know that bit about my relative performance as a plebe wasn’t true – knew it then, know it now. What I don’t know is whether he had been misinformed, or whether he – a profoundly honorable man – had embellished a bit around the margins. For the greater good. I never asked him.
The letter is two pages long and neatly typewritten, apart from the valediction, which is signed in ink. There is only one typo, towards the end. Having been handled many times, it is a little dog-eared: There are various occasions for a man to feel sorry for himself over the course of a life lived up against the margins, and his letter always helped me to put things in perspective.
Or maybe it was just good to hear the old man’s voice echoing around inside my head again from time to time. He was a good man, take him for all in all. I would have liked knowing him as an adult.
He wrote it when he was 62 years old, and he would be dead in less than four years, never getting to see his only son graduate from the US Naval Academy. The letter is beginning to yellow.
There is some sort of stain at the bottom.
Update: He wrote this some 35 years after the attack, in his small office at home and without access to our current streams of information. So he probably never read the after action report of the Royal Navy commodore in charge of the escort package for his convoy:
37. I should like to record the excellent conduct of the convoy, the majority of which were American ships unused to convoy work. Their steadiness when the torpedo attack took place and leading ships, including the Commodore and Rear Commodore
Captain, it sounds like you come by your writing ability honestly. I believe you’ve said before that your father graduated from Kings River?
Hopefully I’ll be able to help the Cat through tough times at the Academy in the same way. No news yet, still waiting.
It’s a shame your father didn’t get to see your graduation. I’m sure he’s proud, having a full Captain for a son.
You come from fine stock. There is nothing new under the sun, and you are now in position to pass these values on to your own offspring.
How very fitting.
Lex,
That letter is something to treasure for a lifetime, and to pass on to your children and grandchildren.
How I envy you that letter…memories of a man such as your father are treasures.
Thanks.
Had I that letter in my hand, chances are I might have noticed that stain.
Many more thoughts. Thoughts of my own sons.
Good job.
Oh. My. Good.
Lex, that is an awesome letter. Gave me goosebumps and moistened my eyes.
The pride and respect your dad had for you just flows from his letter – it should be framed and cherished forever.
Got me thinking about what I will have to say to my sons when they reach that age.
Thanks for sharing.
A wonderful – and very personal – letter.
What did your father do in the service? I don’t recall seeing you mention that before, but I may have just missed it.
I appreciate you sharing this
B
Indeed, Lex, thank you for extending us the honor to share in that letter. Even more charming to know that you and the (Lord, I can’t say it) lovely Mrs Neptunus Lex go back that far. She has been everything your father said she would be, God bless him for seeing it, God bless her for being there for you.
My son (11 years old) happened to be sitting near me as I was reading this post. He asked me why I had a few tears in my eyes and I told him is was something I read and he would find out in a few years. As Jester said, it gave me pause to think what I would say when my son gets to be that age.
Thank you very much for posting the letter.
Lex, you honor use with sharing this. Not that there was any doubt, but you can certainly hear in that letter where the seeds of your own honor and sense of duty have come from.
Yes, it is.
Bryan, my father graduated from Kings Point and served as a merchant marine officer during World War II. At this early stage, I believe he was the third officer aboard DEER LODGE.
Great post, beautiful letter. I think that’s the second one you’ve shared from your father? Something tells me you may have a few more saved too. As the others said, we are honoured when you share them.
It would seem that old saying that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree would fit well here. I can almost hear SNO (re)reading your letters and emails some day. And I have no doubt that your daughters too will make you proud, each in their own way. A very lucky family.
Captain,
Gold….pure gold.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing the letter. Powerful words.
I have a feeling he would have liked knowing you as an adult as well.
What those above said, and may I say that my late Uncle Frank was a Merchant Mariner in the Second World War, going back and forth across the North Atlantic. They suffered a higher percentage of casualties than the US Navy, and got little respect. He was old and sick, within a year or two of his death, when he and his fellow sailors were finally awarded some veteran benefits. Too little, too late.
He told some interesting stories. I mind the one about the guys in the lifeboat, for a long time.
He told me that they eventually had to eat one of the guys, so the rest could live.
I was shocked to hear that and said, “But he was dead, right?”
He told me, “Well, he was dead when they ate him…”
Moral: Do NOT be the least-popular person in the lifeboat.
Or, if yer an a-hole, be the only one who knows how to navigate. That worked for Captain Bligh
That was Beautiful. You could truly feel his love and admiration for you and your lovely bride in his letter. There is nothing more precious or powerful than a father’s “blessing!” Many men go far and wide just to prove themselves worthy of a father’s blessing! You have certainly have given him so very much to be proud of! What a wonderful legacy you have to share with your children and future grandchildren!
Great letter & great man, Lex – I assume SNO & Biscuit have or will read it – I have a few like those from granddaddy & daddy & they are indeed treasures. I need to share those too.
I had no idea that you were a 2%er …
Pick the dumbest, least admirable upper classman around and say to yourself, “If that guy made it, then so can I.”
