Chapter Thirty

 

Thirty

 

“For over 221 years our Corps has done two things for this great Nation. We make Marines and we win battles.”

General Charles C. Krulak

    Back home, I rested and recovered from the high intensity whirlwind of the previous few months. I caught up with friends from high school, but mostly spent the days safely sitting to allow my foot to heal. Those few weeks were the longest I had been home since graduating from high school over four years earlier. Many of my friends that went to college weren’t returning to live in Stanly County. Low cost Aluminum could be purchased from Russia cheaper than it could be made in the US, and the plant in Badin was cutting back operations. Competition from Mexico and Asia forced the textile mills in Albemarle to shut down. They would no longer provide manufacturing jobs or management and executive positions. The nation’s economy overall had slowed, and the boom years of the 80s had been replaced by a general feeling of pessimism that came with higher interest rates. I was glad to have a job waiting for me in the Corps. Most of the college graduates I knew planned to live in Charlotte or Raleigh, where opportunities were more available and salaries were generally higher. There was a since of times changing, and not for the better. Badin now had many low-income residents who depended on government assistance. There were still jobs in the area, but they didn’t have didn’t have the allure of what was available in the metropolitan areas. 

One notable exception was Chris. He had found a promising job with a local manufacturing company where a relative worked and was excited about the future. We caught up and compared notes and stories of the couple of months since graduation. We both missed Chapel Hill, but it was time to start the next chapter of our lives. One late afternoon, he called, said he had something he wanted to show me and was coming over. Sitting in the swing on the front porch, I watched as a brand-new white Ford Thunderbird slowly and carefully pulled into the driveway, with Chris behind the wheel. As much as he loved that orange Camaro, the Thunderbird was a beauty. We talked for a while before he had to go, and we agreed to get together when I returned for Thanksgiving. He climbed in his new ride and rumbled down the gravel drive to the sound of Mötley Crüe.

My foot healed on schedule, the cast was removed, and I was examined and cleared for duty. There was still the formal matter of being commissioned as an officer, so I coordinated with the NROTC unit for Colonel Walls to preside over the ceremony. I later found out that Walls had been instrumental in the decision to let me continue OCS. If not for him, there’s a very strong chance I would never have become and officer. With my whole family, plus Elizabeth in attendance, Mom pinned the gold bars of a Marine Second Lieutenant on my shoulders. From there I was off to Quantico. Elizabeth still had two years left at Chapel Hill, and I promised I would visit as often as I could. 

“The Basic School” (TBS) occupies a large swath of land directly across I-95 from the main Marine Corps Base at Quantico. TBS is where green Lieutenants become officers capable of leading a platoon of Marines into combat. The school is an intense, 26-week program that provides professional education as well as tactical skills and experience in scenarios typical to battlefield environments where Marines operate around the world. Much of the training is outdoors, with long forced marches and weeks of field duty. Where OCS served as a wickedly efficient screening to ensure candidates were qualified and capable of being officers, the focus of TBS was to train lieutenants how to be an effective leader. It was still physically and academically demanding, but it wasn’t the meat grinder of physical and mental harassment that OCS had been. During TBS, most of the lieutenants lived on a long dormitory style hall. It wasn’t uncommon to be awakened during the night by someone yelling from a nightmare about OCS. Even decades later I still occasionally have one.  

One lasting remnant from OCS that became amplified at TBS was the complete neurosis over being late. If the Company Commander called for a 6 AM formation, his subordinate Platoon Commanders would dictate an arrival of 5:50 to ensure timeliness. Squad Leaders, fearful of missing the Platoon Commander’s deadline, would call for us to show up at 5:40. Fireteam leaders would demand a 5:30 arrival. Sometimes it was much worse, with Lieutenants arriving 45 minutes prior to a scheduled formation in a cascade of punctuality. It was laughable and sometimes frustrating as we stood in the cold while we could have been doing something else, but the emphasis on promptness without excuse was understandable. Marines were simply never late. Real-world missions were timed with precision. Other Marines would be depending on you and being late could cost lives. Trust was so important that once a time was set, months or even years could go by with no further communication. A Marine was expected to show up promptly as agreed with no reminder, preferably a few minutes early. It was a matter of keeping one’s word.

Weapons and tactics training in the field training were balanced with formal classroom instruction on topics ranging from land navigation to military law. We studied battles from the dawn of recorded history to the conflict in Vietnam. Each Lieutenant was issued a stack of books that would be read and examined during the course. The wisdom contained still earns many of them a place on my bookshelf today. Among my favorites were, “A Message to Garcia”, by Elbert Hubbard,  “On War” by Prussian General Karl Von Klauswitz, “The Art of War” by Sun Tzu.

The crown jewel on the list was the holy scripture of the Corps, the slim pocket booked designated as “Fleet Marine Force Manual 1 (FMFM1) “Warfighting”, by legendary Vietnam Veteran and current Marine Corps Commandant General Al Gray. Gray had served multiple tours in Vietnam, starting with the 3^rd Marine Division in 1965. Ten years later, he would be the commanding officer in charge of the final American evacuation from Saigon as the North Vietnamese stormed the country. In a vivid scene of desperation that was replayed on the nightly news, terrified Vietnamese embassy staff had clung to the final Marine helicopter to depart the embassy. When the NVA arrived, many of them were slaughtered. In a culture of courage and honor, General Gray was the consummate leader, a warrior king who had earned his way up from lowly private to the highest rank in the Corps. During his long career, he had earned the Silver Star, 2 instances of the Legion of Merit, 4 Bronze Stars, and was awarded 4 purple hearts for injuries sustained in combat. He was universally respected, and his impact and improvement to the defense of our nation is felt to this day.

We learned exactly how to correctly wear every uniform item and insignia with precision, using small transparent rulers to determine the exact placement according to the manual. We also placed orders for the signature historical weapon of Marine Officers, the Mameluke Sword. Swords had long ago given way to pistols, shotguns, and carbine rifles as the close fighting weapon of choice, but they remained an important reminder of the early days of the Corps and were worn for special occasions with the iconic Dress Blue uniform.

