I am revisiting this post because it sings to me. Also, I realized I went all of June with no posts. Bad blogger, naughty, naughty. Busy is not an excuse. I will work on it. In the meantime, enjoy your freedom and remember that there are thousands of fellow Americans standing on the ramparts, under the sea, and overseas defending your rights this very moment. We must pay that bill each day to keep free.
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We celebrate our independence from Great Britain on July 4th. Big deal, right? I mean, the Brits are pretty cool. They have better bands, better medical for the poor, etc. So what.
To put this in historical perspective, Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton, Franklin, and the others all stood up and said, “Get out. Go back to England and take your tyranny with you.” Each knew they might be dead at the end of a rope for saying this, and that all their property would be forfeit to the King. They would leave their families nothing and die as traitors.
But these men, all of whom shared a vision, banded together and threw out the most powerful nation on Earth. How? Well, a lot of them had guns. The kind of guns that the opponents of the Second Amendment won’t acknowledge: privately owned guns. You see, a “well organized militia” at that time just meant that you couldn’t claim the protection of the Constitution if you were a lone jerk with a rifle shooting tax collectors for fun. Nope. But when you, and your fellow subjects, decided to become citizens and not subjects, that’s what the guns were for. Not hunting. Not even home protection. But your right to keep an oppressive government off of your back.
Recently, a very liberal friend of mine said, “I wanted to ask your opinion on this because you’re pretty anti-government.” I laughed. Then I thought about it some more. I am pretty anti-government. I like not having some jerk in city hall, or the state capital, or Washington, decide how many eggs I can eat for breakfast. Laugh if you will, but the Nanny State is already deciding how many ounces of soda you can buy in one serving. More than being anti-government, I’m anti-stupid. It’s just that the Venn Diagram of Stupid and Government overlaps almost perfectly.
Government should be far smaller than what it is now. The founders figured it would be good for collecting tariffs and organizing our defense. Not much else. Too many things are overly regulated by, and subsidized by government. The feds are the worst: they think that if it happens inside of the borders, they ought to have a piece of the action. Shall we explain federalism?
But for the Fourth, let’s go back to where it all started: individual freedom granted by God. Last time I looked, Nancy Pelosi and Chucky Schumer had about as much right to tell me where my moral compass is out of skew as Charles Manson and Ted Bundy. The second pair are better, both are already burning in hell. We, the American people need to vote these fossilized remnants of another age out of office. Term limits on every office. Once again, citizen legislators to represent the people, not their retirement check. Right now, the ensemble in most legislative bodies, as well as city councils, does not have the average citizen in mind when they rule.
I love this country. I have served this country. I will defend it if called upon again. I advocate no violence against any politician, but I do advocate a damned good thrashing at the ballot box in every election for every incumbent.
I leave you with a song that never fails to move me. I can still tell you where I was the very first time I heard it: University Avenue in Saint Paul, Minnesota outside a car dealership where I was helping my mom shop for a car. Enjoy it today, along with the freedoms so many have given their all to provide.
Evans peeled himself off the deck and looked around. Everything looked normal, except that it was way too quiet. Standing next to the shaft as it rotated should be very loud. This was very quiet.
A moment later, his Chief walked over and stared at the gigantic pipe that allowed seawater to come in and cool the reactor. “I was sure that thing had sprung a leak. It started out making a hissing noise and then it seemed to let loose. Hundreds of gallons a second. We took a hit on the reactor and then it went dark just as I figured out where the leak was. Leak, hell, more like a gaping hole. The welds just let loose. But here we are and it looks like it just came out of the yards. What the heck is going on?”
Evans shook his head in dismay and realized that his stiff neck wasn’t so stiff anymore. “Hey, Chief, is your knee still sore where you got whacked Monday?”
The Chief picked his foot up and flexed his knee a couple of times. “Nope, feels great. Hey, looks like we’ve got an up-angle on the boat. Wonder what’s up?”
