Home

We attended the highland Games in Charleston SC yesterday. It was a pretty nice affair held down on the waterfront in North Charleston.

I hadn’t been to a gathering for a few years so hearing the pipes and drums was a special treat. I have to give the bands credit though. They played well despite the fact that the heat was at about 86 degrees. Somehow, I thought November would be colder. We had a few Scottish treats (meat pies and bridies) and talked with a number of people as we walked around. Sadly, I could not find my Clan before the marching and did not participate. Maybe next year.

This weekend was also All Saints Day weekend.

Presbyterians generally have a largely modified version of the celebration that was started under the Catholic church. The first Sunday of November is the day where we generally commemorate all Christians, living and deceased, if they observe All Saints Day at all, they use it to remember all Christians both past and present. It is held not only to remember Saints but also members of the local church congregation who have died. In some congregations, a candle is lit by the Acolyte as each person’s name is called out by the clergy. Prayers and responsive readings may accompany the event. In our local church at Goose Creek, they rang a bell after each name was read and we sang a very special song called Home. Ruth Elaine Schram and Aren Newell Williams)

I couldn’t help thinking about all of the saints in my life that have already left this place.

There is a line towards the end of the song that really struck home. It talks about all of the people who prayed for me. I know some of those folks must have worn out the knees on their trousers doing that for me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K785YIUXMCs

Strange Coincidence

Before church, I was out in the garage and felt pulled to look in one of the last boxes that has still not been really taken care of from our move. This box has letters and cards from a seventy-year journey (and beyond if you include my dad’s letters and items from his navy journey in World War 2.)

As I pulled a stack of letters out, I found some that he had saved that I sent him back in the early seventies. This particular batch was from the Fleet Ballistic Missile Submarine Training Cener at the Charleston Naval Base. I was attending an advanced training program on my way to my first boat. The boat (USS George Washington) had already left for Hawaii and I was supposed to catch up with her after I finished.

You should be prohibited from reading your own letters fifty years later

I realized when reading the letters how self-focused and shallow I was at 18. There are a total of five letters, and I wish I could tell you that they got better. They did not. I also remembered how lonely that time period was. The base was pretty self-contained, and I did not have a vehicle. I also did not have any real friends. Unlike boot camp and submarine school, you were surrounded by a small group of people, many from the fleet, who were not always the best type of people to bond with. During that time period, a number of previous Diesel Boat sailors were being forced to convert to nuke boats and about half of my class fit that description. They were generally not happy at all, and none had time for a snot nosed non-qual that had never been to sea. Worst of all, I had already started hearing ru,ors from back home that the girl I thought I was going to marry was already seeing other guys. Her letters had dropped to a truckle and in my heart of hearts, I knew she was drifting away. She eventually did and losing her seemed to be devastating.

As I looked out over the waterfront where the Charleston Base use to be yesterday, I was reminded that failure is a choice.

You either accept it as a life ending sentence or a launching point for your future. The kindness of one man helped me to see that even in the darkest times, the right coaching and words of encouragement can make all the difference. During the darkest part of that journey, I had stood on the waterfront and thought the unthinkable. It would not have been hard to just say goodbye and end the miserable loneliness. But frankly, I was afraid of failing at that.

I had one person who saw I was struggling. One of the Chiefs that was an instructor saw that I was failing and disillusioned. Time and memory have erased his name. But he took me under his wing and invited me to his home. More importantly, he invited me to come to church with his family. I do know without his help, I would have never graduated.

That act of kindness was a lesson I never forgot over the years.

Many years later when I was a Chief, I remembered that lesson and kindness. I made sure to know who my people were and not to write off the ones who were struggling. I am sure that if you looked at the boy who wrote those letters in 1973, even the most optimistic person could never have imagined the person I became. It sure surprised me.

Those early lessons on overcoming failure made me stronger for the challenges that laid ahead. Now that I am in the final chapter of my life, I can look back on those days and see that I was being prepared for the things that would come.

Last April, I was honored to be the guest speaker at the Submarine Ball in Charleston. Most of the participants are the brightest and best officers and enlisted people in the entire navy. This is now home to the Nuclear Power school and one of my former submarines that has been converted to a moored training ship (MTS San Francisco). It was an honor beyond description to tell part of my story and offer a few words of encouragement to the people in attendance. It was a great night.

Home

We live less than ten miles from Goose Creek. The whole place has radically changed. I don’t think I could find the house my Chief took me to nor the church.

But between the church we attend and visiting the harbor yesterday, I finally feel like I am home. I hope that in some way I can finish repaying that debt to the people who helped me along the way.