Recalling the emergence of the inner humanitarian

Most would agree that some personal anniversary dates carry a great deal more weight than others. Such is the case with this one. Forty-two years hence, the evening of 12 December 1980 stands out as the night I became aware that I was no longer a youth. That was when the U.S. Navy warship I was serving aboard embarked some 262 desperate souls seeking freedom from the oppression of Communist Vietnam. Most of what you will read below was already said some seven years ago on the thirty-fifth anniversary of that most memorable event marking the start of my life as a grown-up. Whereas that may indeed be factual, deeper reflection has revealed that was when my innermost humanitarian was summoned forth. I did not have to go looking for a cause to pull out my humanity from within as one found me with no exerted effort on my part and proceeded to exact the maximum of the last reserves of my youthful coping ability. Even still, much of what was said seven years ago is worthy of repeating.

One basic fact of life I have discovered in the forty-two years since that dark night on my own personal timeline is that life is about relationships.  Forget about all the money you can earn.  Forget about all the property and toys you might accrue along the way.  Forget about all the advanced degrees and full-of-frills diplomas with your full name in elaborate gold calligraphy you can stack on top of one another.  All of these cannot assure you of any real sense of immortality as all will likely be forgotten about the week after your friends and family finish shoveling enough dirt on you to cover you up and place your headstone on top of you or scatter your ashes to the four winds.  You may not know it at the time but your life, the decisions you make and the actions you take can have a profound impact and touch the lives of so many others, both those who are close to you and even many who at the time may be total strangers.  Make no mistake about it, the overall metric of your existence is the number of lives you touch in a positive fashion.

Nothing at all has changed in the history of how I and my shipmates came to meet that particular crisis on that evening. The story remains the same. I was set on a collision course for that moment when I enlisted in the U.S. Navy at age eighteen. When I took my first Oath of Enlistment, I had a lot of vague ideas of where I would go and what I would do in the following four years.  I had no idea how profound the coming tests of character would be or how well I would measure up to them when I arrived to cross those respective bridges.  As things turned out, I found myself in a situation near the end of the third year of my first enlistment where the responsibility I was delegated was way beyond the scope of my education and training at the time.  Not then knowing any better, the only direction I ever considered was forward.  The situation involved being the lone ship’s company member of my department, that being the Medical Department, on board a guided missile destroyer, a combatant vessel which carried a complement of some 312 officers and crew.  Initially this solo stint was only supposed to be for two weeks, from the time my outgoing boss detached on emergency leave until the time his relief was due to arrive.  It ended up lasting 33 days due to the ship leaving the Philippines for Thailand the very morning the incoming boss’ plane touched down in Manila.  Had nothing extraordinary happened other than routine functions between the time we left for Thailand on 1 December and the time we returned to the Philippines the evening of 19 December 1980, my efforts would have likely netted me a Navy Achievement Medal anyway.  As fate would have it, we would be forced to deal with up close and personal the legacy of a failed U.S. policy in Vietnam even though we may have been five and a half years removed from our nation’s involvement in any of the affairs of that country.  We would encounter and embark over 262 souls seeking freedom from the tyranny of Vietnamese Communism. I have always thought it better to be lucky than good. I have come to believe that it was mostly luck that helped our collective humanity shine in that moment, a moment those we rescued badly needed it to.

All these years later as I and many of my shipmates recall the event, the one thing we all never fail to concur on is that this is likely one of if not the most important thing we’ve ever done in our lives. It was certainly the most important thing most of us ever did in our time in the U. S. Navy. In the thirty years it was a commissioned vessel, the greatest thing USS Robison is known for is not an act of hostility but an act of humanity. I am as proud of that little historical factoid as I am of the decoration bestowed upon the entire crew of that vessel for our effort. For me, it was the first actual medal I was ever awarded; the Armed Forces Humanitarian Service Medal.

As it has been explained several times in the years since that dark night in the Gulf of Thailand, supporting humanitarian causes has since become an integral part of my character. It is no surprise that many of my former shipmates have gone on to bigger and better endeavors in the service of others in need. The amazing thing is that before December 1980, most of us did not realize this was who and what we are. The right situation just had to present for it to become apparent. The rescue of Boat 262 rates as one of the huge successes of our lives. This is best demonstrated by the lives those we saved are living now and in the lives of their families which have grown in many beautiful ways thanks to the humanitarian values guiding the decisions of our Captain and the inherent humanity in the unprompted actions of his crew. That is what makes this such a wonderful memory to share and to reflect on every year and serves as our periodic reminder of who we are and what we are about. It is comforting to know that we contributed to a positive footnote in the history of our nation. When we are gone this will be our footprint on humanity.