Dem
47
GOP
53
This is going to be our last entry, for now. We think this series has accomplished some very good things, and it's certainly gotten positive feedback. So, it's our intention to bring it back next year, and in every June going forward.
We have been intending to run a list of all the entries in the series. As chance would have it, we did not have to do the legwork to compile the list, because reader D.M. in Santa Rosa, CA did it for us. Here's the full list:
Thanks for the assist, D.M.!
Wrapping up for now, it is reader A.R. in Los Angeles, CA, also known as (L):
When we were growing up, my siblings and I would often be awakened with "Up and at 'em!!" Hurry up was "on the double!" To go to the bathroom was to "hit the head" (and often still is), and when something confusing happened, we were to "hoist the 'what the hell' pennant." We were Navy brats and proud of it.
My father, Robert Francis Regan, was a modest man with a self-deprecating sense of humor and an Irishman's way with a story. He was awarded the Navy Cross and Silver Star for his service in World War II, having flown torpedo planes (the Avenger) off aircraft carriers in the Pacific. If you read the account in the Military Times' Hall of Valor for his Navy Cross medal, he "skillfully selected the best point of attack" and flew his bombing run "to a very low altitude despite intense anti-aircraft fire," scoring "two direct hits on a heavy cruiser." That's all true, but to hear him tell it, there's more to the story.
He had just been assigned Skipper of the squadron, and arrived on the carrier USS Belleau Wood to find the men mourning their former skipper, who'd just been killed in action. They were not happy to see the new guy. But he still needed to lead them on this mission. So, they headed out toward the harbor and as they approached the ships at port, my father dove down to 500 feet off the deck, as he'd been trained to do, avoiding incoming anti-aircraft fire. What he didn't know is that the men had never flown that low before, but they dutifully followed him in and completed their mission, sinking the cruiser without losing a single man. When they returned to the ship, the men greeted him very differently, with a newfound respect for this fearless badass. My father had accidentally won them over by not knowing any better and simply following his training—he always got a kick out of that. He was definitely not one to brag about his service, not only because it just wasn't who he was, but also because he was aware of the friends/comrades he lost as well as the men on the ships he bombed. He wasn't comfortable glorifying the war or his service, to the point that when I came across an interview he gave as a young pilot in which he used a slur to describe the Japanese and described them as "cowering" in the ship before the bombs dropped, he explained to me that he was wrong to speak that way and he regretted it. He seemed embarrassed by his youthful arrogance and callousness. Like the experience of many others, that was a painful and scary time that didn't call for romantic reminiscences. So, he would satisfy our intense curiosity by telling the same couple of stories whenever the topic came up.
Later, he flew jets, leading a squadron on assignments in the Middle East during the conflict between Egypt and Israel. At one point, my mother was supposed to meet him in Cairo for his R&R, but he sent her a telegram warning her not to come because it had gotten too dangerous. My mother, who was never one to take orders, pretended she hadn't gotten the telegram and joined him anyway. It seemed to work out, and I suspect he secretly admired her for taking the risk—he wasn't the only badass in the family. In the sixties, he taught at the Naval War College in Bethesda as a specialist in amphibious landings and continued to fly and train young pilots.
By the time I came along, he had been promoted to the rank of Captain and was nearing the end of his 30-year career. I asked him once why he wasn't promoted to Admiral, and he said that he hated the politics of it and was not going to campaign for something that should only be awarded on merit. He believed in fundamental fairness, a commitment to service, and the ideals of democracy and freedom that he proudly defended. He definitely passed those beliefs on to his youngest daughter and I hope I've lived up to them. He wasn't the easiest man—he could be very taciturn and distant and showing affection did not come easily to him. I know there are scars that never fully healed, as much as he downplayed all injuries, both physical and mental. But I never doubted his love for me or my family, and his fierce protectiveness always made me feel safe.
Most of all, I remember him as fun—taking me sledding and skating as a kid and to ballgames to watch his White Sox. He also perfected an eggnog recipe that will knock your socks off or, as he put it, "grow hair on your chest," and made the best tacos and margaritas north of the border. I'll close with one memory from when I was 3, and Dad was giving a speech to his troops on the deck of a giant aircraft carrier in Corpus Christi, TX, where we were stationed. There were hundreds of sailors standing at attention while he spoke, and a couple even fainted from the heat and for locking their knees for too long. When he finished, people were gathered around him with these admiring looks on their faces—clearly my Dad was a BIG deal. So, I confidently waddled through the crowd over to him and tugged on his dress whites. Without a word he lifted me up into his arms and held me while continuing his conversations—yeah, he may be a big deal but he's MY dad fellas, so there.
RIP Capt. Regan: I hope you and Mom are cracking each other up in Heaven.
Thanks, A.R.
Next week, we'll be starting something new. Similar in format, different in content. (Z)