The 1MC speaker in the compartment was clearly heard for the first time in memory: no engine noise to drown it out. “Attention all hands. We’re still trying to figure out what happened a few minutes ago. We’re at 450 feet depth and headed to the roof. The XO and I are still trying to put that in order with our excursion to test depth just as the lights went out. We’ll keep you updated.”
Ten minutes later, they hit the magic mark for periscope depth. The scope went up and the Captain gave the all clear, no shadows no objects in sight. Up to the surface they went, and the bridge was manned, allowing fresh air into the boat for the first time in days. While all this was going on, damage control parties scoured the boat, but could find nothing out of order.
Once on the surface, the lookouts started pointing out smoke and the wakes of other ships in the area. It was as if they’d appeared out of thin air.
Twenty minutes later, with a full repel boarders team on the sail armed to the teeth, the first of the mystery vessels hove to just abeam of the boat. A pasty faced man with a megaphone stood in the conning tower of a Gato class boat – which hadn’t been around for decades at this point. What navy still sailed these ancient boats?
That question was answered a moment later when the man with the megaphone identified himself as the skipper of the U.S.S. Grunion. “Ahoy, United States Submarine to my starboard. This is the Grunion. Can you hear me?”
The skipper of the nuclear boat shook his head. He must be hallucinating, because he remembered the fate of the Grunion from his time at the Naval Academy. While he thought of his response, another boat pulled up on his other side. And her hull number showed her to be the U.S.S. Thresher. Another boat that was lost before he was born. What the heck was happening here?
“I hear you, Grunion. What’s going on here? You were reported lost in the early days of WWII?”
“It’s Memorial Day back home, Captain. Each year we all meet up and have a steel beach party, or head to that island off your nose for a big barbecue. This year it’s the beach for us. All of us on Eternal Patrol have but each other in this afterlife. And while we still patrol for the United States Navy, we are due some beer and brisket once a year. Today’s the day.”
The boat’s captain just stared at the dozens of boats now gathered around him, most hooting their horns in welcome. “Is there a port on the island?”
The Grunion’s captain laughed, “No need. The laws of physics are suspended on this day each year. Just drive up on the beach at a couple of knots. Tide comes in about 8 hours from now and we just float off and go back on patrol. You’re our newest boat, you guys just joined this elite fleet a week ago. They’re still looking for you off the Canary Islands. But don’t worry, they’ll find you Thursday and let your families know.”
The Captain keyed the bridge microphone and directed the helm to make for the island at 3 knots. He turned to the X.O. (Executive Officer) and said, “I knew we were screwed when we passed through test depth. But this looks to be interesting. You sure the boat is absolutely perfect physically?”
The X.O. nodded. “Yessir, and it appears we have stores on board for a very long patrol.
The Captain smiled. “Like on Eternal Patrol?”
“Yessir, exactly like that. But I can’t wait to hear the stories those smoke boat guys have to tell. I’ll get the cooks to make that vanilla pudding you like so much and pull all the scoopie ice cream out of the reefers for the beach. And, Sir, I’m glad it’s this crew for the rest of eternity. Best bunch of sailors ever.”
“Thanks, X.O. Looks like we might even get every NUB on board qualified before we go on to the next stop. First boat in a long time to manage that trick.” And one-by-one, all of the boats in the flotilla pointed toward the island just off their bows and headed to meet the other men who had been on patrol for decades.
First, I spend an average of 2 hours a day fencing my lot. It involves 2.5 tons of concrete to mix, 150 fence posts, and a manual posthole digger. That usually leaves me shagged out, as I do it every-other day most times.
Tuesdays and Thursdays I go to Krav Maga. Now, for those that don’t recognize that little term, it’s the self-defense/fighting style of the Israeli Defense Force. It’s codified dirty fighting in the opinion of some. As a former student of judo many years ago, I can attest to how effective it is in teaching survival skills. My police academy instructors would have loved this back in the day. At the end of the class, I’m soaked in sweat and more useless than usual.
