| 22 December 206 Respect It is the just on the verge of the celebration of the Mass of Christ, a holiday with memories and deep family association for many of us. You have to be delicate about that, these days. Everyone, regardless of belief, is supposed to be entitled to a little respect. I was lying awake in the darkness, listening to London on the radio as I thought of all the things left to be done. A woman signed off her program, saying that she was taking Christmas off, and wishing the best to anyone else who cared to celebrate it. I thought it was a nice touch, noting the holiday, but inclusive, and respectful of all concerned, believer or not. It gave a nod to our common history while not asserting any particular cultural hegemony. It is one of those sad facts that historic institutions had notoriously poor memories. The Navy, for its part, has is feet firmly planted in the history of the Revolution, and every conflict of the nation since. You would think that history would be in its organizational DNA. Oddly, though, between the need to reinvent itself to accommodate social change and with its officers constantly in motion through their careers, hopping from ship to shore, there is little call for memory. Besides, money is always tight between wars, and when they come, everyone is too busy to remember. Accordingly, the modern Navy remembers almost nothing of its institutional past. Some Service Chiefs have actually seemed hostile to history, thinking perhaps that the baggage of the past must be shed to get to a more streamlined future worthy of funding. For the clandestine services, the case for forgetfulness is mandatory. Good security can also lead to institutional amnesia. Sometimes that just means embarrassment, though of course amnesia can also prove to be fatal, particularly if you are dealing with people who remember old promises. One of the classic stories from the embarrassing genre comes from a project run by a small detail of officers from one of the campuses near Washington. They had a matter in which the cooperation of a small Miami radio station would be very useful. The matter was sensitive, said the senior man in the delegation to the station manager in the conference room, and would require only a small commitment of air-time. The manager waved the men from Washington into a small office off the conference room and closed the door. Leaning forward, he said quietly: “Did you guys forget that you owned this place?” It was a trifle embarrassing, but no one was hurt. Private institutions tend to have longer memories than their public counterparts, since they have stable, though occasionally volatile, workforces. The passing of CAPT Marsloe, and his dealings with the Mob has awakened some old memories, and they illustrate the point nicely. >From June 1973 to August 1976, a friend on mine served as the Operational Intelligence Officer to the Commander, U.S. Second Fleet, who also held the senior NATO naval post as Commander, Striking Fleet Atlantic. In June/July 1976, SECOND Fleet was designated as the Senior Officer Afloat for the International Naval Review- the parade of Tall Ships that brought all the big sailing ships of the world together in New York Harbor. As an event, it was huge, and would draw hundreds of thousands of people to the shores of the harbor, and a world television market of millions. It was a tempting target for angry people. My pal was designated as the protocol and security officer for the forces afloat: the warships and training vessels participating in the celebration of the National Bicentennial. The THIRD Naval District was closed, thus requiring an officer be assigned from the Fleet to work sensitive liaison issues with the City and the visiting navies. In that capacity, he spent most of May and June in New York, operating out of the Brooklyn Navy Yard. The Brooklyn Navy Yard had employed 70,000 civilian workers in World War II, and once had the world's largest overhead crane. Now it was a civilian facility, controlled by the City of New York. Late one afternoon, my friend's NYPD counterpart, a senior Captain, indicated that they had been summoned to a meeting; NOW. They drove on the Brooklyn/Queens Expressway until overtaken by a second car a black four-door sedan. The policeman parked the official vehicle and the two got into the back of the sedan. This vehicle took them to a small Italian restaurant located in the walk-down basement of a Queens Brown Stone. The restaurant was basically a hallway, one table plus walkway wide and seven tables long, the last table was a booth with two chairs with their backs to the front door. According to my pal, a well-dressed man of middle age was seated in the booth, and he greeted the policeman by name. He motioned the policeman and the naval officer to seats, and offered them red wine in tea cups. He then began to ask for specifics about the Naval Review, sipping his wine, and nodding gravely: “On what date will the naval ships enter port?” (July 3) “What countries will be represented?” (52 in all) “When will the naval ships depart?” (7 July) The questions continued, and were thorough. My friend knew this was all classified information dealing with the specifics of ship's movement. That is the most sensitive data there is, since it permits targeting. Under the police Captain's urging, he swallowed hard and responded to them all honestly. The interview concluded, and my friend reports that the man “thanked me for my candor.” Then he said gravely “We make the Navy the same promise we made them in 1942. Nothing will happen in New York that will mar this event for the U.S. of A.” My pal thanked him, though he was puzzled. The official representatives of the City of New York and the United States Navy left the small restaurant to be driven back to official sedan. My friend was agitated, thinking he had just compromised his Naval career. Once inside the police vehicle, he turned to the policeman and asked “Who the hell was that guy?” The cop answered casually as he turned the key in the ignition. “Oh,” he said. “That was the Consigliore for the five (Mafia) families. Sort of a combination senior lawyer, strategic planner and policy advisor.” My friend dutifully reported the meeting up the chain of command, since it had been so strange. He knew that despite New York's large German immigrant population, no Nazi agent ever successfully operated in the Port of New York/New Jersey during World War Two. He had no idea why or how such operations were prevented. There the matter rested. The Bi-Centennial Naval Review was successful and went off without a hitch. This is the first time my friend has spoken publicly about the matter. He says that “No one reacted to my report of the meeting; no one even asked any questions about it. The strange thing was that Manhattan was experiencing one homicide a day in June of 1976. But from June 3rd through the 7th, no crime of violence was committed on that Island. None.” My friend was awarded the Navy Achievement Medal for his contributions to the success of the Parade of the Tall Ships and moved on. He committed the memories of that meeting to his mental archives and thought about other things. He told me it was not until he read about Tony Marsloe's death that he was able to connect the dots and understood completely what the Mafia Consigliore was saying to him in that restaurant in Queens. See, some people remember things. Obligations, if you will. Though it might have been politically unacceptable, it would have been a nice touch at the time to forward a Navy Unit Commendation through discrete NYPD channels to the unofficial organization with strong ties to the waterfront. The citation could have been ambiguous, but these things have been done in the past to recognize debts of honor. It would have been a token of appreciation for a favor that could not be publicly acknowledged. It would just be a matter of respect. You never know when you might need another favor, you know? Or how to act if someone asks one of you. Copyright 2006 Vic Socotra |