For My Dead Classmates

Two hours into the first leg home from our Africa/Seychelles trip, I flip on the plane’s flight tracker to see how far out we are from our layover in Doha, Qatar.   We’re flying northeasterly above the Gulf of Aden to presumably skirt the border between Yemen and Oman.  With the recent news of the Navy aircraft carrier losing a couple of F/A-18 fighter jets, I’m reminded that there are sailors in harm’s way.  I instinctively check the altitude; we were still leveled out at our cruising altitude of 41,000’.  Before I pick up my iPhone, I ask myself, “Do I really want to know the range and altitude specs of Houthi missiles?”

I put my phone down and quietly thanked the pilot and his plan to avoid Yemeni airspace.

The Indian Ocean, Gulf of Aden, Red Sea, Arabian Sea, Straits of Hormuz, Persian Gulf – all key buzzwords from my time spent in the Navy.  While I never spent any time in these garden-spots on active duty (my three-deployments were conducted in the Mediterranean, North Atlantic, and Caribbean seas), I reflect on how dangerous life at sea can be.

Grenada was my first combat experience.  1983 was a long time ago, and I had to Google-search the casualties.  4 Navy Seals, 8 Army Rangers, and 19 Marines died in the effort to liberate some 700 medical students from the island.  One particularly harrowing scene occurred as I was standing watch as Officer-of-the-Deck on the aircraft carrier USS Independence (CV-62) when an unidentified “bogey” (aircraft) was approaching the task force.  Not responding to communications, a then-state-of-the-art F-14 was scrambled to ward off the unauthorized intruder as we were launching bomb-laden A-6 Intruders and A-7 Corsairs, while alternately receiving injured soldiers and Marines being triaged on the flight deck below. Although it turned out to be “just” a small Cessna aircraft carrying an industrious news reporter, it led to some extraordinarily tense moments on the bridge, sprinkled with stark reminders of sacrifices in the form of lost limbs and shrapnel wounds being medevac’d off the battlefield.

Memorial Hall is a hallowed area in the heart of Bancroft Hall, the United States Naval Academy dormitory.  All the Naval Academy attendees (alumni and non-graduates) listed on the walls are those who lost their lives while serving in the line of duty.    These men and women gave the ultimate sacrifice in supporting and defending the Constitution of the United States of America. Over 2,700 former Midshipmen are memorialized here, including over 1,000 alumni killed in battle, and 73 who have been awarded the Medal of Honor, the highest and most prestigious military award recognizing acts of valor.

Memorial Hall is a solemn place that elicits a gut-level swirl of deep emotion. Memories of fallen classmates engage in a slow, soulful dance with personally experienced scrapes with danger.  The “Don’t Give Up the Ship” flag presides over the echo of oaths sworn that ripple across the goosebumps on my arms and neck.  A 1962 graduate once said, “This is the Sistine Chapel of the Navy. It’s not the same as a chapel, but there’s a deep, deep reverence of dignity, overwhelming dignity that can’t be replicated anywhere.”

Thirteen of my classmates from the Class of 1981 are commemorated here.  Ten of them died in the first 8 years following graduation, including two friends, Dave Nairn and Glenn Ziegler.  Dave was killed in the 1983 suicide bomb attack on the Marine Barracks in Beirut. Glenn died in 1985 when the A-6 he was aboard disappeared after practice bombing runs off the coast of Venezuela.

These were the Reagan years, the Golden Years of a resurgence of respect for the military in the post-Vietnam War era.  The Soviet Union was our arch-nemesis and there was very little debate as to who was the biggest threat to democracy and the American way of life.    We were building up to a 600-ship Navy, our economy was booming, our standing on the world stage was unmatched in our promotion and defense of democratic ideals.  When Reagan famously commanded at the Berlin Wall to “Tear down this wall”, the Russians complied.  It was a good time to be in uniform! When I left the Navy in May 1989, democracy and the American way of life seemed to be in a pretty good spot.

The last classmate who died while serving on active duty was Bob Dolan, who was in his office at the Pentagon when it was struck by Flight 77 on September 11, 2001.   The funeral mass was held at the Naval Academy chapel.  It was packed with Bob’s family, friends, classmates, and the choir from Bishop Ireton High School, his children’s school.  Everyone there was in a daze, still reeling from the assault on our sovereign soil.  At the end of the service, we proceeded outside, and as we gathered on the chapel steps, the sound of a lone jetliner ominously flew above.  Nobody spoke as everyone gazed upward.  It was the first plane flying I had seen since the attacks of 9-11. It aggressively assaulted my senses as it appeared as a large missile with wings.  I have never looked at a plane any other way since.   The world has never felt the same to me since.

As we head into the 44^th Memorial Day since our graduation and commissioning, my mind darts back to Dave, Glenn, Bob, and my other classmates and fellow alumni whose names are etched in Memorial Hall.  I wonder how they, sitting in a rightful place of honor, having paid the ultimate sacrifice while in service to our country, view how well we, the survivors, have been stewards of our Constitutional oath as the world changes around us.  I have questions.

For my dead classmates: How do you view the evolution of our country that “woke” books have been removed from our alma mater’s Nimitz Library? Is this a veritable “book burning”?   Am I overreacting?

For my dead classmates: Is cozying up to authoritarian leaders and slow-rolling support for Ukraine’s fight for democracy in compliance with either the spirit or the letter of your oath? What does Reagan think about all this?

For my dead classmates: What are your thoughts on mass pardons of January 6 attackers, and the $5 million payment for “patriot” Ashli Babbitt for her role in attacking the U.S. Capitol?  What did your families get?

And finally, for my dead classmates: Would you do it again?  Would you sign up and be willing to sacrifice your life in support and defense of the Constitution of the United States based on the way we survivors have carried the torch?

My own highly unscientific polling reveals that a vast majority of our classmates and veterans would, in fact, sign up again.  Some find the current corrective actions necessary for the return to a “better” era; some hold their nose at the politics to support fewer restraints on free-market capitalism.  While I am unshakably proud of my service, the seeming collapse of our government’s balance of powers and dissolution of the church/state boundary make me feel like the torch we’ve been asked to carry has become an incendiary device, designed to burn the Constitution, not defend it.  And then what are we fighting for?

I’m not sure I’m a volunteer this time around.  The ideals we are defending and fighting for have become too clouded for me to see clearly as I thought I did as a young man.

Growing up in a career Naval officer’s family, I was most certainly indoctrinated to feel and act a certain way about patriotism, where the honor of service allowed us to make sacrifices for the betterment of our country and our communities. “Hate”, a strong word my mother would say, was reserved for the big red Soviet enemy during the Cold War.  Our victory in the Cold War, it seems, has taken our hate of enemies of the state and redirected it towards our personal vendettas.  The noisy, aggressive flapping of left wing libtards and right wing contards has drowned out the heartbeat of our once great, always imperfect, nation. Collectively, we act as if we have forgotten the sweet taste of democracy, the joyful relief of kissing the ground of freedom under our feet. 

For my dead classmates, and all who gave their lives serving our nation, thank you!  

For us survivors, Don’t Give Up the Ship!  Take a moment of reflection and gratitude, then kiss the ground of freedom so many have given their lives for. 

I, Patrick M. McBride, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.