I’ve also been beta-reading Michael DiMercurio’s latest book. It’s fantastic. We expect it out later this fall. Still have to do the audio book, but that’s pending the publisher’s approval of the manuscript.
Almost last but not least, on the big reasons for missing my job here on the blog, I finally finished the edit/narration of the devotional (up on the right side of the blog.) Massive amounts of time went into that, since it had over 370 sound files to perfect. But, and it’s just my humble opinion, REASONED RESILIENCY: A RATIONAL DEVOTIONAL FOR FIRST RESPONDERS is awesome.
Finally, I’m working on a secret project for an author. God has a funny way of putting people together, and it turns out I knew this guy decades ago. His books are incredible, and I have some unique skills that made me the ideal for narrating it. I will reveal more when he gives the greenlight, but I’m loving the heck out of the work.
Sorry for the long absence. To say I’ve been busy wouldn’t cover it. Family issues, work issues, yard stuff, some good, some bad. But all have kept me from the blog. Today I try to make ammends.
The entry below was published ten years ago, I’ve modified the dates to make it work. I still miss my friend Pete. But with all the chaos in my life at the moment the anniversary slipped by me yesterday. Someday you get to hear about the chaos. But not today. Today we remember Pete.
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Seventeen years ago yesterday I wasn’t sure about the whole “made it out alive” thing regarding winter. It was the tail end of another long winter and I was working nights back then as well. Part of that night shift meant waking up in the middle of the afternoon and dealing with all the things that had transpired earlier in the day. On April 28th, 2006 I awoke to the worst email of my life.
I started reading an email from my friend Peter Craig. Peter was my hero. He took me to sea on my first submarine operation and we spent a month doing stuff right out of a Tom Clancy novel. No details, but we burned up some serious miles and had some exciting times doing what we did best – classified. Pete had a bizarre sense of humor on occasion and the email was no doubt the prelude to some elaborate joke that he was foisting on a select group of his friends. There were about a dozen of us that he’d sent the email to that day and only when I got to the bottom of the page did I realize that my life had just changed forever.
Peter, you see, had written his own obituary in an email and then sent it to his closest friends. While I’m honored to be in that group it was an awful way to wake up that day. I read it again, not sure if it was a joke or not. The closing line was that by the time we read the email he’d be dead by his own hand.
I found out that day that it’s really hard to get in touch with local law enforcement unless you dial 911 in most places. When I finally got through to the Reno Police a very nice dispatcher calmly asked me if I would mind holding for the Coroner’s office. My heart sank through the floor and I started to weep. I was no longer frantic to try and save my friend. I knew there was no chance to beat the bullet that he’d aimed at himself.
The coroner was kind. It seems that he’d gotten calls from Peter’s friends all over the world (we were all either military or ex-military and covered four continents.) He told me that Peter had died right after sending the email. The coroner was kind enough to provide me with a number where I could reach Peter’s wife, Tami. I hung up in shock. It is all still a bit of a blur. I have been weeping while writing this blog post and the whole world is stained with tears.
Peter didn’t live to see the beautiful memorial service we held for him. We even hired a bag piper to play Amazing Grace because Peter was a Scotsman, and Anchors Aweigh in honor of his 20 years of service to the United States of America. It took me over two years to make it all the way through Amazing Grace without choking up as a result of that day. His friends had assembled from the four corners of the earth to honor a man we knew and loved. And we were greatly diminished with the loss of one of our brothers.
Peter was a fantastic Cryptologic Linguist and one of the sweetest people I ever knew. He may not have been number 1 on the language test each year but his encyclopedic knowledge of the Middle East and North Africa was beyond what anyone else even dreamed of back then. He’d been around so long that he’d done special operations on the U.S.S. Nautilus and almost every ship and submarine that had been in the Mediterranean in the 18 years prior to his retirement. Everyone that knew Pete knew he was the only one of his kind.
