I’m one of those guys who, although not always in a timely fashion, notices milestones in my life. It turns out this Valentine’s Day is the 51st Cathy and I have shared. Yea, our first was in 1973, when we were both students at Ottawa High School.
Cath and I in the OHS Yearbook for ‘73
At the time, we had been dating for about eight months. I have no memory of what we did on that momentous occasion. Cathy doesn’t either. 🙂
At Homecoming Dance, a few Months Before our First Valentine’s Day.
When I was at West Point, with Cathy in DC, we were always apart and sent letters or cards to each other for the big day. (You remember letters don’t you?) Later in the ‘80s during our tours of duty in Germany with the Army, I’m sure we were separate on at least half of those Valentine’s Day, with me deployed on maneuvers or Temporary Duty somewhere. We probably enjoyed a celebratory dinner after I returned home, but again, I don’t remember.
It’s only since the ‘90s and civilian life that I think we’ve regularly celebrated Valentine’s Day. I know we did trips away or dinners out at nice restaurants several times. Later, we became tired of the rush and crowding of restaurants and celebrated more at home. A nice dinner – steaks, or a special pasta dish, or maybe a cheese and charcuterie board with champagne in front of the fireplace. Sometimes there were gifts, sometimes not.
I was thinking about our past celebrations, as I’ve seen ads in the lead-up to Valentine’s Day this year – Godiva or Ferrero Rocher chocolates; flower delivery services; special cards from Hallmark; sexy underwear; and of course, jewelry, including Kay’s and Pandora. The New York Times even ran an article about “The 31 best Valentine’s Day gifts for her”. One of the “great” things about America is we always find a way to make a buck off of anything.
More Suggestions of Chocolate, Underwear, Flowers and Fake Flowers.
I took a further trip down memory lane and reread our wedding vows. We had dutifully recited, as many couples do, “For better, for worse; For richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; … as long as we both shall live…” I also reread what Reverend Fred Fullerton*, my high school classmate and the minister at our wedding, asked for in prayer concerning our marriage: “strengthen and deepen it through time… steady it by toil… crown it with greatness through self-discipline… purify it in the crucible of our inevitable human pain…”
Fred’s Thoughtful Prayer for our Marriage and Life Together.
We’ve certainly seen for better and worse, trying financial times and our fair share of sickness. I like to think our love has strengthened and deepened over time and we have constantly worked at our marriage over our years together. Challenges and pain have happened, as they inevitably do. As is always the case, how we respond to those challenges is more important than the challenge itself.
In the past year, we’ve had constant reminders of both the joy and the fragility of life. We have celebrated good times with family and friends. We’ve also witnessed deaths with some of those same friends and family members. We’ve confronted new injuries and diseases, both our own and other folk’s. Lately, our lives seem to be on one of those roller coasters all of us occasionally experience.
51 years. Cripes, that’s over half a century. We still enjoy celebrating Valentine’s Day and I think have learned to take nothing in life for granted. This year, we are staying home and will keep it simple – Steak Diane and a nice red wine. We’ll celebrate our past. And then, we’ll clink our glasses and toast our future together for as long as we both shall live.
I love you hon….
Addendum:
Reverend Fred Fullerton was my good friend and high school classmate in the OHS class of ‘73. He was also our class president. He became a minister in the Nazarene Church. We are very proud to have been the first marriage service he preformed.
It was an early winter morning a little before sunrise – that liminal period of time between darkness and light. When I left the house to feed the horses, it was so quiet, the silence felt deafening. I soon discovered the opposite was true. In that cold predawn stillness, sound was everywhere, once I started listening.
That Liminal Period Between Darkness and Light.
I have to admit on most mornings, I’m on autopilot as I walk to the barn. Typically, I’ve only been up about ten or fifteen minutes and haven’t yet had my coffee. It’s pretty rote – walk to the barn, feed the cats, feed the horses and return to the house to make coffee.
I suppose I have the sudden snorting of a buck to thank for my change on this particular day. I stopped and tried to pinpoint his location in the paddock, but couldn’t see him. The question of whether he was sounding an alarm, or merely indicating curiosity was soon answered – I heard muffled footfalls, and then saw six deer leaping our fence before clamoring into a neighbor’s field. Our dog Carmen and I were both so startled, neither of us did anything except watch them go, their white tails vivid in the half-light. I have no idea why Carmen didn’t chase them – it was the first of three unusual non-actions on her part that morning.
The deer must have disturbed some nearby turkeys, as two of them started “gobbling” in the woods by the pond. I looked for them as well, but couldn’t tell if they were on the ground, or the low branches of a tree. Carmen, for the second time that morning, did nothing.
