I am convinced that you all are highly literate, expert commenters. For example, Curtis pointedly shared this about the debacle that was the Guardian:
Would it be facile to point out that every single member of the crew of the former USS Guardian has been reassigned?
For good order and discipline we might one day read about the accused appearing at Admiral’s Mast for punitive and non punitive disposition of their careers for being part of the team that wrecked a warship through faulty navigation. Now that I think about it, maybe not. If you are not in a sea billet you can refuse Mast and I would guess that they’re not in such billets now.
It is staggering to realize that each of those officers had a role in stranding and destroying that ship but consider:
The navigator briefed the sailing plan to the CO and wardroom prior to sailing. It was produced by the Quartermasters and navigator working together and on watch that night were the OOD, JOOD, CICWO, CIC watch team and the forward lookout. All of them are charged with the safe navigation of the ship. All of them failed. All of them.
As an Engineer on ships l was trained to trust the instruments. If they said there was a problem act as if there was. If the dog didn’t bark….?
As one who used to conn MSO in minefields in the Gulf I had a full manual plot behind me in CIC with the LPO, plotter, talker/fathometer reader, 1 man on radar, 1 man on each of 2 sonar consoles looking at both search and classify beams, ISS/Hyperfix/LORAN-C and a lively sense that people were counting on me to keep us off the mines. I am content to say that if we hit a mine while I was driving it was me alone that screwed up but I kept my eyes and ears wide open at all times when driving the ship. I had pretty much the same bunch on the team when driving ships anywhere/anytime. What happened on the Guardian to all those guys on the team?
And Ex Bootneck shared this rumination on his family:
Which reminds me of a day very many years ago when I was a youngster…
My Mum had always wore her hair in a long style, which was often placed in a pony tail. One summers day after attending school, I done my normal thing of flying through the front door dropping my bag, jacket, and paraphernalia onto a chair, to then exit the kitchen via the rear door into the wooden shed to check on the rescued wildlife, that invariably would be within.
Returning to the kitchen my Mum was at the table sipping coffee from where she stared at me. I looked myself up and down thinking her X-ray vision had seen the small penknife that I had sneaked to school…
“Well”!; “well~what”? Came my gulped reply…
Just as the ‘guilty as charged’ plea was about to leave my lips, Mum turned her head slightly… “What do you think of my hair, I’ve had it cut”!
Taking advantage of an opportunity to hide my guilty look; I threw praise at the new style (and silently said a ‘Hail Mary’ and one ‘Our Father’ for the merciful distraction that presented itself). Flattery over with, I grabbed a glass of orange and a chocolate bar and ‘whooshed’ upstairs to my room to secure the penknife…
A very close call avoided, that could have brought much misery to my existence and my rear end.
Two hours later poor Dad did not fair as well! Which was my fault as I could have warned him. However; being at the ‘devil may care’ age, I had no idea that drastic changes in female hair styles was such a big thing… (Why should it be, after all I had a short back and sides every saturday morning at ‘Jack’s the Barbers’).
Dad walked into the home exhausted, washed his hands and sat with a large glass of milk in his hand, all the while Mum was banging and clattering around him in the kitchen. As we sat in silence eating our meal I noticed how cold the room was on such a summers day; the penny dropped as I looked at my Father…
“Mum’s hair looks nice Dad, she’s had it cut” I said, pointing at the new style with my fork; immediately wishing I hadn’t done so as I also realised my mouth was full of chicken!
The full blast from my Fathers detonation over my table manners (his guilt being the real reason), combined with the amateur dramatics from my Mum (her anguish over her chosen hair style), set my mind to joining the Foreign Legion. In fact I would have done so, had la Légion étrangère taken in 10 year olds; after all I had my own penknife!
From that day forth; each day my Dad returned from work the first thing he said upon entering the home was “your hair looks nice”! Upon which my Mum would just roll her eyes… Life was back to normal.
I would think no one has ever said the same to Ernest Moniz…
(With the same penknife on my desk).