The Mameluke Sword’s association with Corps dated to the time of the First Barbary war. In 1805, President Thomas Jefferson had grown increasingly frustrated with pirate attacks against US ships operating off the coast of North Africa. Evidence indicated that many of the attacks originated in Tripoli, then a rebellious province of the sprawling Ottoman Empire. Americans had been captured and were being held as hostages by the local prince.  Jefferson personally travelled to London to negotiate with Tripoli’s ambassador for the release of American hostages and an end to the attacks. He asked the ambassador what grounds the Libyans had to attack the ships of a nation that had done them no injury. The response was simple and clear.

 It was written in their Koran, (that all nations which had not acknowledged the Prophet were sinners, whom it was the right and duty of the faithful to plunder and enslave; and that every mussulman (Muslim) who was slain in this warfare was sure to go to paradise. 

An ally had been found in the rightful heir to the province, Hamet Karamanli. Hamat’s brother Yusuf had forcefully removed Hamet from the throne, and Hamet had promised the Americans that he would help them in their fight against Yusef by providing men and material, and when he was reinstated, he would assist them in their struggle against piracy.

As part of the campaign against Tripoli, First Lieutenant Presley O’Bannon was directed to lead a force to capture the city of Derna in Libya. Accompanied by Hamet, O’Bannon’s expeditionary force was made up of eight Marines and several hundred mercenaries. They set out from my father’s birthplace of Alexandria, Egypt for Derna, which was on the route to the provincial capital of Tripoli. The force of warriors emerged from the North African desert after a 500-mile forced march, attacked the city’s defenders, and secured the city as ordered. For the first time in history, American troops had fought on foreign soil, and the American flag was raised above territory secured in battle. American hostages were returned, and a treaty was negotiated ending the war. As a token of his appreciation and respect, Prince Hamet presented O’Bannon with a distinctive sword. Marine Corps Commandant Archibald Henderson directed that the sword be worn by Marine Officers, and it became a permanent part of an officer’s wardrobe. The war was commemorated in the second line of the Marines Hymn.

 

From the Halls of Montezuma
To the shores of Tripoli;
We fight our country's battles
In the air, on land, and sea;
First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean;
We are proud to claim the title
Of United States Marine.

 

In a disturbing footnote to the events, the US State Department’s lead emissary Tobias Lear, in negotiating an end to the war with Yusef, reneged on the deal with Hamet. Yusef was allowed to remain on the throne. (3)

 

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

“On board the GANGES, about 12 months ago, [Marine] Lt. Gale, was struck by an Officer of the Navy, the Captain took no notice of the Business and Gale got no satisfaction on the Cruise; the moment he arrived he called the Lieutenant out and shot him; afterwards Politeness was restored”

Lieutenant Colonel W. W. Burrows, 2^nd Commandant of the Marine Corps

 

Over the next year, I would travel to various Marine Corps and Navy bases for periods of training. The school year flew by and before long I had another set of orders for summertime active duty. In order to broaden our horizons as future officers we would spend time at a series of bases learning different roles available to officers in the naval services. We learned about opportunities with the Navy’s special operations force of Sea, Air, Land teams (SEALS), and got a small taste of their intense training and workouts. We studied careers in aviation, getting to pilot a Navy helicopter and learning basic piloting knowledge. We learned how to evacuate from a helicopter that had crashed into the ocean, first waiting for the rotors to stop, and then finding the openings and swimming to safety without kicking anyone in the head. We loaded into training helicopter fuselage that was dropped into a deep pool and got the practice the movements. When we mastered the technique, the instructors inserted a new challenge by having the simulated helicopter fuselage turn upside after it hit the water. Those of us designated as Marine options conducted a mock amphibious attack, riding inside a metal vehicle that revved its engine before plunging from the lowered ramp of the ship into the ocean. Initially it seemed as though the heavy metal amphibious assault vehicle would drop straight to the bottom like an anchor, but it lazily climbed up through the waves, lumbered through the surf on to the sandy beach where the ramp dropped down and we were disgorged. We rappelled and fast roped from hovering helicopters, simulating activities of an assault or insertion.  We even learned how to repair a hole in the side of a ship that had been damaged by a torpedo, working in a simulator that replicated conditions of a sinking ship, to include a rising water level, broken pipes, and a hold in the bulkhead (wall).

Since the dawn of modern naval conflict between oil and gas-powered ships, sailors had suffered excruciating deaths when they were thrown or jumped into oil covered seas. Any spark would transform the film covering the water into a fiery torment, with skin melting heat and flames for those unlucky enough to be trapped in the burning slick. Men would dive down into the water to escape the flames, but when their air ran out they would emerge, only to be burned again. The US Navy had developed a protocol to help sailors and Marines avoid this fate, and we were taught how to do it. Someone in dangerous or burning water would dive beneath the surface, swim as far as he could towards safe water, and then as he came up for air, extend his arms vertically above him and splash the water away with his hands as he broke the surface, hopefully pushing the oil or gas aside and providing a narrow window of opportunity to suck in a quick breath before continuing the underwater escape. We gained all sorts of knowledge that could eventually be valuable and potentially life saving.  I hoped I never had to use some of the skills, but I was glad I’d learned them just in case.

The development of nuclear weapons and the means to deliver them by the Soviet Union presented the United States with a new threat of destruction by a foreign power. A key concept that successfully prevented the Cold War from turning into a potentially world ending nuclear conflict was Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD) guaranteed a potential belligerent that by launching a strike using nuclear weapons, they would subsequently be destroyed. A ballistic missile could travel between the two countries in less than 30 minutes, so the country being attacked would likely not have time figure out what was happening and launch its own ground-based missiles in response before their country was devastated. Arming submarines with missiles provided countries with a credible ability to deliver a return strike if attacked. The US outfitted a fleet of special submarines, designated as SSBNs (Ship, Submersible, Ballistic Capable, Nuclear Powered). Propelled by an internal nuclear reactor, an SSBN did not need to refuel. This allowed the vessel to remain deep in the ocean for months at a time, serving as a silent, but ever-present reminder of the folly of launching a nuclear attack. Launched in 1966, the Francis Scott Key (SSBN-657) featured 16 launch tubes and dozens of nuclear missiles that could deliver a warhead around the world. It had enough firepower to destroy a small country. Being on a submarine was not for the claustrophobic. I learned how the navigation and sonar worked, and we went out to sea from the port of Charleston. Every precious nook and cranny on the boat was used, and bunks for sleeping were no exception. Mine was right beside a launch silo for a Trident missile.