By now, my ears were evidently alert, as I heard a woodpecker tapping near the side of the house. A few footsteps later, the whinnies of our neighbors’ horses came from about 100 yards away. That was unusual for them at this time of the morning. Perhaps something was about, as they were joined by the barking of our friend’s dogs, Jonah and Jebson, about a quarter mile down Swains Road. Carmen’s ears pricked up. Much like the dog telegraph in the movie, 101 Dalmatians, the two frequently start a message that circulates among the other dogs in the neighborhood. This morning, Carmen must have decided they were just gossiping – after listening for a second, she trotted to the barn, with nary a bark.
Jonah and Jebson Trying to Look Innocent
It was chilly in the barn and there was a skim of ice on the water buckets. Our cats, Ollie and Mama Cat, stared silently at me, waiting for their breakfast. The horses weren’t so quiet. Stella and Katie nickered, snorted and pawed the ground. They too wanted their breakfast, but made a much bigger demonstration than the cats about it.
I fed the cats and then the horses, left the barn and started making my way back to the house. It was nearing sunrise now and there was some color in the eastern sky. Carmen and I stopped for a moment just outside the barn and looked to the east. We disturbed a couple of crows who scolded us with their caws, but the cardinals in the nearby evergreen didn’t seem to mind our presence and continued to sing their song of CHEER, CHEER, CHEER ,,, PRETTY, PRETTY ,, PRETTY, PRETTY!
Color and Light in the Eastern Sky.
I thought about the birds and animals, both tame and wild, who were there to greet Carmen and I that morning. It brought to mind one of my favorite quotes from Maya Angelou – “Listen to yourself and in that quietude you might hear the voice of God.” While watching the sun rise that morning, I had an additional thought – In the quietude of a winter’s morning, hear the voices of God’s creatures and feel blessed, for we are all God’s creatures.
Years ago my friend Joe said, “When I turned fifty, God shared all the knowledge and wisdom of the world with me. When I turned sixty, God told me I should share that knowledge and wisdom with the rest of the world.” Thinking of any number of older pontificators we both knew, we chuckled. I’ve thought about it more seriously since then – from whom have I gained knowledge and wisdom?
Of course, knowledge and wisdom aren’t exactly the same thing. According to the Oxford Dictionary, knowledge consists of “facts, information, and skills acquired by a person through experience or education”, while wisdom is “the quality of having knowledge, experience and good judgment”. Those definitions are close, although not exact. Looking at the two, knowledge is necessary, but not sufficient to have wisdom. There’s that little thing called “good judgement”. I also note the word “age” is in neither definition, and while perhaps, unexpected, I think that’s good. I know some people who were fools when they were young and have remained fools their entire life. It’s almost as if they have an anti-wisdom gene in their DNA.
I’ve thought of my own life and how I’ve obtained knowledge and tried to gain wisdom. Reading books or online resources, experiencing life and listening to others seem to be the three primary ways I’ve learned about life. To keep consistent with the “from whom have I gained Knowledge and wisdom” question in the opening paragraph, I’m only going to talk about listening to and interacting with others today. Certainly, the other two thoughts are important, but short of writing a thesis, I think it’s a bit hard to tackle all three in one short blog.
My parents were a big influence on me, not only as a kid, but throughout adulthood. I think back to the important lessons I learned at home as a child, and also to the advice they gave me over the years. Sometimes I listened, and other times not. Later in life, I also remember a conversation on the phone with dad one day. I was considering a job change and asked for his advice. There was a pause, and then he said “I think this is above my pay grade. You have to make this decision on your own.” Sometimes, wisdom is knowing when to say nothing.
When it comes to learning from others, I along with many of us, have practiced this inconsistently over the course of my life. As a young man, I certainly listened to “older” folk, but I was also guilty of the arrogance and certainty of youth. Who among us hasn’t experienced that combination of youthful passion and fearlessness? I alone KNEW the right answer! Sometimes I was right, and sometimes I failed. But where would we be without that youthful exuberance which has brought so much innovation? Who else has the courage, desire and tirelessness to challenge the status quo?
Growing into middle age, I continued to gain knowledge, and I hope I was gaining wisdom. Moving into leadership positions in the Army, business world and with other groups, I was frequently asked to impart my knowledge and/or wisdom across multiple subjects. I certainly listened to others, but as George Bush infamously stated, I became the “decider” on any number of issues. I believe I made my share of good decisions. There were also errors and poor recommendations along the way. I can think of more than a couple of choices I’d like to have back. Maybe if I’d listened a bit more to others … but of course, you can’t go back.
And now? I mostly retired 10 years ago. Today at 68, I sit on the cusp of elder time. Unlike my friend Joe, as I become older, I’m less sure God gave me any of the knowledge or wisdom of the world. Still, I often DO feel compelled to share what I have with others.
With that in mind, there are two things I’ve learned about myself I want to share.
First, for my peers, don’t let the complacency of old age settle in. You have to keep learning. If you don’t, you grow stagnant and might as well die. Never. Stop. Learning.
Second, and this is for everyone, the true wisdom I’d share is no matter your age, don’t constrict your interactions only to a group of people your own age. There is a wealth of knowledge and wisdom out there and you can learn at all ages from people of all ages. Don’t deprive yourself of the chance to find this out. All you need are open ears and eyes, and an open mind. Most importantly, an open mind.
