Chapters from "TIME TRIALS"
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Lessons Not Learned
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Just a few decades after the United States’ tragic venture in Vietnam, we stumbled into the Iraq War. The catalyst was the September 11, 2001 attack on the World Trade Center in Manhattan and the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. With such colossal events, a balanced perspective is easily lost.
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President George W. Bush stepped in, perhaps relishing the role of a “wartime President,” raised the level of anxiety, and Congress followed like a flock of lemmings. In his mind, Bush knew the culprit. With the urging of hawks Donald Rumsfeld, Secretary of Defense, and Paul Wolfowitz, his deputy, he ordered that Iraq, under the leadership of Saddam Hussain, be invaded and Hussain eliminated. The two defense officials with Vice-President, Dick Cheney, became known as the “axis of war” by skeptics. This, of course, was a take-off on Bush’s hyperbolic remark in his State of the Union address in 2002 about North Korea, Iran, and Iraq.
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National security advisor Richard Clarke was stunned. Iraq had nothing to do with the strike, but Bush and cohorts were looking for an excuse to hammer Hussain. Fifteen of 19 hijackers were Saudis, and Saudi Arabia was heralded as a friend of the United States.
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The President took his case to Congress, and the mainstream press responded with patriotic fervor. Yet, it didn’t take much investigative journalism to reveal the folly of this ill-conceived mission. Alternative media, such as The Nation, McClatchy newspaper, Mother Jones, and a host of others did their homework and questioned the national response. Only one U.S. senator, Russ Feingold, a Wisconsin Democrat, voted against the resolution that gave Bush an open invitation to attack Iraq. Other Senate Democrats, including Hillary Clinton and Joe Biden fell in line.
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Of the 155 (out of 435 ) house of representatives, who voted NAY on the resolution, only four were Republicans (John Hostettler, Indiana; Amo Houghton, New York; Gresham Barrett, South Carolina; and Ron Paul, Texas).
Former General Colin Powell, then Secretary of State, went before the UN Security Council and made the dubious case for Iraq possessing Weapons of Mass Destructions (WMDs). Congress never investigated Powell’s use of intelligence, but even the general had reservations. As he expressed to Larry Wilkerson, his chief of staff, “I wonder how we will feel if we put a half million troops into Iraq and march from one end of the country to the other and find nothing."
Senator Russ Feingold
General Colin Powell
Of course, that is precisely what happened. Later, General Powell expressed deep regrets. He called the decision “painful and something always part of my record.” He had fabricated evidence on orders ignoring repeated evidence that what he was saying was false.
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For this, 4,486 U.S. soldiers died in Iraq and another 2,345 were lost in Afghanistan. Both wars cost us up to $6 trillion. And the destruction to Iraq was far greater with a half a million people, in this devastated land, dying from war-related causes.
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The small gathering at our wedding on Treasure Island showcased the wit, charm, and entertaining qualities of Perry MaGill. Aunt Margaret and he had driven up from La Habra near Los Angeles for the event. They joined my parents, older brother Don and his wife Jean. My four immediate family members stayed in a downtown hotel on San Francisco’s historic Union Square.
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On the evening before the wedding, we had dinner at the Presidio, not far from the Golden Gate Bridge, hosted by Fritz and Louise Starmer, Suzanne’s parents. Earlier that day, I accompanied my parents to a Wells Fargo Bank to obtain cash. The cordial bank officer explained that he was obliged to call the National Bank in Elkhorn for verification. It was amusing to witness the officer’s laughter in talking to his counterpart in Elkhorn. He was told to give Helen and Henry whatever they needed.
Presidio and Wedding - San Francisco 1964
Before we departed with cash in hand, the officer thanked me for helping along with an invitation to join the bank’s management staff after being discharged from the navy. This was the early 1960s and would not be the first time that I spontaneously was offered a management position. Lesson learned: be articulate, respectful, and dress the part.
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Others present at the wedding were Suzanne’s parents along with Tracer shipmate Bruce Johnsen and college teammate Jerry Chase, who was a graduate student in mathematics at Stanford, and his wife. Uncle Perry was in full form and had the wedding party at dinner “eating out of his hand” and “rolling in the aisle.” This included the pastor, who described it as the most entertaining wedding he had ever performed.
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Another dimension of my travel at sea were conversations with clergy, who traveled among us. One a protestant minister and the other a catholic priest. These were informative and interesting, as my inquisitive nature came forth. In the process, the priest, who I suspect found our discussions worthy of his time, asked if I wanted to convert. This was far from my mind and simply part of a deeper theological understanding of life’s meaning. The clergy, at sea for several months with few hungry souls to attend to, seemed bored and willing to embrace the opportunity for thoughtful conversation.
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My inquiry was simply intellectual that would lead to appreciating the tenets of Unitarian-Universalism. As the adage goes, “Unitarians believe that man is too good to be condemned by God, and Universalists hold that God is too good to condemn anyone.” While both use reason rather than faith as a guide, a unitarian believes that god exists only in one person, and a universalist is a proponent of universal salvation. The two denominations had merged in 1961.
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That 10 months at sea and in the Bay of Tonkin was uninspiring, as I did my job on board, tangentially participated in warfare providing weapons to combat vessels, and prepared to move on. I was ready to return to school at the University Wisconsin, Madison for study that would lead to a master’s degree in education and economics. I had found my calling—not merely a career and certainly not just a job, but a vocation in the truest sense. We get the word from Latin “vocare” meaning “to call” denoting a voice summoning one to a special purpose.
