Sorry- little slow out of the gates this morning. The Big Dining In was last night over at the Fort Myer Officer’s Club.

The grand tradition had come down a little in the world since they began. I went to the cupboard to see when the last one was held- the latest wineglass I could find in there is dated “Naval Intelligence Dining In-2008.”

(A bottle of port and commemorative wineglass from the 44th Dining In.)

I don’t know if there was another after that, and I have been to so many of them that they all blur together. But one tradition had come down through the years. The junior officer detailer was tasked with ordering the hundred-odd glasses, procuring the sound system, and transporting the flags. Then, the Bureau of Personnel got BRAC’d to lovely Millington, Tennessee, and one of the poor kids in the DNI’s front office would get tagged with it.

Then the job of organizing it migrated out to Suitland, to the Office of Naval Intelligence, and they began using the Spaetz All-Hands Club at the Post. They were still great gatherings, and one of the best I ever attended was held there, with RADM Mac Showers in attendance.

I just went to my files to make sure. 2008 was the last year they held a Dining-In.

You what those things are. The tradition comes down from the Royal Navy would hold formal dinners with speeches and toasts for just the ship’s wardroom. That was adopted by the US Navy, and in 1955, by Naval Intelligence as a means of building camaraderie and instilling an espirit de corps in a group whose profile by necessity stayed out of the limelight.

That tradition continued and intensified down though the years, and became a sort of trial by fire for the hapless officer who had to organize the thing, and for the Director of Naval Intelligence who was President of the Mess. Another tradition was integral to all this. Normally, precedent dictates that the junior member of the Mess serves as the Vice President- “Mr. Vice,” in naval parlance. That can result, if applied by lineal number, in a really green ensign or a crusty old Limited Duty Officers, either of which individuals could introduce unwanted variables into the conduct of the ritual.

(A tradition ended. The Last Piper, from the 44th.)

And ritual it is. We used to have the same Piper- I have his picture someplace- every year to play “Scotland the Brave,” and lead the Parade of the Beef. There were silver glasses to offer him a tot of Scotch for his services, and senior officers peering intently to see how close to perfection the rite could be conducted, and which of the junior officers were making perhaps a tad too merry.

This was serious business in the Cold War, after all. That got better down through the years, the dinner becoming lighter and less a matter of career suicide.

There have been other tectonic changes in how the Department does its business. Times are hard in the budget world, and consolidation is as inevitable as is the inability of a two-hundred-year-old organization to socialize it.

The last Director of Naval Intelligence- that was when the letters DNI meant that- was selected because the Chief of Naval Operations wanted to streamline his support and special duty communities. I mean, it sounds rational, you know?

I have talked about the Radio Wars before, the struggle between groups of officers to control the flow of intelligence. The Operators- the Airdales and SWOs and Bubbleheads- never understood why their needed Cryptologists and Intelligence Officers. They did understand Weather Guessers and glib Public Affairs Officers, but why not roll them all together into one bag? It is all information, right?

It makes sense, I suppose, if you don’t understand that people have been fighting for careers behind the green door since Mac Showers was an Ensign. The Last DNI was directed to tell everyone to just shut up and sit down and get on with forming a single line entity called “The Corps of Information Dominance.”

It took a lot of bludgeoning of ancient organizations to make it happen, and there were some bruised feelings along the way. For my part, I was relentlessly upbeat. The change was going to come, and I think you have to make the best out of the situation. I still had to stay engaged with what was going on, since I edit the journal of the Naval Intelligence Professionals in a desultory manner, and the Dining In was always an entertaining was to fill up a few pages with pictures and some light-hearted banter that is in opposition to what people do in their day jobs.

Accordingly, when the Last DNI decided that there was enough chaos that the relic of the Dining In was a luxury he wasn’t going to support. 2008 was the forty-fourth Dining In, and that was it.

(RADM Tom Meek.)