And so, while I continue to learn much from my friends and peers in their 50s and 60s, I also continue to gain wisdom from friends John, Bill, Nancy, Irv, Malcom, Bob and Kathy among others in their 70s and 80s. Our nieces and nephews who are in their 30s and 40s are a constant source of joy and education about things both large and small. I continually gain new insights and ideas from our friends Mila, Raagni and Morgan, all in their 20s, and all of whom seem wise beyond their years. Lana, our 18 year old niece, makes me think, and raises new concepts and thoughts for me to consider. A couple of months ago, I even learned more about modesty and good manners from Kaeden, the 11 year old grandson of a friend. Of course there are many, many other people I could name here, but you get the idea. Making it personal also makes it more real. Who are some of the people of all ages in your own life you learn from, or maybe more importantly, could learn from? Never stop learning from friends and people of all ages. Never.
I realize this blog has rambled, and I apologize for that. With the year 2024 starting soon, I hope you will commit to a life of gaining knowledge and wisdom. Sample broadly from the learning choices offered. My wife is fond of saying “Every time an older person dies, it’s like a library burning down.”, and she’s right. Don’t miss the opportunity to learn from your older friends and family members before they are gone. Listen to their stories. But also allow time and openness to drink from that endless fountain of youthful exuberance. No one has a corner on knowledge and wisdom. No one
Addendum:
In my younger years, I never did “New Year’s Resolutions”. To be honest, I still don’t. But, as I’ve become older, I seem to do a bit more reflection this time of year. Maybe it’s because I have more time to be reflective, or maybe it’s because I have less time left in my life – I’m not sure which. In either case, I wish you the Happiest of New Years and hope you can take a few minutes to reflect on your life. See you in 2024.
Do you know the best way to develop your wine palate? Drink more wine. I believe Cath and I have that covered. We began drinking wine together (legally) in 1974 when she started working for the FBI in DC. Seriously. We’ve had more than a couple of bottles together in the past fifty years.
After Cathy moved to DC in 1974 to work for the FBI, I’d visit from West Point for the weekend. If we were doing a “special” night out, we’d always order a bottle of wine. I think we felt more like adults. Now mind you, neither of us owned a car, and metro wasn’t here yet. We’d take a bus from her apartment to Old Town Alexandria and usually go to The Wharf, one of the nicer restaurants in town. After a seafood dinner and bottle of wine, we’d dutifully wait for the bus and take it back to her apartment. ;-). A taxi was out of our price range.
Our real wine education came after we married and were stationed in Germany in the ‘80s. Yea, we drank a lot of good German bier, but we drank our fair share of wine as well. Not only dry German and Austrian whites, but also French, Spanish or Italian reds when we traveled to those countries. Spending nine years in Europe significantly broadened our exposure to what wine could be.
Cath, Dad and I at a Weinfest in Germany around 1987.
Returning to the States in ‘89, we discovered California wines, which we’d pretty well ignored before then. Cabs, Merlots, Zins and eventually Pinot Noir’s – Our taste buds grew once again and sometime in the ‘90s we installed our first wine rack, which held about 110 bottles.
After moving to the farm in ‘99, we renovated the kitchen around 2005 and put in a wine cooler – we could store 250 bottles in it, which seemed like a pretty reasonable number. Except it wasn’t. And so…
In 2011 we discussed putting in a wine room with a separate chiller. To be honest, I think Cathy was feeling a bit guilty about the money we were spending on her horses and she readily agreed we needed a cellar. Of course, she would benefit from the cellar as well. And so, we bit the bullet and installed it.
The Wine Cellar – Not quite at Capacity.
Our cellar holds around 950 bottles, although if you wanted to stack cases on the floor, you could add another 200 or so. I’d point out this is a drinking cellar. This isn’t a cellar for storing trophy wines. Everything in the cellar is meant to be consumed … over time. It’s stocked to our tastes. You’ll find sparkling wines, Virginia wines from a couple of our favorite vineyards (Linden and Glen Manor); California Pinots, Merlots, Cabs, and Zins; French, Italian, Sicilian, Spanish, South African and Portuguese reds; whites from a number of locations in the States and France; and some dessert wines. There’s a bottle of Georgian wine in there somewhere (the country, not the state). There are a couple of bottles from the late ‘90s, and then probably just about every year from 2000 to the present. We like the cellar and we like the inventory. We enjoy putting a dent in it with friends.
Wine Tasting in South Africa.
Now here’s the funny part. Although the cellar is ostensibly mine, Cathy has a palate that blows mine away. She’s much better in blind tastings at guessing the grape and where the wine is from. She recognizes the flavors and can talk about them. And if a wine has turned bad or is corked? She can tell just by smelling the wine before she’s even taken a sip. These days, when we go out to dinner and order a bottle of wine, I usually just tell the waiter or sommelier to let her taste the wine. She’s really good.
