Proud to Serve

When I was in Colorado week before last I had the opportunity to tour the Air Force Academy and the NORAD facility inside Cheyenne Mountain as part of the conference I attended. The tour guides and speakers at the conference included Major General Mark Volcheff, Brigadier General Taco Gilbert, and several other active-duty or retired military officers. The subject of the conference was leadership and these officers aptly demonstrated the leadership qualities being taught. They also demonstrated why I frequently get caught in a wave of nostalgia about my military service, a feeling that often results in a reoccurring thought – I should have remained in the service.

I’ve often said, “If you like where you are in life then don’t regret the road that got you there.” I like where I am and, for the most part, I don’t regret the road I’ve traveled. When I look back on the decision to leave the Navy JAG Corps the word “regret” is too strong; but I regret the questionable reasoning that led to the decision. My wife and I made that decision, first and foremost, based on the almost pathological Mormon “homing instinct” that was pulling us to the “safety” of Zion. We thought we wanted to raise our family in Salt Lake City surrounded by Latter-day Saints and the formidable LDS support system we believed awaited us “back home”. Among Mormons who had roots in Utah, we were anything other than unique in this regard. We were painfully typical.

All was well with that decision until an economic downturn significantly impacted the clientele that formed the foundation of my law practice in Salt Lake. That impact, along with other issues related to my practice there, caused me to look for opportunities to move my career “in house”, a search that led me to Shell Oil Company in Houston. Once my family and I left “the shadows of the everlasting hills” along the Wasatch Front, I began to gaze into the rearview mirror from time to time and wonder about the decision to leave the military.

There are two things I miss the most from my military experience, both of which were present day-in and day-out. First, is the undeniable esprit de corps, a bonding force that gives rise to phrases like “comrades in arms” and “band of brothers”. There’s a kinship among service members that’s rarely duplicated outside a family structure. It’s a relationship built not only on many shared experiences but also on many unique experiences. There’s really nothing else quite like it.

Second, is the clear sense of mission that I had. Every day I knew what my individual mission was and I knew how it fit into the overall mission of my unit, and I knew that the mission of the unit was paramount to the mission of the individual. While military decorations are awarded to servicemen and women who exhibit extraordinary individual courage or heroism, there is much more focus on rewarding behavior that contributes to the well being of the unit and the success of its mission. If you look through the citations supporting each award of the Medal of Honor you will find more instances of heroic action taken to protect or rescue the recipient’s comrades than to defeat the recipient’s enemy.

Actually, as I type this I realize that there’s a third element that I miss as much as the other two. I recall standing in front of the mirror in a small above-a-garage apartment that my family rented on Third Beach Road in Newport, Rhode Island, when I reported to Officer’s Indoctrination School in May 1995. It was the first time that I donned the uniform of a United States Naval Officer. It was one of the proudest moments of my life.

Later that day when I drove up to the security gate at the Newport Naval Station I returned the salute of the Marine sentry on duty. That was the first time that I’d been on the receiving end of a salute. Tradition says that an officer is supposed to give a dollar to the enlisted man who salutes him for the first time. I gave the Marine sentry a $5 bill. He said, “Sir, it’s only supposed to be $1.” I said, “Corporal, I feel five times better than the average ensign today.” He smiled; said, “Yes, sir;” and waived me into the beginning of my service in the Navy. I was proud to serve every day that I put on the uniform for the next four and a half years. I miss that particular sense of pride.

When I get back into the presence of a group of active-duty service members, as I did in Colorado, I easily reconnect to these feelings and that turns my attention to two mirrors – the rearview mirror of present doubt and the apartment mirror of past pride. At times like that, I try hard to focus on the latter.

I am proud to have served in uniform with the men and women of the United States military. May God bless and protect them.