I Like the Navy
by VAdm Harold Koenig, USN (Ret)

I like standing on the bridge wing at sunrise
with salt spray in my face and clean ocean winds
whipping in from the four quarters of the globe
- the ship beneath me feeling like a living
thing as her engines drive her through the sea.

I like the sounds of the Navy - the piercing
trill of the boatswain's pipe, the syncopated
clangor of the ship's bell on the quarterdeck,
the harsh squawk of the 1MC and the strong
language and laughter of sailors at work.

I like the vessels of the Navy - nervous darting
destroyers, plodding fleet auxiliaries, sleek
submarines and steady solid carriers. I like the
proud sonorous names of Navy capital ships:
Midway, Lexington, Saratoga, Coral Sea -
Memorials of great battles won. I like the lean
angular names of Navy 'tin-cans': Barney,
Dahlgren, Mullinix, McCloy mementos of heroes
who went before us.

I like the tempo of a Navy band blaring through
the topside speakers as we pull away from the
oiler after refueling at sea. I like liberty
call and the spicy scent of a foreign port. I
even like all hands working parties as my ship
fills herself with the multitude of supplies
both mundane and exotic which she needs to cut
her ties to the land and carry out her mission
anywhere on the globe where there is water to
float her.

I like sailors, men from all parts of the land,
farms of the Midwest, Small towns of New
England, from the cities, the mountains and the
prairies, from all walks of life. I trust and depend
on them as they trust and depend on me -
for professional competence, for comradeship,
for courage. In a word, they are "shipmates."

I like the surge of adventure in my heart when
the word is passed "Now station the special sea
and anchor detail - all hands to quarters for
leaving port", and I like the infectious thrill
of sighting home again, with the waving hands of
welcome from family and friends waiting pierside.

The work is hard and dangerous, the going
Rough at times, the parting from loved ones
painful, but the companionship of robust Navy
laughter, the 'all for the and one for all'
philosophy of the sea is ever present.

I like the serenity of the sea after a day of
hard ship's work, as flying fish flit across the
wave tops and sunset gives way to night. I like
the feel of the Navy in darkness the masthead
lights, the red and green navigation lights and
stem light, the pulsating phosphorescence of
radar repeaters - they cut through the dusk and
join with the mirror of stars overhead. And I
like drifting off to sleep lulled by the myriad
noises large and small that tell me that my ship
is alive and well, and that my shipmates on
watch will keep me safe.

I like quiet midwatches with the aroma of strong
coffee -- the lifeblood of the Navy - permeating
everywhere. And I like hectic watches when the
exacting minuet of haze-gray shapes racing at
flank speed keeps all hands on a razor edge of
alertness. I like the sudden electricity of
"General quarters, general quarters, all hands
man your battle stations", followed by the
hurried clamor of running feet on ladders and
the resounding thump of watertight doors as the
ship transforms herself in a few brief seconds
from a peaceful workplace to a weapon of war -
ready for anything. And I like the sight of space-
age equipment manned by youngsters clad in
dungarees and sound-powered phones that their
grandfathers would still recognize.

I like the traditions of the Navy and the men
and women who made them. I like the proud
names of Navy heroes: Halsey, Nimitz, Perry,
Farragut, John Paul Jones. A sailor can find
much in the Navy: comrades-in-arms, pride in
self and country, mastery of the seaman's trade.
An adolescent can find adulthood. In years to
come, when sailors are home from the sea, they
will still remember with fondness and respect the
ocean in all its moods - the impossible
shimmering mirror calm and the storm-tossed
green water surging over the bow. And then
there will come again a faint whiff of stack gas, a
faint echo of engine and rudder orders, a vision
of the bright bunting of signal flags snapping
at the yardarm, a refrain of hearty laughter in
the wardroom and chief's quarters and
mess decks. Gone ashore for good they will
grow wistful about their Navy days, when the
seas belonged to them and a new port of call
was ever over the horizon.

Remembering this, they will stand taller and say,
"I WAS A SAILOR ONCE. I WAS PART OF THE
NAVY & THE NAVY WILL ALWAYS BE PART
OF ME."