18 November 2006

Intersections

The Admiral arrived at the intersection at precisely the moment the decision had to be made, to go to one thing or another.

One road to led at level grade, toward gray despair and ultimate defeat. Another was rocky, the surface uncertain. With difficulty promised hope and triumph. The Admiral had a vision, and the spirit, temperament and education to execute it. His will was sufficient to cajole the leaders to match courage to resources, platforms to mission, and execution to victory.

It is in the nature of the affairs of humans that the result of the great victory would be ambiguous at the end; the great defeat of an implacable and evil adversary would create a vacuum, and complacency, which would in turn lead to the rise of something else nasty and in some ways worse.

But the evil that the Admiral banished to the dust-bin of history brandished the power of the atom, and threatened the end of the world.

It was worth thinking about, as we walked behind the family, and the long black limousine, and the hearse and the flag-bearer who bore the white flag with two blue stars.

We marched from the gleaming sanctity of the Uriah Levy Center at the Naval Academy at Annapolis, named for Princess Anne, in Ann Arundal Towne. The Admiral had been the moving force behind the establishment of this bastion of an ancient faith, though modestly his name is not upon it.

We moved away from it at human speed in time with the music of the marching band.

The Admiral was going home to the hill across the small water. The skies had cleared from the horrendous rains of the day before, and the air was crisp and fresh-scrubbed with for the end of fall. Stepping along, behind the Marines who honored the family, we of this latter day and baser threats followed. As we passed the intersections, sailors and police and Midshipmen stopped and snapped salutes.

A jogger approached from our flank. Stymied by our column, he did not parallel us to get around. He stood to attention, and waited for us to pass.

We proceeded deliberately along the seawall of the Academy, past the racing yachts with their proud names printed on their bows: Intrepid, Dauntless, Dreadnaught. The cemetery on the hill in the distance was across a bridge, which we crossed with police escort.

The column climbed the hill behind the hearse, and came to a halt behind the white tent, and the waiting Honor Guard.

The Admiral loved his academy as he did his family, which next to his Service and Nation held his heart.

It was only appropriate that we should all be here at this time, since we were at the intersection of all the went before, and what will come after his passing.

The Admiral rose through the grades to be the Director of Naval Intelligence at a time when that still carried a truly national mission. The Admirals who spoke their words in the Jewish Chapel alluded to the mission, and most in the audience knew the great risks that were taken to steal the secrets that opened the inner workings of the enemy.

It was breathtaking in audacity, and fraught with risk. Only this Admiral, by turns persuasive and compelling, could have convinced the Carter Administration to permit the operations to be conducted, and to have ensured that they were planned and supported to unprecedented success.

The information gleaned from the operations was so breathtaking that it changed the national strategy against the Soviets, enabling the final push that made the Kremlin realize it was bankrupt, and that the Wall would have to come down.

The family never knew, of course. When they asked what he did, the Admiral said he went to the Pentagon and drank coffee, and listened.

Some of the secrets will go to the grave with him. After the gun salute, and the folding of the flag above him with crisp precision, the Rabbi in his dress blues chanted the Kaddish, a prayer in the Aramaic tongue two millennia old. The Kaddish is recited in memory of the dead, but in itself says nothing about death. The theme is the greatness of God, reflected in its opening words: "Yitgadal ve-yitkadash, Shmei rabbah--May His name be magnified and made holy…. "

When the words were done, a burly gravedigger advanced to graveside to help remove the metal supports below the casket, and release the tension on the straps so that it might be lowered it into the ground. In the custom of his people, the Admiral’s family each tossed a shovel of dirt on the casket, signifying closure. Now the Admiral is at rest, and it is time for Shiva, the time for mourners to cope with their personal loss.

The intersection between life and death, one great struggle and another had been passed.

Then the crowd began to disperse, to ride or walk back to the reception. A small group headed down the hill to the water’s edge, to pay homage to Arleigh Burke, the Admiral who transformed his service after World War Two, and saved his Navy in the face of great peril.

He lies nearest the water, just across from the main campus of the Academy which he loved so dearly. And now, on the hill behind him, lies Admiral Sumner Shapiro.

Copyright 2006 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com

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