I suppose we’ve consumed thousands of bottles of wine over the last fifty years – at home or in restaurants; on picnics and vacations; at wineries; and of course with friends and family. There are lots of good memories associated with those bottles and gatherings.
Good Memories. Always.
“In vino veritas”, is a Latin phrase that means “In wine, there is truth”. The truth is we are still improving our palates, one bottle at a time.
Cathy says life is too short to drink bad wine. I think I agree.
As I walk and wander through the nearby woods this fall, I find my mind wandering as well. It is autumn in the autumn of my life and I feel the passage of time. Death and decline are both more evident, and not quite the strangers they once were.
A Walk in the Woods on an Autumn Day.
It is not my own death I contemplate or fear. I have made peace with who I am, what I am, and where I am. I’ve had a good and lucky life with little to complain about. When my time comes, I hope I have the courage to accept my blessings and be thankful for the life I’ve lived.
Rather, it is the death and decline of others that I’ve been dwelling on during my walks. I think of friends or family members taken too soon and though they are now at peace, those of us left behind in this world feel the sadness and emptiness of their passing. What we wouldn’t give for one more hug, one more smile, one more drink together, or one more conversation.
For some, death has come suddenly and unexpectedly. For others, we have marked their decline, whether from old age, cancer, or some other disease. Fighters all, they eventually succumb, whether after months, or a decade. And for some lucky few, they live a good life into old age before peacefully slipping away.
I’ve thought about that last paragraph a bit. How do we measure time’s passing, and how do we measure time passing in our relationships with others?
If I do die suddenly, whether tomorrow or in five years, I would tell my friends and family do not mourn me. Instead, keep my memory alive, tell stories about me or drink a toast to me. I’ve had a good life. Don’t be sad at my passing, but rejoice at the life I was able to live.
If I fall into decline, for whatever reason, I pray I have the grace to continue to love and treasure those around me, no matter my fears of what is coming, or the pain I am in. I know that caregivers often suffer as much, or more than the person they are giving care to. I hope that I am able to continue to love and appreciate those doing their best to help me. I know that is sometimes a difficult thing to do.
And if I’m one of the lucky few who live well to a ripe old age before peacefully slipping away? If my old friends, my wife, my family were to precede me in death, I would want to honor each of them and keep their memory alive. I also know I would want to continue to live, and grow, and celebrate each day. To go for walks, talk with other friends, stay active, and challenge my mind and body to the best of my abilities. I think that is how I could best honor them, until my own time here on earth ends.
Walking in the woods on an autumn day – it’s funny where your mind sometimes goes. Two thousand years ago, the Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius* said, “Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart”. I think his words still ring true.
Addendum:
⁃ *Marcus Aurelius in current times may be best known as the Emperor in the Movie Gladiator who is killed early in the film and gives Rome to Maximus, played by Russell Crowe. If you want to know the real Marcus Aurelius, I suggest you pick up his book, Meditations. It is a short read and filled with wisdom.
I started the blog “Live Life Exuberantly” eight years ago this week. I didn’t know where this journey would take me, but I’m somewhat amazed – 341 posts later, and it’s still going. One of the many things I’ve learned about myself along the way is that I’m more of a storyteller than a writer.
My first blog, “Why Live Life Exuberantly”, (a link is in the addendum) was published on October 19th, 2015. It was 300 words long and a reaction to a number of health issues or deaths several friends and family members were going through at the time. Looking back now, I think it was an attempt to start something new in life, partly to show myself I was still alive, and maybe growing.
The First Post – Eight Years Ago.
Since then, it’s been a strange journey. There is no discernible overall theme with the blog such as cooking, or politics, or history, or current events. In fact, it has been all over the place, which I think is both a strength and a weakness. I don’t attract people who want to focus on one subject only, whether it’s new recipes, or the latest fulminations about our current political environment. That “focused space” seems to be where most bloggers/writers are these days. This blog is pretty much the opposite, covering whatever happens to pique my interest at any given time.
Topics have included family history, Dad’s time in the Army, my time in the Army, Covid, our travels in Africa, racism, drinking stories, guest blogs from a couple of friends, current events, politics, our pets, baseball, cooking and food, Germany, Ukraine, random thoughts, friends and a host of other topics. I keep telling myself I’m going to cross reference them by general topic someday, but it hasn’t happened yet.
My 340 previous posts have generated around 83,000 views from over 60,000 visitors over the past eight years. I’ve written close to 400,000 words during that period of time. When the blog started, I averaged a post every two weeks or so. Now, I push something out on a weekly basis and average 150-250 views/post. The best ones have generated over 1,000 views. The less read, around 60-70. Those are pretty small potatoes compared to “real” bloggers. They mostly write daily and have thousands of views for each post.