RADM Tom Meek decided to change that. He is not the DNI- he is the senior uniformed officer at the National Geospatial Intelligence Agency- but he thought it was time to bring back the event as a moral-and-team-builder for Naval Intelligence. Word flew around the community a few months ago: it was going to be like old times. The formal majesty of the Fort Myer O Club was going to be the venue. A distinguished speaker was engaged. The active and retired communities were pulsed to encourage attendance.

I took my tux to the office so I could change there and go direct to the Post. The civilian rig is not nearly so impressive as the short little mess jacket with the miniature medals and staff identification badges and bright gold rings of rank on the sleeve. But that is OK. I drove the Bluesmobile onto the Post with the express intent of having a positive attitude, and keeping my mouth shut.

(Jake and Liz.)

Turned out to be one of the best efforts in years, and a pleasure to attend. The young officers are clever, good-looking and optimistic. There were no less than five former Directors there, a host of serving flag officers, and a veteran group of combat-experienced mi-grade officers.

There was a decent leavening of retired farts like me, enough to ensure there was continuity between the generations. With the war over in Iraq, some of our legends were back stateside for the first time in years, trying to figure out what life is like outside the Green Zone. It has been a long way, I thought.

I was impressed by who turned out, and I took a bunch of pictures.

(Ensigns)

The atmosphere was light, and started with a social hour in the Lamplighter Room. The Mess was called to order and we all trooped upstairs to the Koran Room where the banquet was to be held. Old tradition met new. A hiatus of a couple years in an organization that turns over its personnel every two or three years is the equivalent of creating institutional amnesia, but Tom Meek carried it off with aplomb.

The beef was paraded to the rattle of a snare drum. Mr. President was very much in charge, and he kept things on pace. The Grace was provided by the Chief of Chaplains himself, an old shipmate of Tom’s.

A Grog punch was missed up by the Detailer, and consumed by the Ensigns from Suitland and the Navy-Marine Corps Intelligence Training Center.

RADM Tom Brooks, one of the great holders of tradition, read the list of honorees for various awards who would have been recognized at the Dinings-In deferred.

(VADM Bill Gortney, Director of The Joint Staff)

VADM Bill Gortney was the guest of honor, and he is an operator’s Operator, having flown over 5360 mishap free flight hours and bagged 1,265 traps in the A-7E Corsair II and FA-18 Hornet.

He was a little surprised to be called to make his remarks while the salad was still on the table, but he was nothing if not game, and his remarks praising the value of the craft of intelligence to the operational art were succinct, funny and on target.

Skits from the schoolhouse, the CNO Intelligence Plot team and a game-show panel of crusty 06s versus a team of Ensigns came fast and furious. Tom summed things up nicely: there are some challenges in how things are unfolding, but this is a proud and honorable calling in a remarkably talented and dedicated band of brothers and sisters.

(Mr. Vice delivers a zinger.)

It was awesome.

Normally, the dining room empties out quickly and the younger officers head out to the bright lights of Old Town or Ballston. No one appeared ready to leave the company, and the Koran Room was still jammed an hour after dinner. Out of politeness, some of the Lieutenants asked if I was going to go on the town with them.

“I think I will take discretion as the better part of valor,” I said. I saw Ted Sheafer was smoking outside with another officer who puffed one of the other traditions- a fat Cuban cigar. We talked about the last time the Navy consolidated the intelligence corps, and what a disaster it was.

“Do you think it will be like that again?” I asked.

The Admiral shrugged. “I don’t know. The last time, only the close relationship between CNO Bud Zumwalt and his intelligence guy Rex Rectanus saved the situation. He used to ask who his Director of Naval Intelligence was, and he couldn’t get a straight answer. He put Rex back in charge, and things were pretty good after that. Now, I don’t know. We will just have to see how it goes.”

“Nothing new under the sun,” I said in the full darkness. Then I offered my respect and motored back to Big Pink sedately. Times have changed, I thought. I don’t know if it is for the better or not, but I sure am impressed with the people who are standing The Watch for the rest of us.

(Lieutenants. All photos Socotra.)

Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com