I can’t remember if I’ve told this tale before, which means you probably don’t either. But in any case it came to pass one warm summer day in the San Joaquin Valley that an FA-18 squadron commanding officer of my casual acquaintance stood at the podium in his dress whites, sword at his side, opening the event book for to begin his change of command speech, the assembled sailors roasting at parade rest in their own whites, the guests fanning themselves with their programs, for if you’ve never been at a midday speech in Lemoore, California in the summertime, then you’ve never been truly hot, maybe.
Back in the very early days of the FA-18, transition pilots were generally coming from the F-4 and A-7 communities, with a few assorted Tomcat dudes tossed in. The gentleman in question had once flown F-14s, which he never let you forget, as though having once been a simple fighter pilot lent him a certain credence in the eyes of the strike fighter set. Which couldn’t have been farther from the truth for the most of us, whose envy of the aluminum overcast went chiefly unremarked upon. The airplane was fast, it was true, and carried a very great deal of gas. But it was finicky electronically and mechanically, a beast to maintain, and a real brute to bring aboard the ship, especially at night. About the best compliment an FA-18 pilot could give the Tomcat was that it looked pretty in your gunsight, the wings all nicely spread.
The Tomcat community for its part regarded the FA-18 as something of an innovative nuisance, always soaking up the Texico, and they were not entirely sure of the program’s longevity. I’ve a nagging suspicion that when the word came down from On High that a few select F-14 pilots would leave the cool Sandy Eggo environs for to teach those knuckle-dragging Corsair jocks how to fight an airplane rather than merely hurl it at the mud, the Tomcat leadership took the opportunity to shave away some problem chillun.
At least in this fellow’s case, for while he was a competent aviator, he gave the word “abrasive” deeper meaning. If personality were tactile, you could have used his to scour the fleet of rust. As a commanding officer, I am told, he was more feared than respected, and not entirely well-loved, leading as he did through sarcasm and intimidation. We are who we are, and by 40 most of us are pretty fully formed.
He made a habit of stemwinding once he had the bit in his teeth, and loved to share Life Anecdotes so that his officers and men might lead lives more nearly like his own. One inexplicable favorite, often told, was how he insisted on taking his family to supper every Friday evening at a local pizzeria if only for the comfortable routine that was in it. Which I have to admit that it was a good pizzeria for the greater Lemoore/Hanford/Visalia metroplex. But, anyway.
So hizzoner stood head down at the podium in his choker whites, reading from his speech without once raising his eyes to gauge the reception his wisdom received from a broiling, captive audience. Turning from page four to page five of what was intended to be a 30-page speech, he hesitated, choked and turned crimson, flipping rapidly through page after page. Not a stroke, as it turns out, nor a wardrobe malfunction of the close-wrapped uniform collar but rather a stroke of genius: The junior officers who had set up the program book having decided that four pages of his lordship’s horatorical didacticism being sufficient to the day, pages five through 30 had been emended, as it were. And entirely blank.
Having not had the foresight to memorize a 30-page speech – which, by the way, served as an excellent example to your own humble scribe if ever the opportunity to pass his wisdom arose – the CO was forced to mutter and stammer a few closing remarks, read his orders relieving him of command and exchange salutes with his successor. This gesture served to transubstantiate the latter immediately from “Almost” to “Utmost,” leaving the surviving junior officers relatively immune from retaliation, their fitness reports having already been signed.
That being a Friday, the use-to-be commanding officer glumly took his family for pizza, and this is where the devilish ingenuity of the junior naval officer really shines: Having apportioned out slices of pizza each to their respective familial diner, the former CO noted something unusual underlying the pie: Pages 5-30 of what I’m sure would have been really quite a lovely speech for volunteer listeners in an air conditioned room.
It’s the little things, you know. The finishing touches.
A work of art, with just enough detail to surmise that the author of the story is somewhat familiar with the junior officer protagonists as well as their target.
Thank God for JOPA!
Only “somewhat” familiar? LOL!
The culprit that immediately comes to mind surely can’t be the one.
Just can’t. Surely.
He’s just the most likely.
Occam’s razor comes to mind..
Superb tactical strike and the usual excellent after action report.
And I just wonder who that junior officer might have been…
The aforesaid speech pages weren’t replaced by, er, um, something more, uh, visual by any chance?
Not that I would know about such shenanigans.
Among some of the best advice I ever was given by a CO regarded Change of Command or other speeches: Always follow the ‘Two B’s’ rule’: “Be brief and be gone.”
At the RAVEN FAC reunions, the featured speaker has to make his speech w. his left-hand immersed in a pitcher of ice-water, Comjam. Just in case you’re open to suggestions..
That obviously won’t work. After a while, it will get numb. I recommend, instead, one of those pots with an electric heating element in it.