My blogs with the lowest number of views tend to be cooking or baseball write ups. It’s funny, I know they aren’t going to be viewed/read much, but I can’t help myself from writing several of those over the course of a year. Sometimes a blog I think will have minimal viewing ends up exploding, while others I’ve poured my heart and soul into generate only minimal interest.
That last point led me to an observation about this effort – I’m writing as much for myself as for others. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m glad people read the blog and I track the statistics – but for me, a big part of the pleasure is in the writing. And, while I believe my writing has improved over the years, I know I’m not a particularly gifted writer. Ernest Hemingway and Toni Morrison can rest easy in their graves. Having said that, I do think I’ve inherited a bit of my dad’s ability to tell a story.
When we were kids sitting around the breakfast table on Saturday mornings, there would inevitably be uncles or aunts visiting and drinking coffee. Dad was great at telling stories from his childhood during the depression, or his time in the army. It didn’t matter how many times you heard them, he had a way of making them fresh, or funny, every time he told them. We’d sit there laughing as we heard for the tenth time how he and Uncle Mickey learned there was no Santa Claus. He was a natural storyteller.
Telling stories. Yea, I think that’s what I mostly do, and I thank dad for that gift. Some of these stories write themselves, and my fingers can barely keep up with my brain. Others, well, others take time and thought and struggle. The path isn’t always clear and I write, rewrite, throw away, and write again. I think I enjoy that struggle. It’s a challenge and makes me feel alive. It’s a bit like trying to solve a problem and I know I sometimes do a better job of solving the puzzle than others.
In all of this, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention my friend Colleen and my wife Cathy. Colleen has reviewed virtually all of my blogs for the past few years with edits and suggestions. She’s a real lifesaver. And Cathy? She keeps me grounded and has no problem saying, “What the hell are you thinking here?” Or, “Really? You’re going to write about that?”
I have no idea what the future will bring for me, or for “Live Life Exuberantly”. My guess is as long as I’m having fun, I’ll keep writing. And whether you are a regular, occasional or first-time reader, thanks for joining me on this journey. If you are a routine reader, I’m guessing the randomness of my topics is something you find interesting. I hope, at least occasionally, you find something that makes you smile, or makes you think.
In June of ‘83, I returned to America after serving 4 1/2 years with the Army in Germany. At the time, the Post-Vietnam dislike of soldiers was still alive, a decade after the war. Returning to the States, I had a good experience at the airport that still gives me shivers today.
Captain Hall in Early 1983. Commander, HHC, 34th Signal Battalion.
It’s different now and we as a country, or at least most of us, have learned to separate politics from the people serving in uniform. Back then? Post-Vietnam? We weren’t so great about how we treated our soldiers. I remember someone spitting at me as a cadet while walking in New York City in the mid-‘70s. In 1979, right before we first deployed to Germany, a woman from our church commented to my mom about how terrible it was that they as taxpayers had to pay for Cathy to go to Germany with me, and for us to be able to take some of our belongings with us. AND this was a woman from our church I’d know since I was a child.
Of course most family friends, and our close friends were great with us, but past that? Things were often ambiguous. None of this was as bad as soldiers put up with during Vietnam, but it would be years later before we (as a country) really learned to separate politics and our respect for our soldiers.
In June of ‘83, I turned over my Company Command in Stuttgart, Germany. I had a couple of weeks of additional work I needed to do, so Cathy flew back ahead of me. Finally it was time for me to go home and I flew on a commercial flight wearing civies. We landed at Dulles and I made my way to customs where the line seemed about a mile long. Several flights arrived at the same time, and the line wasn’t moving.
As I stood there, I noticed a young lady walking down the line looking at people in the line. Eventually she arrived in front of me and said “Are you in the Armed Forces?” I’m sure my short haircut and bearing probably gave me away.
I answered “Yes ma’am, the Army.” and she said “Follow me.”
I walked with her for quite awhile and we finally arrived at the front of the customs line. One of the stations opened up and she walked me over to it. The guy behind the counter looked at me and asked for my passport, or my military ID and orders, which I produced for him. He took a quick look, handed my papers back to me and then said, “Thank you for your service. Welcome home to the United States of America.”
I still get a shiver typing those words today. It was the first time someone went out of their way to thank me for what I was doing, and then welcomed me home to boot. It was such a little thing, but plainly had a huge impact on me. I remember it clear as a bell forty years later.
I’ve thought about this story lately. Probably since Panama in ‘89, and certainly since the First Gulf War, we’ve thanked our soldiers and shown respect for them. Unfortunately, an annual poll conducted last November by the Reagan Institute shows respect for the military dropping from 70% in 2017 to 48% in 2022. Much of the drop was attributed to people (from both sides) trying to politicize the military, or what the military was doing.
To be quite frank, most people today have no connection with our armed forces. Their sons and daughters aren’t in our military. If fact, over 70% of American youth today aren’t qualified for the military. They are overweight, or are doing illegal drugs, or are doing legal drugs that make them ineligible for military service. I fear that for many, saying thank-you is a cheap and easy way to feel good, while not really caring about our troops. Maybe I have that wrong, but I’m not so sure.