I’ve had to do this with more than one senior officer….
That you shared it, that your heart needed to, makes me want to silently acknowledge the honor, breathe a prayer of thanks for such good men, and tiptoe back out, closing the door quietly.
Dear Lex:
Truly inspiring words. It is obvious that your parents were fine people, and raised their children well. I’m quite sure that when your children are older, they will feel the same about you and the Hobbitt.
What a great letter.
Great letter, Lex; I appreciate your having shared it as all above have said.
Your dad is an inspiration for those of us with sons to aspire to. He and his son are definitely a case of “I want to be like him, he did it and so can I”.
I recall a bit of a hard spot when I heard from my father via the odd bit of paper. His advice: “Surrender takes a moment, the regrets last for a lifetime.”
Fortunately, I was able to ask him about it a number of years later at the Tokyo American Club over a quiet dinner.
Three things I learned that night.
1. Fatherhood is eternal vigilance.
2. Many social interactions occur in a round of golf.
3. Even a retired one star (one of the aforementioned golfers) has a tremendous network.
Reminds me of the importance of perspective. One thing military folks know is that if the problem isn’t going to cause a death, it’s not that important, it’s merely inconvenient. A screw-up in engineering can scuttle a ship. Burnt beans in the galley are thus important, inconvenient, but not significant.
After a week of fun and games whereupon I was asked to provide a sense of perspective on the issue, I wrote the following. I think it’s worth pondering for anybody who has a problem to overcome and might think that problem paramount:
“Can’t sleep, was up until sometime around 0300 Monday morning… Thought I’d do a little star-gazing since I couldn’t drift off tonight. The cold air (-15F) leaves little moisture to cloud the skies, and with even a 12x set of binoculars I can see the moons of Jupiter. With my 40X spotting scope I can pick out nebula. The Milky Way is visible with the unaided eye, but it looks like smog or a cloud — need a little magnification to see the individual stars.
It sort of hit me then that a bit of perspective is necessary on occasion. We’re having some difficulty with right now, and the new platform has a few issues. That’s not the end of the world.
In only 750 Million years a dwarf galaxy now in Sagittarius is going to pass through the Milky Way galaxy, including our own spiral arm. As it disintegrates those other suns are going to arc on through. That will disrupt planetary orbits, suns will collide, entire solar systems will be destroyed.
Let’s say we make it through that. Back in college for a physics class we did a little calculation.
In 1.1 Billion years the sun will become about 10% brighter. Moisture in our atmosphere will dry out.
In 3 billion years our galaxy will collide with the Andromeda galaxy. Let’s say we ride that out too.
In 3.5 Billion years the Sun will become 40% brighter as it loses its reserves of hydrogen. Anything our side of Jupiter is toasted, our oceans evaporate.
In 5.4 Billion years the sun runs out of hydrogen and starts to turn into a Red Giant, expanding to about half again its current size. Mercury is engulfed in the Solar corona, Venus loses everything that isn’t rock. Our seas boil off. If we still exist as a species we’re living miles underground.
In about 6.5 Billion years the Sun is a Red Giant, about 170 times larger and over 40 times brighter than today. Forget underground living, Earth is only a chunk of superheated rock. Life as we know it ceases to exist on the planet.
At that time, the only record of there ever being a human race will consist of a flag, a lunar lander base, and a 4wd electric dune buggy on the moon, plus a few craft named Voyager and Pioneer that have exited our solar system. As for the bits on the moon, those made of aluminum have melted.
So, taken in context, if the greatest problem in our working lives are a circuit and maybe a few issues with the phones we can take them in stride, take a deep breath to relax, and work the problem.
After all, it’s not the end of the world.
— Max
Very nice. Thanks for sharing it. I truly wish I had a memento like that from mine. You cherish that letter and so will your son. Must be a great sentimental voyage to read that, write this, all especially before you step back (you never leave) “the avocation”. The circle.
Father done good. You done good. Your son (and daughters) will do good. Ain’t that what it’s all about?
b2
OK underlined Lex.
Thanks for sharing this, Lex. It’s such a good letter. Like B2, I’m envious that you have something written by your father.
Question. Parades at the Naval Academy are on Wednesdays?
This is an awesome letter. Coming from a family where the father expressed himself through silence-you are indeed fortunate to have had a man who would write you with his hair down.
“Go as far as you can in the humanities – the more advanced these courses, the more interesting – and you are prepared….The more we know (the Hobbit), the more we think of her, she is as supportive a woman as ever there was. As much as she misses you, and loves you, and wants to see you she is not going to whine and upset you. If there is any way that she can make your lot easier and help you over the rough spots and back you up all the way…”
Good fathers can see your future. Great fathers help you claim it for your own.
The bit about never getting to see his only son graduate from the Academy?
Oh, he saw….he saw quite well. And he was proud.
Kudos Lex.
Sometimes a parent CAN get through and teach their children larger lessons.
Behind greatness, there is usually other greatness.
The lesson to me: never stop teaching, encouraging, sharing. We sometimes think the signal is not getting through – but it is.