Cap’n, the writing you have done above is quite sublime, and shows your patrimony to good advantage. Have you actually kissed the Blarney Stone, or is it that you have no need to do so, despising prosthetic assistance when you already have the natural talent?
I am not kidding. People have been paid lots of money to write stuff which is not as good as what you toss at us free, gratis, and for nothing. I have eaten cheaper meals in order to buy the writings of people who are not as good at writing as you are.
This is hilarious, and exquisitely recounted as usual.
The intellect of the JO mastermind that perpetrated this is obviously of great magnitude; makes me wonder if he were an Annapolis man, eh?
Why I daresay Sherlock Holmes himself would have enjoyed investigating the affair, the game being so cleverly played…
I actually told this story to my ready room. Which made it necessary to take the precaution of, 1) memorizing my speech, and 2) carrying a spare copy in my breast pocket.
So there, Lamont. You rascal.
Sage Lex, and illustrative to boot!
So part of the take-away from the story, then, is the transcendent wisdom of keeping one’s feathers numbered, for any such an emergency?
I can’t recall which philosophe I gleaned that from
Is “Lamont” your nom de guerre? Or was he one of your ready room that you feared would take a page from an earlier JO?
Sweet, and a moral to go with the tale. It’s Lex’s Fables for modern times. Comjam, I like your CO’s “Be brief and be gone”. A maxim true and wise, as the poem goes.
I mind the Kapitaen-Leutnant’s speech in Das Boot, when they were about to set out on their patrol. IIRC, it was about a sentence and a half long. Of course, all hands were suffering from horrible hangovers…
Shades of ADM Dan Gallery… Great tale, Captain.
As one who has had to stand in the broiling sun listening to long winded, soon to be thankful history, skippers, I say BZ to the JOPA. Masterful plan, and the pièce de résistance a stroke of genius.
30 pages. Was the CO’s call sign “Drone”?… “Windbag”?
Your BDA is 100% within 100 meters of the target blowhard. Clear off the target, well done.
Great story, Lex.
My experience with a change of command ceremony was in February in class As, sans overcoat and gloves. Would that we had had a similarly resourceful and inventive junior officer.
My son, who is currently aboard NAS Lemoore, has also enjoyed a change of command. I don’t believe that his was in high summer however.
Thanks for the tale, I always enjoy reading them. Please keep them coming.
Paul
Ahh, those WERE the days! LOL!
…you mean the days before retroactive punishment?
A similar story from NZ. Major (not well repsected at all) works all day on his power point etc, leaves to go to the bathroom. Finishes off and starts presenting to the Chief of General Staff. 1/3 of the way through evidence of tampering with brief appears in form of material that has obvioulsy been downloaded from the internet. People certainly not amused. This sort of thing goes on all the time and its great.
Raises another point, what on earth are we doing giving 30 page speaches/ who will ever remember them. Bad leadership here. Get to the point emphasise and move on.
That is just pure artistry, Lex.
That’s a beauty. TINS.
Would that I had thought of this myself once or twice over the years!
I went through one change of command in January 1973 in Naples aboard Courtney. The outgoing Skipper may have taken 5 minutes to survey what we did under his command, read his orders, then turn it over to his relief. The incoming skipper read his orders, took all of 30 seconds, then do his salute to the outgoing, and to the squadron dog, and it was all over. It took longer to assemble ship’s company, which spilled onto the main deck of Lester next door. No band, there wasn’t room.
All of a half hour and it was over. Be brief, and be gone, indeed.
Great tale. The “innovative nuisance” was also pretty good…
I wish someone had done that for our last change of command…
This reminds me of a story a speech professor at my college gave about Lyndon Baines Johnson. Johnson never read his speeches before a major speech and just grabbed them from his speechwriters before speaking. One day, he angered one of speechwriters and the speechwriter decided to get back at LBJ. Right before a major speech, LBJ grabbed the speech and was giving a great speech until the got to a sentence like “America faces many problems and my administration has the solution and that solution is…” He turned the page and found only the sentence “Well, you tell them!” LBJ had to wing it from there on out. I do not know if that story is true, but the moral was to always read speeches before speaking and preferably write your own speeches, just in case!
Great stuff Lex! Would love to know who the offender was…I hope he went no further.
Having stood in several change of command ceremonies (most of which in the heat of the midday Georgia sun) even for base commanders (why is it that the higher the rank, they longer they want to talk?), I can offer that your Lemoore, CA has nothing on Augusta, GA for heat AND humidity. We literally had medics behind the formation in order to deal with heat casualties that were expected (not merely feared). I really wish we had a wise junior officer had trimmed the speech for many of our outgoing Generals. I can honestly say I remember absolutely nothing a single one of them said, and yet they droned on for what seemed like hours in the hot sun as if they were passing down wisdom from the Almighty.