As time progresses, I’m hoping we as a nation can adult enough to remember to mentally separate politics and the soldiers serving in the military. I hope that we can take a couple of minutes to genuinely thank our troops. Not pro forma, but really thank them. We continue to owe them that much.
Addendum:
in a side note, in the 4 1/2 years we were gone on that tour, I only made it back to the States once. That was to attend my sister Tanya’s wedding. When Roberta married the next year, we couldn’t afford another trip home. It was one of the many family events we would miss over the course of our almost 9 years overseas.
Thanks to my wife Cathy for input to parts of this blog. As an Army wife, she too remembers those days. Like me, she is also concerned about the lack of connectivity between our society and our military today.
My friend Bob Bishop, straight out of the US Naval Academy, was interviewed by Admiral Hyman Rickover in 1964 for admission to the Navy’s Nuclear Power Program. Rickover, known as the “Father of the Nuclear Navy”, served in a flag (General Officer) rank for nearly 30 years (1953 to 1982), ending his career as a four-star admiral. His total of 63 years of active duty service make him the longest-serving naval officer, as well as the longest-serving member of the U.S armed forces, in history. In 1954, with the launch of the first nuclear submarine, the USS Nautilus, he appeared on the cover of Time Magazine.
Admiral Rickover on the Cover of Time in 1954
There were those who loved him and those who hated him. He exercised tight control for three decades over the ships, technology, and personnel of the nuclear Navy. He interviewed every single prospective officer considered for service in a nuclear ship in the US Navy until his retirement in 1982 at the age of 82.
According to Wikipedia, “over the course of Rickover’s career, these personal interviews numbered in the tens of thousands; over 14,000 interviews were with recent college-graduates alone.” Many of those interviews are now lost to history. Here is the story of Bob’s interview in his own words.
Bob in 1964 at the Naval Academy.
***********
Much has been written regarding the harshness of his interviews, but none can criticize the results. Certainly none of those who successfully emerged from the crucible would do so.
On Friday, January 21, 1964, I was a First Classman (senior) at the Naval Academy and joined 34 other classmates on a bus to DC to be interviewed for the nuclear power program. At the time, many offices of the Navy were still located in “temporary buildings” built on the Mall during the Second World War – and were still in use twenty years later.
There were lots of tidbits floating around about the interviews with Admiral Rickover, aka “The Kindly Old Gentleman,” (abbreviated KOG), although never called that to his face. One such rumor was that the chair you sat in was rigged so it rocked if you were nervous. Most importantly, you should answer any question quickly and decisively.
Needless to say, I was apprehensive. We (there were also a couple of busloads of Midshipmen from Navy ROTC schools) were herded into a large semi-circular room with simple folding chairs, arranged in rows facing the center of the room. There were four passageways leading out from that central hub like spokes on a wheel. There were a couple of vending machines and we were told a head (bathroom) was just down one of the passageways. We were told not to talk to one another. We were also told to remain in the room until your name was called, and that was all. To be honest, we were afraid to even go to the head, because what happened if your name was called and you weren’t there? So, there we sat. Soon, someone would come down one of the hallways and call out a Midshipman’s name. He (there were no women at the Naval Academy for another 13 years) would rise and go with him, and sometime later come back and sit down. The scuttlebutt was that each person would have three interviews before potentially meeting with the Admiral, although some had four and a few had five. Some of those interviews were short (5-10 minutes) and some were long (an hour plus). Also, you had no idea if the person interviewing you was a chief petty officer, a prospective commanding officer, a member of the Nuclear Reactors division or somebody else – they were all in their 40s-50s and all in civilian clothes.
I had three interviews and what we discussed became a blur – I was so focused on answering the questions, I really couldn’t remember the questions even immediately after they were asked. I was thinking on how I did, was I sitting up straight enough, remembering to be decisive, etc. The one question I remember most clearly was being asked about the window air-conditioning unit. I started into a description of the freon cycle when I was stopped. The questioner wanted to know why it didn’t fall out of the window. I started postulating about ways it could have been installed so it wouldn’t fall either in or out. I also remember being asked the value of studying naval history (pro and con), why I decided to go to the Naval Academy, what was Bernoulli’s equation, and why did I want to go into nuclear submarines.
Each time I went back into the central room, there were more and more empty seats. With no one to ask, I merely presumed they had finished the process. I worried and wondered if it was good news or bad that I was still there. As I sat there, morning became afternoon and afternoon night. Eventually, there were maybe three or four of us left. It was 8 something PM, and my name was called. I was led down a narrow corridor, lit only by bare light bulbs hanging down periodically the length of the corridor and into the distance. Light showed in the hallway from only one office, at the end of the corridor on the right. As we approached, my escort told me the Admiral’s yeoman (Navy admin) was gone and I should just walk past her desk and into the Admiral’s office and sit down in the empty seat.
