lessonslearned Moment of Truth I


Returning to port after a deployment, a confi dent offi cer of the deck aboard a destroyer encounters an obstacle that changes his perspective on his own capabilities.


In 1961, I qualified as officer of the deck (OOD) on USS Bache (DDE- 470). The word was passed for me to go to the XO’s offi ce, where I was met by the XO and the operations offi cer, my boss. After the congratulations that I had qualifi ed as an OOD, I felt pretty good about myself. When we steamed into New York harbor, I had the deck. I also had the deck when we went down the Saint Lawrence Seaway at fl ank speed. The pilot on board really enjoyed the ride — especially when the CO gave him permission to dip colors, signaling his wife, as we passed by his home. My head swelled further when, during night ops, a sister ship “embarrassed” us cutting across our bow. The bosun mate of the watch’s fi nger was millimeters away from sounding the collision alarm. Coolly, I told him we were all right and to belay sound- ing the alarm. At least, I


hoped we were all right! The sister ship righted her turn, missing us. I was as relieved as everyone else on the bridge. At the club later, I found out the OOD on the sister ship was a friend of mine from operations school. Naturally, I briefed the captain on it as a minor incident of no real consequence.


A couple of incidents later — includ- ing one that involved parting the lines


74 MILITARY OFFICER JULY 2015


during refueling in heavy seas — my swelled head had defl ated. Another inci- dent happened when Bache was return- ing to port after a deployment during which we had hit heavy weather. Outside Bache’s berth was a “dead


man,” a small concrete obstacle for small craft to tie up. The XO and my boss had briefed me in detail on the set and drift. My boss said with a smile, “Don’t hit that damn thing.”


I could see the dead man. I could see


the wives on the pier waving. But the ship was not going where I told it to go. The crunching sound as we scraped the dead man turned my stomach. This was no fault of the helmsman or the annun- ciator man. It was all on me. I wanted to hide in the paint locker. Even worse was the expression of the


self-awareness


chief boatswain’s mate. It was heart- wrenching. It asked, How could you do this to me?


Hitting a dead man is truly a humbling


experience, a valuable reminder you are not as good as you think you are.


MO


— John P. Gower retired from the Navy Re- serve as a lieutenant commander. He lives in Rockville, Md. For submission information, see page 6.


Tell Your Story Submit your lessons learned by email to profseries@moaa.org or by mail to MOAA Professional Series, 201 N. Washington St., Al- exandria, VA 22314. All submissions will be con- sidered for publication.


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