Seven years later much has changed in my life. I found Christ again. He’d never lost me, but I sure turned my back on Him. Dumb. I still work at the same place and do the same thing. But other events have happened that Peter wasn’t around to witness.
Peter missed the greatest years of his son Brenden’s life. Brenden is all grown up now. He’s a fine man and I’m privileged to have attended his high school graduation as the surrogate father figure. I held him when he was just a baby. And this past week he had a son of his own. Peter will never get to know his first grandchild and play with the lad. And that’s the real tragedy of this whole thing – the things that he could have done if he’d made it past that depression.
Peter was depressed the last few years of his life. And like a lot of people with mental health problems the rest of us missed it happening. I would occasionally instant message him and chat on the internet but I had no indications that he was in trouble. When all of his friends got together we agreed that if we’d known he was in trouble somebody would have hopped a plane and been with him in hours. That’s how spooks do things – it’s as tight-knit a community as the special warfare guys. At least it was back in my day.
In hopes that this sad blog will do some good, and I’m an optimist, please take a moment to inventory your friends. Think about any with depression and give them a call. Let them know you love them and are there for them. And look to the bottom of this blog if they, or you, are suicidal. Help is just a click or a phone call away at 1-800-273-8255. I don’t want to lose any more friends. At a minimum, pray for them and all those who are contemplating suicide this moment.
Suicide isn’t painless. It almost kills the ones left behind. Nobody ever taught anyone a lesson by taking their own life. They’re gone and we’re left empty. All the deceased gets is a little box on a marble wall with their name taped up until the bronze plate arrives. I searched the internet and couldn’t even find a picture of the old scoundrel. So I’m going to put up one of my favorites instead.
Peter C. Craig
I’d hope that God has taken Peter in to His Kingdom and soothed that ache in Pete’s heart. I know that if I could do it across the voids of time and space I would give it my all.
I wrote the following item for a website dedicated to Pete just after his memorial service in May of 2006. It’s how I felt that day, and it reflects my growing (at that time) awareness that God was working in my life. It is full of naval jargon, some of which I need to explain:
Tech Kit – a case of classified documents we carried with us. We could never let anyone else carry it for us. It’s the stuff they handcuff to the courier in the movies.
Admiral’s Barge – the really fancy boat that the admiral rides in back and forth to the big ship.
White Hat – slang for enlisted men who wore the “dixie cup” white hat. E6 and below.
Arling – Arabic Linguist.
When a significant figure of authority, or an honored guest, boards a ship the Watch (sentry) rings a bell. When a really big shot shows up, they get four bells and a Bos’un (Boatswain’s Mate) blows a special pipe. Probably sounds closer to a dog whistle but that’s what we called it in the United States Navy.
The tribute appears as it appeared on the website. There is a photo montage just below it for his friends to look at and remember. The pictures without Pete are from our gathering in Reno to remember him.
As he trudged down the long quay the fog started to lift. He wasn’t sure where he was, just that he was really tired and he somehow knew he was cross-decking yet again. It never seemed to end. His bag was heavy and his feet blistered and sore, and he was as thirsty as he’d ever been.
A man came out of the fog and held out his hand to take the tech kit and the sea bag. He handed over the sea bag but held on to the sturdy case, saying “Appreciate the hand, but this one I’ve got to keep with me.” The other man nodded silently and beckoned him to follow.
When they came to the end of the pier there was an Admiral’s Barge waiting with a full set of deckhands in jumper whites. Requesting permission to come aboard, he stepped down into the cabin. The silent man handed him his bag and rendered a salute, saying “Could have used you on my cruise. I hear you’re a fine sailor.”
Our boy turned to one of the Boatswains Mates and asked, “Who was that?”
“I believe his name’s Noah,” responded the sailor. Peter nodded and decided to take a nap while they motored away from the pier. It seemed he couldn’t possibly sleep too much lately.