I did and sat down in the Navy issue aluminum square channel chair, with a naugahyde seat. The room was a little dark. The scuttlebutt was right – the two front legs were shorter than the back legs, and one of the front legs was shorter than the other so that, if you were the least bit nervous, you would slide off the seat or rock sideways. I sat with my butt firmly implanted up to the back of the chair, giving thanks to the many hours I spent plebe year on “The Green Bench” (envision sitting in a chair against a wall, with your knees/lower legs at a 90° angle and your thighs/lower back also at a 90° angle – now take the chair away).
His office was a mess. It was about 10’ wide and 15’ deep. There was a bookcase behind me, another on the wall to my left, bookcases down each wall, and a big old wooden desk directly ahead. Each of the horizontal surfaces, including his desk, were piled high with a hodgepodge of varying heights of stacks of books, interspersed with folders. The door I came in was on my right, behind me. I was focused straight ahead (the Navy term was “keeping your eyes in the boat”), but my peripheral vision, and attention, was focused to my right so I could immediately rise as soon as he came in.
Three or four minutes passed when all of a sudden, I heard a loud voice say, “Why the f**k have you been wasting all your goddam time?” I immediately focused straight ahead and there he was, and had been the whole time, obviously just watching me. I never met an Admiral before and certainly never expected one to curse. Notwithstanding the advice to respond quickly and cogently, what do you suppose came out of my mouth? “Umm, er. . .” “What?!” he said. “I have been working hard, sir.” “Don’t give me that shit,” he replied. Our “discussion” did not go much better, although I don’t remember much of it, just the feeling it was going a lot less than well.
Things I remember vividly – At one point, I said something along the lines of “I think there is more to education than just book-learning.” Big mistake. Unfortunately, not the last. Our discussion circled back around to my grades (I thought afterwards he must have those in a folder on his desk). He asked what my class standing was going to be when I graduated. I knew I was doing pretty well but I had no idea what the current number was, so I said “55.” He replied, loudly, “WHAT?” I said “50?” a little plaintively. He said, “DO YOU MEAN . . . ?“ I quickly interrupted and said “45?” He roared “GET THE F**K OUT OF MY OFFICE!”, which I rapidly did.
Admiral Rickover – the “KOG“
What felt like a three-hour-long crucible under intense heat, actually lasted around twenty-two minutes. It took me a couple of hours, and a couple of scotches, to get my resting heart rate down. I also started thinking of what I wanted to do in the Navy, other than nuclear submarines, when I graduated. Plainly, I wasn’t going to be selected.
A couple of months later, a list was posted at each of the twenty-four company offices at the Academy. The word quickly spread so each of us Firsties (seniors) who had applied hurried down the corridor. If your name was on the list, you were in. I read the list, haltingly, three times to make sure that was really my name.
Postscript – I had three other interactions with the KOG during my six-plus year career in nuclear submarines. Not bad for a mere lieutenant, but those are stories for another time.
Bob Enjoying Life Last Week
Addendum:
if you have the time, it’s worth reading up on Admiral Rickover’s career. It was pretty amazing, although he actually only commanded one ship. Some of his detractors compared his hold on the Navy, and particularly the Nuclear Navy, to Hoover’s hold on the FBI for all of those decades. He was a brilliant man, and there’s no doubt our Nuclear Navy would not be where it is without him.
Bob is a wonderful storyteller. Here are two other blogs from his time in the Navy on a Nuclear Submarine:
The movie, “The Hunt for Red October” is child’s play, compared to what these submariners did on a daily basis … “The Comms Officer ran in and handed the CO the decoded message. The CO read the message, took the lanyard from his neck, unlocked the firing key cabinet, and reached in for the firing key. We were about to” […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2021/06/23/we-knew-we-were-at-war/
Crazy Ivan anyone? … In 1970, our sub, the USS Finback, was helping with Anti-Submarine Warfare training for NATO aircraft. An observer on the sub said “I think I understand your plan. You alternate going to port or starboard as soon as you submerge.” I responded, “Well, not actually”, and we walked over to […]. Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2022/04/13/submarine-games
Where is your Zen Zone? That is, what do you do, or what place do you go to that helps you relax, find peace and become accepting of what “is” in your life? Where do you go to bring balance to your life? I’m lucky, in that I have a place that works for me in today’s crazy world.
When I talk about a Zen Zone, I don’t really mean the full-on Buddhist Zen practice with meditation, aiming at enlightenment. I’m talking about finding a place of peace, contentment and balance in my life. A place that brings back some sanity to this mad world we live in these days.
How Do You Find a Place of Peace, Contentment and Balance?
If you go to the web and look up Zen, or Zen Zone, you find a number of descriptions, some of them not very Zen like. Many look distinctly as if they are coming from someone trying to make a buck, which isn’t particularly Zen. I did however, find a couple of definitions/comments that spoke to what I’m talking about:
Put simply, Zen is an orientation toward life that generates a sense of peace, equanimity, acceptance, and contentment. To be Zen is to be committed to maintaining clarity and remaining grounded in the present moment, no matter how challenging it is to do so.
