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My Favorite Holiday
October 13th, 2009
July 4, 1983, I was awakened from a deep sleep by the deafening sound of someone dropping, then dragging, a large steal chain across the deck just above my head. It was a normal occurrence, and due to its timeliness, was proving to be quite a good alarm clock. The day was starting just like every other day, continuous hum of machinery, the smell of jet fuel, and the gentle rocking to port and starboard that I had become so accustomed. Those things were now becoming barely noticeable – you can acclimate to just about anything. You see, I was deployed aboard the USS Forrestal, a United States Navy aircraft carrier, 81,000 tons of steel crafted into one of the most powerful devices of war mankind had ever developed. It was my thirtieth day of, what happened to be, my first Mediterranean cruise, and it was that particular day which would cement my understanding of what it is to be an American.
At about noon, the ship stopped all engines and went dead in the water; the “Steel Beach Picnic” was now underway. The picnic was an event that would make any outdoor party fanatic proud. It was our first day off in a month. We were blessed with a perfect, cloudless day with a light breeze that made the mid-summer heat bearable. Eight grills were laid out end to end, covering about 25 yards of the flight deck. Each one loaded with hot coals at the ready, and seemingly begging for the juices that would be produced from the searing cuts of beef. The coals appeared to be just as hungry as those they were giving their all for. The steaks hit the grated cooking surface with a sizzle and sent the smell of freshly grill steak in my direction. A freshly grilled steak smell has many medicinal properties I won’t get into for now, but I can assure you that it cured any amount of depression I may have felt up to that point. Oh, and what is a party without good music? There were six different bands consisting of talented crewmen, playing various genres of music, and strategically placed around the remaining 90,000 square feet of the ship’s runway. I ate until I could hardly move while soaking up the festivities; this day was shaping up to be a truly memorable day.
As the clean up from the day’s festivities came to a conclusion, you could see the other ships in our battle group start to position themselves closer to us. Each ship maintained a couple of miles separation from the others, and maneuvered themselves until the entire group formed a large circle. Then, as if on cue, the sun appeared to extinguish itself in the sea. If you haven’t seen a sunset while in the middle of the ocean, I suggest you put that on your “bucket list.” It is an amazing sight. Once the sun had completed its journey beyond the horizon, a loud cheer from the ships crew numbering about 5000 seemed to summon the stars to our celebration. I promise you, they showed up to provide a most excellent backdrop for what was going to happen next.
Strategically placed along the perimeter of our ship were mounted .50 caliber machine guns, four along the starboard side, to be used for protection during our planned transit of the Suez Canal, but this night they would serve another purpose. With military precision and timing, each of the four machine guns began to fire producing flame from their barrels accompanied by an obstreperous din. Every fifth round from the guns was a tracer round that produced a red stream into the night air. It was then the other ships joined in the action. The other ships, frigates, destroyers, and cruisers were equipped with 5-inch deck guns and other weaponry they used to fire star-burst rounds that would make it appear as if the sun had returned. America and its power were on full display that night, and I had a front row seat.
On that glorious day, we celebrated our nations birthday nearly half way around the world from home. Remembering those who came before me, I stood consumed with national pride, a since of purpose, and deep emotion. Every concussion from the various explosions sent chills down my spine. It was the first Independence Day in my life I felt I understood what it meant to be an American. Every July Fourth since that day I look up into the night sky and become so overcome with pride that tears fall down my cheeks. Not the kind of tears you might try and hide when you watched Ol’ Yeller meet his demise, I am talking pride tears and they are cool.
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