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Isn’t this what we seek in finding work that taps into our unique talent, is inseparable from play, and takes us beyond self-interest?
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Nonetheless, a humorous episode occurred, while the Paricutin was anchored off shore in Japan. Near us was another vessel with Her Majesty’s British naval fleet. One day we officers received an invitation to visit the British ship. Outfitted in our finest dress white uniforms, several of us not on duty that afternoon boarded a small boat for the HMS liner nearby. With anticipation, knowing the British officers’ quarters include “spirits,” we looked forward to an inspiring venture.
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After the niceties of finger food, snacks and libations, the fun started. Their ship’s officers challenged our crew to a friendly rugby match. The encounter turned into a “spirited” contest that grew progressively energized. Soon, the chairs and tables were shoved by sweaty bodies against the bulkhead, as the two teams went at it. It was a glorious, ruckus time, as we battled to a tie obvious to bumps, bruises, and abrasions.
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As our inebriated team returned to the Paricutin, the listed men on the gang blank looked on with astonishment. We had departed early in the day in our pressed dress whites only to return in a sweaty, delirious, drunken sailor state.
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The otherwise tedious duty was mercifully interrupted by one week of R&R in Hong Kong, a delightful change of pace, where I stocked up on tailor-made suits, sport coats, and shoes. This provided me with a smart wardrobe for my first position at a time when school teachers were expected to dress appropriately and as professionals.
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In May, 1965, I received an honorable discharge, but not before our ship’s executive officer informed me that I had a letter from the Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) inviting me to reup—stay in as a regular officer. (As OCS graduates, we were in the reserve navy, unlike those from Annapolis.) This is rare, my XO said, with a puzzled look. He saw me as a “short timer” ready to get out. Apparently, the letters of commendation for physical fitness surfaced, but our top navy brass had not examined the content carefully.
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In retrospect, my service was valuable to better understanding the military, our culture and myself. Some aspects were inviting; others were at odds with who I am. I still appreciate and employ daily the 24-hour clock, military tuck in making beds, and signal flag alphabet sounding out letters.
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Its discipline and spiffy qualities were appealing, and I took pride in my appearance in dress blues as well as casual khakis. Our showpiece whites were reserved for special occasions, including OCS graduation, parade dress and weddings, but not much else unless stationed in a tropical climate.
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Military discipline is imperative in that lives are at stake in combat. Following orders also is essential in some dimensions of civilian life, as with police protection and competitive sports. While I observe authoritative protocol when called for, it is contrary to my innate temperament and personality. Any such characteristics I possess are reserved for appropriate situations, such as being on a football team or serving aboard a ship.
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I can turn the switch “on and off” as the context dictates. Still, the regimented military life conflicts with my democratic spirit, quest for free expression, and respect for speaking out against injustices. As a lifestyle, being a naval officer was not a good fit in the long run.
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I initially was astounded observing the size of our fleet and extent of naval operations, materials, fuel, supplies, ships, aircraft, personnel, and much more during my tour. Was all this necessary for the security of our nation, when juxtaposed with the value of cultural understanding, diplomacy, and human relations? I was a kid, well-schooled with eyes wide open. Home side, elaborate displays of patriotism could be moving but didn’t impress me. It seemed a touch contrived and over-the-top. I was prepared to serve but nonetheless skeptical.
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I’m glad to have participated, as my knowledge on foreign affairs grew considerably and for the adventure it provided. I was a more mature and less naïve person for the experience. The grip military adventurism has had on the American public became clearer.
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As I survey the national landscape today, Congress is projected to spend $8.5 trillion for the military over the next decade. This is more than is budgeted for all non-military discretionary programs combined—federal spending on education, public health, scientific research, infrastructure, national parks, law enforcement, courts, tax collection, foreign aid, homeland security, and healthcare for veterans. In 2020, the U.S. military budget accounted for almost 40 percent of the world’s military expenditures.
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One must wonder how much renaming the War Department after WWII to the Department of Defense had on the American psyche? Words matter, informing, persuading, and manipulating!
The military has only accelerated since I departed in 1965. We continue to build aircraft carriers that each cost $1.5 billion a year to operate. We already have most of the world's active fleet of aircraft carriers—11, while no other nation has more than two. The F-35 Joint Fighter program conceived in the 1990s is a financial boondoggle. In the process, Congress and the Pentagon must consider that this does little to improve the military’s effectiveness and probably is harmful.
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After 20 years, our Afghanistan misadventure is over at an immense cost in dollars and lives. For this President Joe Biden took considerable heat with the withdrawal, but could it really have gone smoothly given Afghan military preparedness. Americans are immensely ill-informed.
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Ike would be aghast at how powerful the military-industrial complex has become since his words of warning over 60 years ago. As a Wall Street Journal headline read, “Who Won in Afghanistan? Private Contractors.”
Suzanne and I headed to Wisconsin via the Pacific Northwest and Canada. I had considered graduate school at the University of California, Berkeley, but Wisconsin was a better option, and Suzanne seemed prepared for the transition. Our trip to the Midwest took us north to Victoria and Vancouver BC then across Canada with a stop at Banff in Alberta’s Rockies and down through northern Wisconsin.