HS-2 CSAR swimmers
This last week surrounding Memorial Day the internet has been flooded with memes reminding us to thank those who have served. I am a proud Navy brat. I know what those who serve—and those who wait for them—sacrifice. And I am grateful for every man and woman who has served even one day.
When my father died a year and a half ago my siblings and I requested his Navy records. We knew most of the stories, but there were still details we wanted. Needed.
We knew he’d spent a year overseas teaching the Iranian Imperial Navy to operate the sonar equipment on the helicopters Bell/Textron sold to the Shah. I remember more than one morning opening the paper to find a picture of yet another American killed by extremists there.
We knew he had picked up an unmanned Apollo spacecraft after splashdown. I learned he was actually involved in two pickups: Apollo AS-202 and Apollo 6.
We knew he had been on the USS Forrestal when it burned.
I remember one Saturday a few years later. He was mowing the back yard or something and noticed smoke rising from the Navy base a few miles from our house. He quickly drove there to find one of the copters on fire.
Sailors fighting the fire on the Forrestal
Sailors there were already dousing the flames. I don’t know if he arrived in time to help or not, but I do remember when he came home he took shower after shower trying to wash the smell of the smoke away.
I remember more than once meeting him at the base when he would come home after a cruise. The helicopter crews always came in a day or so before the rest of the ship. As soon as the carrier drew close enough to shore, the choppers took off and flew in to base. We’d go and wait in the hangers until they landed, watching them jump down and walk across the tarmac to us, like on of those slo-mo scenes in the movies.
At his funeral, which I did not attend, an obituary which would make Walter Mitty proud was read. He claimed to be a pilot, to have participated in several covert operations throughout the world, and to nearly single-handedly have flown everyone off the burning deck of the Forrestal. I don’t understand why. What he really did was, in my opinion, so much better.
He was an air crewman, involved in antisub-warfare and air-sea rescue. One of the stories I did not know was that his squadron received a citation from SECNAV. HS-2 (now HSC-12) developed the technique of nighttime in-flight refueling from a destroyer, and a means of carrying additional fuel, that allowed them to carry out CSAR (combat search and rescue) missions as far as 250 miles from a safe landing site—once remaining airborne for over eleven hours. They accomplished the first night rescue from enemy territory in North Vietnam. “Exercising outstanding professional skill, diligence, and resourcefulness, the personnel of Helicopter Antisubmarine Squadron Two worked together to form an indomitable team…. The notable record achieved by this squadron is an eloquent tribute to the courage, initiative, stamina, and skill of its gallant officers and men. Their inspiring devotion to the fulfillment of vital tasks reflects great credit upon themselves and the Untied States Naval Service.” ~Paul R Nitze, Secretary of the Navy
To be brutally honest, there’s not a lot in my father’s life to be proud of. He abandoned his family. He didn’t even know the names of my youngest kids when he died. He rejected all attempts at reconciliation. I’ve made my peace with that; I forgave him long ago. I know unforgiveness hurts the one bearing the grudge far more than the one who caused the pain. I’m aware he suffered many things in his life that led to his actions and I’m also aware of what he could have done differently.
Other than the far-reaching and disastrous effects of long-term alcohol abuse, my father’s military service is probably one of the few things I would happily share with my children. And though he may not have been the best husband or father, I can be certain there are children and grand-children somewhere that exist only because my father did his job, and did it well. Beyond well.
And somehow that’s enough.
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Hi Carole, Your story and mine are very parallel. My Dad (father of 6) was regular Navy Chief Petty Officer, I think they called him. He was a chef on various well-known ships and was at sea most of my childhood. My Mom figured my baby brother had been with my Dad a total of 2 months out of his first 7 years. When he came home he was a dictator, bossed us around as if we were his swabs, demanded perfection in everything (wrote his name in the dust on the top of the refrigerator so he could prove to my Mom when she last dusted it.) He terrorized our home and drove my sweet mother to suicide. She was revived so she lived through it, but life was “hell” for her, as well as for us. Yes, I forgave him, recognized he was driven (today would probably have been diagnosed PTSD) by demons I couldn’t imagine, and was oh so sorry for the torment he lived in, but couldn’t seem to find peace. Shortly before he died, he went into Mamma’s bedroom one night and asked her to get down on her knees and pray for him. He told her what he wanted her to say to God for him, saying he’d been too evil to approach God himself, but because she’d lived a Godly life, He would listen to her prayers. Then when she began praying, he stop her at intervals saying, “No, tell him this; or say this to Him….” I know the Lord heard his sinner’s prayer that night, and somehow God has it all figured out. HE has the whole picture in mind and HE’ll make sense of it all someday. I’m so thankful that God made it possible for me to learn about HIS SON, the Lord Jesus, and the eternal life HE offered to me! “Someday, we’ll understand it all.”
God bless you; love to John! “D”
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Thanks, ‘D’. I sure do miss you!
Knowing God has it all under control is the only consolation there is. Thanks for sharing your story with us.
Somehow most folks don’t understand the terrible price paid by our military folks and their families. So sorry for your loss.
My husband’s father also suffered from what we would now call PTSD. He served in the Navy before and during WWII. Hugh battled alcoholism most of his adult life, and passed away when my husband was 10 years old from a massive heart attack. My mother in law now says she is sure most of his problems were caused by flashbacks. Her second husband also served in WWII, amd was army. He was in the second wave of personnel to land on Omaha Beach thr day after D day, and “saw things no man should ever have to see,” in his words.
Thankful for all of these folks who have served. Thank you for sharing your story.
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I can’t imagine the things I know he saw. I know he lost most of his friends, saw them shot down. But he rejected help several times, too. Who can say?
Thanks for sharing your stories, too. We’ve made such a mess of our world. Only God can clean it up.
It was tough on guys to admit that they needed help. As you said, without his actions, many families would have beem without their husbands and dads. Maybe it was some kind of a weird guilt complex. That, coupled with the damage that alcohol causes to the brain with long term abuse, clouds the reasoning process required to accept help. Don’t know. I am so sorry for what your family went through. Thank God (literally) for grace and the peace that passes all understanding.