Semesters passed by, and I found myself in the final stages of preparing for the long-dreaded summer assignment to Officer Candidate School (OCS). Marine Corps OCS is a course that officers must pass before receiving their commission. The length is either 6 or 10 weeks, depending on the program in which you are enrolled. The standard Officer Candidate Course (OCC) is ten weeks long. Naval ROTC students attend a shorter six-week class nicknamed “Bulldog”. Due to the training they receive in the NROTC program, they are expected to report to OCS ready to immediately jump in to the advanced training schedule. Preparation for OCS was intense.  A new Major had replaced the one from my freshman year. When he introduced himself to us, he gave us the standard lineage of all the units he had served with and places he had been. He concluded with a statement I found a bit odd, “I have never had the privilege of serving in combat.” Up to that time, I had thought about service as a lot of things, but privilege wasn’t one of them. He flipped conventional thinking on its head. For him, combat wasn’t some duty you would do if it came to it, it was something he wanted, a higher calling he actively sought out. He seemed to have no compunctions at all about the prospect of what war meant, and even spoke of it with a hint of anticipation. I didn’t think the act of killing someone was a privilege, but I understood his point regarding his enthusiasm and readiness to serve his country. While I respected his eagerness, I questioned his choice of words.

As a Christian, I had wrestled with the idea of war since first seriously considering joining the military. Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest had put it simply “War means fighting, and fighting means killing”. Forrest had led men into action on the deadly fields of Shiloh; he understood the seriousness of the endeavor. The carnage of Shiloh had resulted in more than 24,000 men killed and wounded. Union General Grant, who had been at the battle remarked of the scene, “I saw an open field, in our possession on the second day, over which the Confederates had made repeated charges the day before, so covered with dead that it would have been possible to walk across the clearing, in any direction, stepping on dead bodies, without a foot touching the ground.” In addition to his service during the war, Forrest also had the dubious distinction of being the first leader of the Klu Klux Klan (KKK). While his history as a slave owner and association with the KKK is repulsive to me, it shouldn’t prevent us from heeding his grim warning about the nature of war.

Ending the life of another human was a nauseating concept. Dropping a bomb on an enemy position from 30,000 feet seemed horrific enough, but that’s not how Marine battles I knew of went. Engagements often devolved into an intensely personal close fight. After marksmanship training where the Marine adage of “one shot, one kill” is enabled I could reliably put a tight pattern of rounds in a target area the size of someone’s head at 500 yards. I imagined how difficult it would be to pull the trigger knowing the target was a man with hopes, dreams, and a family of his own. As I considered various combat scenarios, the closer the enemy was, the more difficult it was to imagine causing his death. I remembered back to that first deer I had killed years ago, and how I had felt after drawing the knife across his throat. It wasn’t a good feeling, and that was an animal that was going to be a meal for my family. I got cold chills thinking about delivering a fatal blow to a man that God himself had knit in the womb.

 I knew that death could come and would doubtless be delivered in close quarters. Often eye to eye, with knives, pistols, or shotguns, you would have to behold the man you were getting ready to destroy, and he would look at you before you drove the knife or bayonet deep into his chest. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, and I didn’t consider it a privilege. Marines often made light of the gruesome business, but we knew the toll that it would take. First person stories of close combat revealed that when it came right down to the brutal reality, Marines would tenaciously fight for the lives of their friends and comrades as much as for their own. 

The truth of the matter is that no one knows with absolute certainty how they will react in a desperate life-threatening situation. However, I had as much confidence as any Marine could that I would never let anyone down who counted on me, no matter how unpleasant the task. After much prayer and consideration, I felt confident that if the time came I would do my duty without hesitation, but I prayed that I would never have to. I had enough problems without carrying that load the rest of my life. Your mind can be like a house with many rooms. Some rooms are full of happy memories, proud moments, and warm joy. Others contain dark thoughts, fears, and horrific tragedy. Doors to these rooms should only rarely, if ever, be opened, and extended time inside is not a good idea. Staying too long leads down a dark staircase to madness.

Chapter Twenty-Four

 

 

Be Proud, Be Professional, Press On, Steam, Fly and Fight

Motto of the USS Kitty Hawk

 

The Outer Banks of North Carolina were formed over the ages as changing sea levels, storms, and the relentless currents of the Atlantic Ocean steadily gnawed and whipped at the protruding eastern shore of the North American continent. The continuous assaults resulted in a narrow strip of land stretched for 200 miles, forming the outer boundary of the state. The string of peninsulas and barrier islands were separated from the rest of the state by shallow bodies of water known as “sounds”. Historically isolated and home to pirates, (most notably Blackbeard), outlaws, and fishermen, the region became more accessible in the late nineteenth century as the state road system improved and travelers found it easier to access the remote islands. Word spread of the pristine sandy beaches and tall sand dunes that rolled along the seaside. Although still relatively remote and far from the burgeoning state capital of Raleigh 200 miles to the west, visitors began arriving.

Working in their bicycle shop in Dayton, Ohio, brothers Orville and Wilbur Wright had become possessed by the idea of creating a machine that would allow men to fly. For years they worked on designs and concepts, and by 1899, they had a working model ready for testing. Early versions of the young airplanes were unstable, difficult to launch, and nearly impossible to control. A friend suggested that the steady breeze, soft sand, and relative isolation when compared to Ohio would be a perfect location to continue testing and development of the amazing contraption. The brothers loaded up their tools, equipment, and models, and relocated their operation to a section of remote beach just south of the North Carolina town of Kitty Hawk. After years of steady progress marred by incremental setbacks and failures, on December 14^th, 1903, with Wilbur at the controls, the aircraft lifted into the breeze for three seconds before crashing. Progress came quickly, with the next flight by Orville going for 12 seconds and 120 feet. Subsequent flights continued to increase in time and distance. History had been made outside the small North Carolina town.