“A space designed to be peaceful and calming. No matter what is happening outside this area, it allows me to have a small, predictable place in the world that was created specifically to comfort me.”
Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got. Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot. Wouldn’t you like to get away? (OK, kidding on this one – these are the opening lines of the old TV show Cheers, but doesn’t it sound sort of Zen like? 😉 … )
Over the years, I’ve done meditation off and on. When I was working full time, I often took a short ten-minute break in the middle of the day to meditate and re-center myself. I think it helped some, and certainly provided some grounding and calming. I wouldn’t say it was anything to do with Zen, or a Zen Zone, just taking a few minutes to find some peace and balance.
And now? Where’s my Zen Zone? Where do I relax, find peace and “meditate”? It’s an easy answer for me – on my daily walks in the woods. With my knee issues, I don’t run anymore, but I love to walk. Most afternoons you can find me, along with our dog Carmen, in the nearby woods on a three or four mile escape. Sometimes I remain attentive to nature and my surroundings, but other times, the “Zen times”, I lose track of where I am and what I’m doing. Suddenly, I come out of it a quarter mile from home. Hello!? Where am I? Oh yea, I remember now. Be thou at peace.
It’s a wonderful trick when it happens, although it doesn’t happen all of the time. And when it doesn’t happen, it’s still time well spent – a wonderful hike and enjoying what nature has to offer: the trees, animals, plants and views; wildflowers and ferns; a small stream or two; and of course, watching Carmen enjoy the walk as much as I do.
A Walk in the Woods Works for Me.
In either case, I always feel better after my walk. My mind is clearer and less stressed. Maybe I’ve solved a problem or two, or at least gained some perspective. Running and then later, walking, have always worked as exercise for me – burning off calories and trying to stay in reasonable shape. But the mental benefits aren’t to be undersold. As I become older, I am much more appreciative of those mental aspects.
What about you? Have you found such a zone? Perhaps running or walking? Working in the garden? Maybe hunting or fishing? Quilting? Yoga? Doing active meditation? What works for you? Where do you lose yourself and gain some balance in your life?
Making our way in the world today DOES take everything we’ve got. Politics, online garbage, traffic, aggressive people, health concerns, and other personal issues all raise our stress levels. Finding a Zen Zone can help make a difference, even if only for a few minutes each day. Taking a break from all our worries and reclaiming some balance and peace in our lives – I can live with that. Maybe the Cheers theme song was on to something after all.
“If you are depressed, you are living in the past. If you are anxious, you are living in the future. And, if you are at peace, you are living in the present.” ~ Lao Tzu
Addendum:
Zen is a school of Buddhism which emphasizes the practice of meditation as the key ingredient to awakening one’s inner nature, compassion and wisdom. The practice of meditation, as a means of attaining enlightenment
Ding dong, Snyder’s gone. Sing it low, shout it loud! Ding dong, Dan is gone. Don’t be slow, join the crowd!
It’s so sad one man and his hubris could single-handedly destroy an organization. Carbuncle is the descriptive word that comes to my mind.
In full disclosure, I’m a Green Bay Packers fan, but that doesn’t matter. Dan Snyder was such a carbuncle on the Commanders, the NFL and the DC region, it just feels good that he is finally gone. He may not be the most despised sports team owner ever, but he’s up there. He was so bad on so many levels.
FOOTBALL: – his lack of football knowledge – his inability to let the GM and coaches do their jobs – his constant interfering – his constant hiring and firing of coaches – his hiring of past their prime players – his lack of accepting responsibility – his constant need to blame someone else – his hiring of yes-men
THE FANS: – his poor treatment of the fans – his suing of season ticket holders – his selling of peanuts that he acquired after they passed their “sell by” date – his banning of signs at the stadium (because many were about him) – his lying about the season ticket wait-list
WOMEN: – his misogyny while running the team – his condoning taking nude pictures and videos of cheerleaders without their consent – his sexual harassment and probable sexual misconduct and assaults
CORPORATE: his constant lying and misdirection – his reading of over 400,000 internal emails, looking for others to blame – his toxic work environment – his statement about changing the name of the team: “We’ll never change the name. It’s that simple. NEVER. You can use caps.” – he was sued by three limited partners for corporate malfeasance – his interference with the NFL investigation of the Commanders – his hiding of ticket revenue from the NFL and defrauded season-ticket holders of their refundable deposits – The Washington, D.C. Attorney General sued the Commanders twice
1999-2023. Twenty four years was more than enough of the Snyder experience. EVERYONE is ready to move on.
You get the idea. Goodbye and good riddance Dan.
Ding dong, Snyder’s gone. Sing it low, shout it loud! Ding dong, Dan is gone. Don’t be slow, join the crowd!
Live Life Exuberantly 