When he woke, the seas were calm and the cry of gulls was like song in the air. As he stepped on to the accommodation ladder, he heard a pipe shrill and a bell ring four times. When he reached the quarterdeck of the largest ship he’d ever seen a brilliant figure reached out a hand and took the tech kit and sea bag from him. This time it seemed right to hand them over. After saluting the colors at the fantail and requesting permission to come aboard, he stepped down on the deck and felt much better. His thirst was gone and his weariness lifted.
The figure who’d taken his tech kit welcomed him and said, “Chief, I’ve been waiting for you. We’ve got a lot of work to do with your youngsters. Seems Arlings haven’t changed and they need someone to watch over them.”
“Sir, I’m not a CPO, I’m a white hat and work for a living. I appreciate the honorific, but it’s not appropriate.”
“Well, I’ve got the authority to promote based on merit at this command, and you’ve earned it. As a matter of fact, I’ve got a set of wings for you as well.”
Peter started to laugh and said, “Fish, maybe, but never wings. Real CT’s don’t wear fish and I was never a flyer.”
“Come here, Son, and look in the mirror.”
Peter looked into a mirror mounted on the bulkhead and was surprised to see himself at 20, all of the gray hair gone, no more glasses, skinny with a tan and a smile that would dazzle the sun itself. And at the edges of his vision were two of the largest wings an angel had ever sported.
Peter drew himself to attention, snapped a salute and said, “Sir, Cryptologic Technician Interpretive Peter C. Craig reporting as ordered. When do I begin my new duties?”
“I expected that question from you, and the answer is soon, Chief. But first, there’s a whole bunch of people who’ve been waiting to see you again and you deserve a rest before we get to work. Stand easy, Sailor. Welcome aboard your final command.”
A young Pete Craig.
Thanks, Peter, for being a great friend and a superlative “sea daddy.” I miss you terribly to this day.
Last week I had really good intentions about writing the blog. Honest. But good intentions and the real world often run into each other on the great data ring of life. Much like older networks, I lost some packets and dropped the mess into the bit bucket. My apologies.
Today I would simply like to say I’m thankful. For a lot of things, but first my family, especially my wife. The rest are pretty good as well, and my sister Jean is at the top of that heap. She actually finishes ahead of the dogs lately, and considering how much I love them, she’s obviously very special.
I’m also thankful for Cyndi Lauper and her music. Pat Benatar, Joan Jett, the Bangles, The B-52s – well, for all of the groups from the 80s who make my manual labor putting in the new fence just that much better. I love their work and the memories it brings.
I’m also thankful for my neighbors. Wonderful people. Alex and Gabbie who feed me, Elvis for his help with my tree farm and his fresh eggs, Rafael and Ruth for their help in getting our house finished (Rafael is a wonder with stuff I’m a clod with – like hanging big televisions), and countless others who make sure we survive the move. (It’s still going on, details follow in a few weeks.)
I also want to thank my church family: you all help me get through the week with prayers, companionship, and some darned fine food at gatherings. Someday I’ll actually make something again – I’m a bit behind on calorie contributions.
My thanks also to the Salvation Army for letting me have way too much spiritual enhancement as a volunteer. Every time I show up there, my spiritual life grows and gets better.
I also want to thank all of you who have reviewed one of my audio books or books I’ve authored. If you haven’t yet, thanks in advance – I need reviews more than you can imagine. I’ll even show you how to do it!
Finally, for today, my deepest thanks to Michael DiMercurio, Kerry Nietz, Rabbi Juan Bejarano-Gutierrez, Frank and Charles Hood, and Dana McNeely for the chance to narrate their books in the past two years. They have taught me a great number of things, and increased my range with their fine works. This does not mean I am not grateful to the other authors whom I’ve narrated for, but the last two years have been super busy and wonderful. And, of course, Richard Simmons as my muse and mentor in narrating. At least according to one crabby author.