The desperate struggle in the Pacific between the United States and Japan had proven the importance and utility of aviation to military forces. Specifically, the floating, mobile air power that the innovation known as an Aircraft Carrier provided had been a key to the victory of the US in World War II.  As tensions rose between the US and the Soviet Union in the 1950s, a new generation of “Supercarriers” was designed. Named after the remote North Carolina town that had been the launching pad for the first flight of a powered aircraft, the USS Kitty Hawk, designated as (CV-63 – the C standing for Carrier, and the V designating that it carried fixed wing planes) was commissioned in April of 1961, just a few months after the inauguration of President John F. Kennedy. With a length equal to three football fields including the end zones, and a full displacement of over 81,000 tons, the “Battle Cat” was a floating city, loaded to the teeth with sailors, aircraft, and more firepower destructive capacity than most nations of the world. In addition to sailors, the crew of 5,624 included a detachment of Marines. Since the founding of the country, Marines had served on Navy Ships. Their mission was to repel attacks from enemies trying to board the vessel, as well as jumping, swinging, or climbing onto opposing ships to generally wreak havoc in often brutal and bloody hand to hand combat with pistols, knives, swords, or anything else they could get their hands on. Additionally, the Marines would be used to project power ashore to attack enemy strongholds or carry out other missions deemed necessary near the coast. The nickname of “leatherneck” stems from those early days, when Marines wore stiff leather collars to protect from sword blows meant to sever their heads from their bodies. The Kitty Hawk was no exception, boasting a detachment of Marines for any security mission that arose.

President Kennedy would visit the impressive ship in 1963, watching a demonstration of weapons capability from the deck. He addressed the crew and told them of the importance of their mission as part of the nation’s navy, providing for control of the seas. He later wrote of his visit “…impressed as I was, on my visit to Kitty Hawk, with the great force for peace or war, which these mighty carriers and their accompanying escorts provide, helping to preserve the freedom of distant nations in all parts of the world." (2)

The cold war with the Soviet Union was in full swing during most of the 1980s, with the world’s two super powers jockeying for position and preparing for a potential global conflict. In 1984, the Kitty Hawk found herself in the Sea of Japan, being closely followed by the Soviet attack submarine K-314 of the class “Scorpionfish”. Either by incompetence or misplaced boldness, a little after 10 PM one night, the K-314 surfaced directly in front of the bow of the ship. Too close to avoid a collision, the massive carrier slammed in to the Soviet sub a third of its length. As both vessels were thought to be carrying nuclear weapons at the time, the potential for a horrendous accident was high. Luckily, the carrier escaped serious damage, but the submarine was not as fortunate and sustained substantial damage. Unable to leave the scene under its own power, the sub remained in place for two weeks until a Soviet tug boat could tow it and its crew of 94 to a friendly port for repairs. (1) The crew joked that the “Battle Cat” was the first carrier to take out a nuclear submarine and painted a red sub on the side of the vessel near the bridge to commemorate the event. Unamused, Navy brass had them paint over the provocative image when it returned to home port in California. The Kitty Hawk served with distinction during the Vietnam years, launching aircraft for raids on targets and providing welcome close air support for Marines and soldiers fighting on the ground.

In January of my freshman year in college, the Kitty Hawk set out from her home port of San Diego for a scheduled cruise that would take her around the entire world. As a Midshipman, a part of the summer was reserved for active duty to gain experience and learn more about the Naval Service and its role in the defense of our nation. I eagerly awaited my assignment for the summer of 1987. After finishing the Spring semester, I received official orders from Headquarters, Marine Corps, and was on my way to my assignment. After several flights and plane changes, I ended up at the US Navy facility in Sigonella, Italy where I boarded a flight to my final destination along with a handful of other Midshipmen. Glancing at their collar insignia, I noticed I was the only one that had the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor of a “Marine Option”. Soaring about 25,000 feet above the Mediterranean, a small propeller driven plane carrying mail, supplies, and a few passengers lazily banked in a wide arc over the deep blue sea below. Far down in the distance, I first saw a small dot in the ocean. The dot grew steadily as the plane descended, I could make out the distinctive shape and dull grey of an aircraft carrier. As we descended further, the host of airplanes on the deck came sharply into view. I picked out F-14 Tomcat fighters, helicopters, and few aircraft I didn’t recognize. The flight deck was a beehive of activity, with every figure wearing goggles and brightly colored helmets. I disembarked the plane, carrying my cover tightly in my hand as I had been sternly warned that a cover blown into the turbine of a jet engine could cause millions of dollars of damage. As directed, with my sea bag over my shoulder, I followed an officer off the flight deck, replaced my cover, saluted the Ensign (US Flag) on the stern of the ship, turned and saluted the Officer on Duty, and asked “Permission to come aboard, Sir?” Permission granted, I made my way to a briefing room for an initial orientation. We were given a small map of the ship and told about areas we should avoid. The flight deck was specifically off limits, as were certain weapons storage and aircraft maintenance bays. The young Navy Lieutenant also added that we should stay out of the Marine spaces, as there was no reason for us to go there. He told us that the ship had just traversed the Indian Ocean, then made a port call in Mombasa, Kenya before continuing on through the Gulf of Aden and into the Red Sea. They crossed through the Suez Canal, and out into the Mediterranean where I had embarked. After some flight operations and training, they were going to make a couple more port calls then set out across the Atlantic to the east coast of the United States. To my surprise, rather than being assigned to the Marines, I was assigned to the ship’s Air Conditioning and Refrigeration (AC&R) maintenance crew. I removed my khaki midshipmen’s uniform and donned the dungarees and soft blue cotton shirt of a sailor. The dungarees featured wide bell bottoms, that looked odd to me at first, but they explained that the style was functional, as the wide bottoms allowed you to get your jeans off over your boots to be able to swim better if you got thrown into the sea. We were also shown how the jeans, once wet, could be removed and used as a short-term emergency float.

