8 Strawberry Bank Rd.

Suite 20

Nashua, New Hampshire

The boy could not contain himself and, still holding his grandad’s hand, he did not wait for an answer but continued jumping up and down, shouting and pointing. “Can’t wait to get home and tell grandma.”

He glanced up and saw that grandpa’s eyes were red with tears running down his cheeks. He wanted to ask him why he was unhappy, but hesitated. He thought his grandfather seemed angry with him.

John could not understand why. If he could com-prehend, he might understand that, many years ago, in another life, his granddad was a U.S. Navy Chief Petty officer, a sailor who walked the deck, respected by all, sometimes feared by young apprentice sailors and ensigns.

Seeing the ship brought back all those accumulated memories of ships and shipmates, part of his collective memory of the Navy. The ship they watched was a new Forrest Sherman-class destroyer, built upriver at Bath Iron Works.

The old Chief could almost feel the roll of the ship as she responded to the swells coming from the Gulf of Maine. Even here on the riverbank, Francis stood, legs spread to accommodate the rolls of . . . then nothing.

The destroyer had vanished, in the mist, seaward. John stopped and a seriousness came over the boy’s face as he looked up to his Grandad. “Is that the kinda ship my father was on when he died in the war, Grandad?”

Francis looked down at the boy, patted him on the head, then glanced up at the destroyer and as he did, said “No, Boyo. His ship was smaller, an LST, landing ship, but a ship in the Navy.”

Like his granddad, John stared at the ship, just nodded, and although he did not completely comprehend it all, said, “Yeah, Granddad, I understand.” Then they turned and started the walk home.

They were quiet, both in their own thoughts. John dreamed about the ship and how, someday, he would sail on one. Francis’ thoughts were very different. In his mind he remembered the day the telegram arrived, and then the folded flag and purple heart certificate that arrived a few months later. They had joined his son and John’s father Michael’s framed photograph on the fireplace mantle.

It was just ten years or so ago Michael was lost. His ship, a LST (landing tank ship), acting as an ammunition supply ship, was rammed by a Jap Kamikaze off Okinawa, and disintegrated. For many months, Francis would pause at the fireplace and just stare at all that was left of Michael’s life. Then the items became almost fixtures, like a lamp or an ashtray. He knew they were there and now and then would glance at them but walk by as he would a lamp.

With a loud sigh, Francis said, "Come on, Boyo, let’s go home and you can tell grandma about the ship and, since you are a good student, when you graduate Saint Mary’s, you’ll go to the Naval Academy and become an officer and you might become a Captain of a ship like her.”

To sound like a sailor, the boy responded, "Aye, aye, Sir.”

***

John’s non-stellar academic record prevented him from being appointed to the Naval Academy at Annapolis. The Maine Merchant Marine Academy did accept him and after four years, he graduated in the Class of ‘64. He was commissioned an Ensign in the U.S. Naval Reserve instead of the Merchant Marine.

After his graduation ceremony, he stood at attention as his grandfather, assisted by his grandmother, struggled to rise from his wheelchair. He shrugged her off and came to attention, and gave the commissioned officer his first salute.

John, dressed in his whites, returned it and, by tradition, after taking his first salute as a commissioned officer, Ensign O’Hearn, handed his grandfather, the only father he had known, a silver dollar.

The retired chief flipped the coin over then made a fist to hold it, and dropped back into the wheelchair. After a long sigh said, “Boyo, this will be the only advice I’ll give. Remember to always listen and seek the counsel of your chief petty officers. Understand, Ensign?"

John Michael O’Hearn, a newly sworn in Ensign, felt his eyes misting up. He came to attention, nodded, saluted and responded, “Aye, aye, Chief,” and mumbled, “granddad.”

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