The AC&R shop was home to a great bunch of sailors. I eagerly followed them through bowels of the ship, checking on various components of the AC system. After a few days, I understood the basics of how the system worked. At night, I would spend time on the bridge. It was a fascinating place to be. From the radar technicians who kept track of was around us, to the plotting station where our past and future course was plotted out, to the communications office, where messages from around the world came in. The most amazing experience though, was watching the night operations of the aircraft. In total darkness except for a few dim running lights, the F-14 Tomcats would rev up their jets, which would quickly glow orange and red. After safety checks completed and permission was granted, they would rocket down the ship’s runway and off into the blackness. Eventually they would return, circling, coming into a path centered on the deck, slowing, and dropping a hook from the undersection of the plan. The hook would catch on a cable stretched across the deck which would quickly slow the plane, allowing it to come to a safe halt. This magnificent choreography of machines would play itself out over and over during the night, as the pilots and crew perfected their part in the intricate and potentially deadly dance. The show at night would have been impressive for anyone, but for an 18-year-old only recently graduated from high school, it was simply the most amazing thing I had ever seen. I loved being at sea, and I loved being on the ship. The salty smell of the ocean breeze, the indescribable vastness of the water, and the sharpness of the stars in the unobstructed night sky filled me with an excitement and overwhelming appreciation just for being alive and present at that very time and place. I would often go to the fantail (rear) of the ship to watch the evening sun slowly descend through the horizon, wondering how many of my ancestors had sailed that same sea in search of a home.

Eventually, curiosity got the best of me, and I wandered down to area that held the Marine spaces. The entrance was painted red, with a gold Eagle, Globe, and Anchor stenciled in gold paint. As I approached, the door opened, and a Marine walked out. Catching the door as he passed by, I entered. By the standards of the ship, the space was generous, but filled with weapons, packs, helmets, and stacks of lockers containing other equipment. There were bunks, a table, and a few chairs scattered around. A weight set occupied one corner. Young Marines focused intently on manuals, continuing to work despite my intrusion. A young officer walked over, and I told him what I was up to. He was pleasant enough, nothing like the Major at the armory in Chapel Hill. He spent a few minutes explaining his role, and told me his Marines stayed busy studying, working out, cleaning weapons, and reviewing tactical references. He told me I was welcome to come down anytime, but there wasn’t a lot of action there, and I’d probably enjoy learning about other parts of the ship and its operation while I had the chance. I’d have plenty of time to learn about weapons and tactics in the future. I continued my work with the AC&R crew, and spent time in other parts of the ship, but mainly around the bridge. I continued to be amazed at how the Captain coordinated the activities of the crew, and how the whole ship functioned with precision around the clock and in all sorts of weather. After a short time, we anchored off the coast of the island of Palma de Mallorca, Spain. I explored the historic island and relaxed on the beach with the sailors of the AC&R team. The ship was soon underway and conducting flight operations again, but before long dropped anchor in the harbor of Cannes, on the French Riviera. One of the local universities hosted a party for the ship’s junior officers, and the midshipmen were invited to come along. At the party I met a group of students from Sweden, and one of them became my tour guide and companion for the next few days. I was enthralled as Christina described how students in Europe travelled the continent cheaply and quickly by train, and I wished I could take a year off to visit the region. She showed me around Cannes, guiding me through the narrow cobblestone streets to cafés, surrounding beaches and countryside. Before long, the port call ended, and we were back on the ship heading towards the Straights of Gibraltar, out of the Mediterranean and in to the Atlantic Ocean. My first period of active duty coming to an end, I boarded a helicopter and was flown to a nearby base in Spain, and then back to the US. The summer experience had thoroughly sold me on military life. I loved the travel, the excitement, and the mission. I couldn’t wait for the next adventure

Chapter Twenty-Two

 

 

“. . . a stone, a leaf, an unfound door; a stone, a leaf, a door. And of all the forgotten faces.

Thomas Wolfe

 

August came quickly, and by the middle of the month, Chris and I had moved on campus. Our room was part of a four-room suite on the fourth floor of the dorm named after former Governor John Christoph Blucher Ehringhaus, who had graduated from the University in 1902. We called it “E-Haus” for short. We explored the campus, visiting the Old Well for a good luck drink from the fountain, and walking by the Confederate statue of “Silent Sam”. The Undergraduate library, weight room, and basketball gym were all found and checked out. I spotted Michael Jordan, who had returned to campus to finish his degree after a few years in the NBA. Living on campus was a dream come true, and I was certain the next four years were going to be a great experience. I was so glad I had decided on UNC instead of pursuing the academy. I figured my Midshipman responsibilities would only take me a few hours a week and would have only minimal impact on my social and academic life.

The Captain that presented me with the scholarship at North Stanly didn’t have a lot to say, but he did notice my longish hair with the semi-mullet style of the 80s and commented that I better get a haircut before reporting to school. His hair was shaved on the side and back, with only a small scruffy patch on the top. It fit him but was definitely not my style. I found a barbershop and told the barber that I was joining the Naval ROTC unit and needed to get cleaned up. He asked me how short and tight I wanted it, and I told him to cut off the least that I could get by with and still be within regulations. While I was excited about being in the military, I still wanted to be able to blend in and not instantly be labeled and stereotyped. He complied, and I reported to the Naval Armory, where I was issued the uniforms of a midshipmen, and briefed on the schedules and activities in which I would be participating. I was issued a green canvas sea bag in which to put my newfound treasures. 

The Navy officers and staff I had met were helpful, friendly, and cheerful. They seemed to enjoy their job and I figured the post at Chapel Hill was probably good duty for them, and welcome break from other assignments. The armory was a beehive of activity. Midshipmen with neat, fresh haircuts like mine were coming and going quickly, walking with a sense of purpose, greeting each other, and carrying piles of books and uniforms. I was directed to go upstairs and report to the Marine Officer Instructor (MOI). Looking forward to my interaction with what I anticipated to be my welcoming Marine Family, I climbed up the creaking wooden stairs two at a time, set my seabag down beside a bench, and energetically popped in to the office with the familiar Eagle, Globe, and Anchor stencil on the door. The unholy hell that awaited me in that small office was unlike anything I had ever experienced to that point.

 The Major sitting behind the desk was built like a tank. His upper arms bulged under the neatly rolled up sleeves of his utility jacket, and his broad shoulders filled the uniform tightly. He had a face like a bulldog that seemed heavy with the weight of unimaginable burdens, and the same close-cropped haircut worn by the Captain I had met at my high school. I later learned it was called a “high and tight”, which was the standard haircut for any self-respecting Marine. He was reading a report and ignored my entry. I smiled and said “hello” in a cheerful voice and waited for him to respond. After an unnerving delay, his eyes slowly left the paper, and starting at my feet, scanned me all the way up, like they were measuring me for a coffin. He eyed me with a look of incredulity, not quite sure what to make of the person who had interrupted what must have been an important message from someone high in the chain of command. He turned his head to the left and barked, “Gunny!” A door opposite the door I entered from opened, and mountain of a man burst in. Charging right at me with wild eyes, he thankfully stopped before crashing into me. The tirade commenced. Before even finding out who I was, he gave me a crash course in how badly I had screwed up. While the Major returned to his document, Gunnery Sergeant Moore gave me detailed instruction on how to appropriately knock on the door (three firm knocks on the wooden doorframe, not on the door itself.) I was to announce myself, starting with “Sir”, then saying my name (now Midshipman Cavaliero) and adding “requests permission to enter.”, followed by another “Sir” for good measure. I was to stand there until acknowledged, and only when told to enter was I to step into the room. I was to center myself in front of the desk and stand there at attention (another lesson), until told to stand “at ease”. At that point, I was to spread my feet shoulder width apart, put my hands behind my back, and await further instruction or questions. While seemingly simple instructions, the shock of this unexpected introduction to military life completely threw me for a loop. With his deep voice booming and sometimes approaching menacingly close, the GySgt made me go through the drill over and over again. I bungled some aspect of the ritual every time. We stayed at this for what seemed like hours, until I finally got the hang of it, and successfully stood there in front of the Major’s desk. Then it was the Major’s turn. 

He didn’t talk fast and loud like the GySgt., but assumed a calm, forceful, and logical, but disgusted tone. He told me I was a disgrace and would be better off quitting and going home now rather than to continue to pretend I could be a Marine. He pointed out the fact that my shirt wasn’t tucked in, I wasn’t wearing a belt, my shoes were dirty, and my haircut was totally unacceptable for a Marine, or “unsat” in his words. He could clearly see the small scar on my left earlobe that had once been home to the gold lightning bolt, and he sarcastically questioned my manhood in the most vulgar language imaginable. He told me if I wanted to be a Marine, I should go get myself squared away, and then come back once I got my <stuff> together. I said, “Yes Sir!”, and turned around to leave, but before I got out the door the GySgt. called me back and continued the torment. I learned that there was a protocol for leaving the Major’s office, just as intricate and formal as the entry. This next lesson continued for an agonizingly long period and included additional colorful commentary on my ridiculous looks and lack of intelligence, but the lesson eventually completed, and I was dismissed.

 I picked up my uniforms and hurried out of the Armory. On the long walk by the bell tower and Kenan Stadium to the dorm, it occurred to me that those Marines were good at what they just did. Too good for it to have been an instant, unplanned reaction to me. They had done it before and were well practiced. I was still shaken, but I wasn’t about to give up that easy. I went back to the barbershop and explained that what I really needed was a Marine regulation haircut. He smiled knowingly and squared me away.  I went back to the Major’s office the next day, completed the choreography for successful admittance, and was called in. The Major seemed now to be casually interested in me, and with the GySgt sitting close by, invited me to have a seat, and asked me about my background and history. I was wary of triggering any new outbursts and kept my answers as inoffensively simple and to the point as possible. I didn’t mention my father’s time in the Corps, as that wasn’t a can of worms I wanted to open. I told him I wanted to be a Marine because I admired the history I knew of them and admired the qualities I observed, which was the absolute truth. Another young man about my age approached the office and was granted entry by the prescribed method, evidently, he had received the same instruction they had delivered to me a day earlier. In a freshman class of twenty something Midshipmen, we two were the only ones who were slated to become Marines. The Major explained that we were Midshipmen in training to be Marines, and even though we had signed Marine Corps enlistment papers committing us to eight years of naval service, it was far from certain that we would ever earn the title of Marine, much less become the officers who would eventually be qualified to lead Marines into battle. We would have duties over and above that of the other Midshipmen, and GySgt. Moore, upperclassmen, and other members of the staff would closely supervise our development. If we followed the program, stayed out of trouble, and put our hearts into it, the guidance provided would give us what we needed to succeed, but the result depended on us.

My education on etiquette continued over the following days. I was informed that when I was granted entry into an office, I had better know what I was going to say and spit it out promptly, so I didn’t waste time. Unnecessary detail, stories, stammering, and verbal tics were not welcome. If my host asked a question, it was to be answered directly and plainly with no equivocation or evasion. If the answer to the question wasn’t known, the answer was simple, “This midshipman doesn’t know, but will find out.”

Instruction was provided on how to respectfully interact with the staff, when to salute, and appropriate language to use. I was cautioned that the Marine officers should be approached with a mix of cautious reverence and fearful respect. If I met one in passing I was to give an appropriate standard greeting. “Good morning, Sir”, or “good afternoon, Ma’am”, and keep moving. I should not ask them how they were doing, because that was “none of your damn business.” If they wanted me to know how they were doing, or desired any conversation with me at all, they would make that fact clear. Unnecessary pleasantries or conversation were intrusions that kept them from their important work. I was also introduced to the unique language of the naval service. Walls were “bulkheads”, floors were “decks”, doors were “hatches”, and a hat was a “cover”. Running shoes were “go fasters” (because in them you could “go faster” than in boots), and bathrooms were “heads”. The Corps was a warrior culture, an exclusive club with its own language, history, and traditions unknown to outsiders.

There was a “dog tag” machine in the basement, which was used to stamp the thin metal tags worn around a service member’s neck. There were two tags on the chain. Each tag included the same information – name, blood type, branch of service, and religious preference. There were two tags, and my curiosity as to why was answered by an older Midshipman. “Before you go into combat, you take one of the tags off the chain and lace it up so it’s flat over the tongue of one of your boots. That way, if you manage to get your head shot off or your body blown in half it will be easier to identify you.” It sounded like a reasonable idea.

Classes started, and I worked to handle academics and military life. The other midshipmen became my fast friends, and together we navigated uniform inspections, close order drill, early morning drill team practices, and classes on naval history and more naval etiquette. The Navy officers who provided instruction to all the Midshipmen were full of fantastic tales from far off lands. Their colorful language was full of nautical terminology as well as words and phrases from ports of call they had visited. One of the first we learned was the concept of being in “deep kimchi”, with kimchi serving as a synonym in place of a crude term for human excrement. Evidently, kimchi was a nauseatingly foul mix of fermented cabbage and sea creatures that was loved by Koreans and hated by Americans. Among the midshipmen were other future Marines, referred to as “Marine Options” indicating their destination of the Marine Corps instead of the Navy, and they quickly assimilated me into their tight knit group. I learned that after our junior year, we would have to attend Officer Candidate School (OCS) in Quantico, VA, which sounded like journey to the deepest pit of hell. They said the welcome I got from the GySgt. and the Major were just a small taste of what was to come. The seniors who had gone to OCS the previous summer didn’t talk much about it, other than to generically report that “it sucked”. Being a part of the Marine detachment brought additional duties and requirements over and above those that the other midshipmen had. Physical fitness was a foundational requirement for Marines, and in addition to weekly formation runs, we were directed to put in mileage on daily individual runs. We were also “highly encouraged” to spend as much time in the weight room as possible.

Early on in our training came the torture known as a “hump”, or “forced march”. Since the days of the Greeks, soldiers moved to and from battles in tight formations of men moving as fast as they could go. The mobility and speed of a unit could be the key to victory, providing them the element of surprise or allowing the capture of a key piece of terrain like the Spartans did at Thermopylae. Fast paced forced marches over long distances had allowed General Stonewall Jackson to frustrate and defeat much larger Union forces in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia during the Civil War. Those lessons were not lost on Marines. From my earliest training days, we would fall into formation wearing full gear of boots, utilities, web belt with canteens, helmets, and full backpacks for these hikes. Humps starting at 3 miles in length and increased to distances of 25 miles years later. During officer training, humps were pure misery. Officers had to be able to lead their men, and you couldn’t lead from the front if you couldn’t keep up with the pace. We marched at a pace that resembled speed walking, and the only way to keep up was to lengthen out your stride, lean into it, and push mightily with your legs. To avoid gaps forming in the line, we had to stay within an arms distance of the Marine directly to our front. A rest break of 10 minutes was given for every hour of hiking. Once I eventually made it to the Fleet Marine Force (FMF, also referred to as “the fleet”), the hikes were a piece of cake compared to the agony of training humps. An early refrain from our active duty training staff was, “The more you sweat in peace, the less you bleed in war.”

When we would run in group formations we would sing running songs known as “Jodies”.

The songs had a practical purpose, the loud singing would strengthen lungs, build confidence and camaraderie as the deep, powerful voices singing in unison reverberated throughout the campus. The foundation of the name was an ode to the famous dark humor of the military. “Jody” was the typical civilian dude who would steal the girlfriend of a Marine serving in some far-off corner of the world.  A frequent subject of the songs, as well as taunt by instructors, was the increasingly intimate physical relationship between Jody and the young woman, often referred to as “Sally”. The lyrics had a sober and tacitly understood lesson, “Do your job and forget about the past. Your life is now the Corps.” Other songs recounted Marine adventures and achievements, inculcating the young men and women to the warrior culture with every step. Songs were simple, sung in a “call and answer” format.  A leader to the side of the formation would start by singing the first line. The formation would answer, repeating the line.

Standard beginnings would often turn into hilarious improvised riffs as the side by side columns snaked through streets and pathways and the miles added up.

 

If I die in a combat zone

Box me up and send me home

Pin my ribbons upon my chest

Tell my mamma I did my best

 

It was “highly recommended” that Marine Option Midshipmen become members of the precision Drill Team, meeting most mornings at 6AM to practice drill movements with 9.5 lb M1 Garand rifles, which were the same ones used in much of WWII and Korea by the Marines. The Drill Team participated in competitions and parades, where we would spin the rifles around, throw them in the air, flip them back and forth, and other movements designed to impress anyone watching. The rifles had to be cleaned and oiled frequently, and we learned how to take them apart, cleaning, lubricating, and treating the rich wooden stocks with linseed oil. At GySgt. Moore’s suggestion, I joined the pistol team, and spent long hours at the shooting range in the basement of the armory, learning the basics of marksmanship and preparing for competitions. On weekends and even holidays, we would often travel to Camp Lejeune, Parris Island, or other campuses with NROTC units for pistol or drill competitions. I realized that Naval ROTC, and specifically the Marine Corps, had become my life, and college was being fit in to the time that the Corps didn’t own. With the increased physical activity, and specifically the running, I packed on muscle weight. We went on long runs, calling “Jodies” as we moved along, and often threw in “Indian sprints”, where our typical two abreast formation would merge into a single column, and the person at the back would sprint the length of the column and end up in front. This would continue until the requisite level of exhaustion was reached. We also occasionally ran with the M1 rifles in formation through campus, calling cadences designed to mildly offend anyone with anti-military sentiments who might be within hearing distance. The miles racked up, and I felt great, except for my feet and ankles, which were swollen and throbbing with pain by the end of the day. I talked with some of the other guys, who told me it would get better as my body adjusted. After my experience with the asthma situation, I was cautious about disclosing any medical problem. The pain and swelling didn’t get better, in fact it got worse. I also noticed my shoes were wearing out at alarming rate in an unusual pattern. As instructed, I had replaced my ratty old sneakers with a pair of running shoes shortly after arriving on campus. Only a few months into the year, the new shoes were badly worn and misshapen on the on the big toe side of each shoe. The outside edge was pristine. When classes were dismissed for Christmas break, I went back home. I told Grandmother and Damps about the situation and that I didn’t see how I could keep this up for another semester, much less four years and a career. Rightfully concerned, they took me to a podiatrist. He examined me, and said I had a condition known as “excessive pronation”. I asked if it could be fixed, and he told me that while there was nothing he could do for the fundamentally flawed foot structure causing the problem, he could fit me with a set of custom orthotics that would adjust the angle that at which my feet rested in the shoes, balancing the pressure from my weight correctly. A few weeks later, the orthotics arrived, and I eagerly bought a new pair of shoes and slipped them in. It was an immediate improvement. While my feet and ankles still hurt after a long run, it wasn’t nearly as bad as before, and I was confident I could now train as hard and long as required.

 

An Asymmetric Conflict

Our state, our nation, and our larger world are under attack by the Covid-19 virus. Many have likened it to a war, and there are certainly similarities. I know a thing or two about warfare and strategy. While the analogy only goes so far, there are some lessons here.

The virus could be seen as "asymmetric warfare", which essentially is an attack by an enemy who uses far different tactics than you are prepared for, causing enormous initial damage. The German use of long range rockets against the British during WWII illustrates how devastating this type of warfare can be. It also gives us clues as to how to win.

Asymmetric warfare has devastating psychological and 2nd order effects, and that is exactly what is happening to us right now.
The economic toll is staggering, and desperation is creeping in. Our lives have become a battlefield, and our people are being hurt in more ways than just the main attack of the sickness. We must incorporate this fact as we develop our strategy for victory.

It's possible to believe the Covid-19 virus is deadly, and still believe that we need a plan for bringing segments of our economy online.

A plan means documented benchmarks for exactly how we will get back to business based on the actual conditions.
A plan includes specific segments of the economy, specific regions of the state, and specific actions that will be taken based on measurements.
A plan includes contingencies for rolling back quickly in the event of unforeseen negative events, as well as acceleration in the event things turn out better than expected.

The data clearly shows that certain segments of the population are most at risk. Let's protect them with vigilance. We have indications that the virus is more pervasive than originally thought, let's examine what this means in terms of the death rate and incorporate into our calculations. Data shows that social distancing is working, let's maintain safety precautions as we start to resume some limited activities. Our hospitals have capacity, our testing and PPE supplies are getting better every day. Let's bring our data, our experience, our knowledge to bear on the enemy. Let's remember our brothers and sisters who are being devastated economically by being completely shut down as well as those who are sick.

The challenge is more complex than arguments over completely opening up, or staying shut down until the virus is completely gone. In short, we need a strategy to fight an enemy leveraging asymmetric warfare. What is needed is far beyond a simple "frontal attack", or a "retreat and hide" tactic. We know how to fight kinetic wars against innovative enemies. Let's use our skill, wisdom, and experience in that terrible realm to bring victory in this conflict. This is our time, our opportunity to rise to the occasion as previous generations have done with courage, innovation, and firm resolve.

A Business Leader's Guide to Planning in a Crisis Environment

If you're a business owner or leader right now, this is probably one of the most difficult times of your life.  Your family, your employees, clients, suppliers, and an entire eco-system of partners and related businesses all look to you for leadership. The weight of responsibility can be crushing, and it's something many people can't understand unless they've been there.

As a business owner and CEO for many years, I understand because I've felt the crush. The economic aspect of this crisis is bad, probably worse than anything we've seen in our lifetime. The good news is that we will get to the other side of it. Even though it may feel like the end of the world, I can guarantee you that it is not. At some point, we will return to normal operations. Whether it's 2 months or 2 years, every tough situation has a beginning and an end, including this crisis.

So, what kind of actions would I suggest for leaders who are bringing their organizations through this crisis?

Obviously, there are many different potential courses of action and strategies available. What works for one business might not be appropriate for another. Over the years, I've found that a defined planning process to help bring structure to what could be chaos is helpful, and I've outlined once such process below. Hopefully in these recommendations you can find something to help you to craft your own strategy to guide your firm through these turbulent times. As always, as you are working through a crisis, it's important to take care of your physical, mental, and spiritual fitness daily - exercise, read, and pray/meditate. Even though those things are critical, I won't dwell on them. Instead, let's jump right into to the planning process.

1. Evaluate your position. Take stock of the situation, with as little emotion as possible. In order to come through this successfully, you need to have a realistic assessment of exactly where you are. You most likely won't have all the information you need, but use what you have, and make your best educated guess as to the rest. There are seven key areas I'd recommend for evaluation:

• Cash - What does your cash position look like? Work on your cash flow projections. How much reserves do you have? How much inventory? How strong are your lines of credit? Will you need your investors to pitch in with a capital call? How are your personal lines of credit? Home Equity? 401K withdrawal? Credit cards? What government assistance programs might be helpful?
• Clients - How are they being impacted? What do their prospects look like? Any chance of them leaving you with bad debt? Now is the time to communicate very clearly with them and set expectations. Will they be able to pay you?
• Vendors and suppliers - How are they communicating with you? Are they still living up to their agreements? Will they be able to provide the flexibility you need?
• Expenses - Which expenses are variable (changing based on volume), and which are fixed? (like a set lease agreement) Which can be cut? Review your entire Profit/Loss statement and examine each expense carefully.
• Team members - How has staffing been impacted? How is their morale? Examine metrics for each department and employee to see if the changing business climate has impacted their utilization and function. Are there areas where their freed up time can be put to use for other functions?
• Operations - What are the core functions of your business? What operations are critical to those core functions? How has the new reality of working during the virus outbreak changed your operation? Can your team members work from home? Is remote work as productive?
• Market - How has your market changed, and what will it look like over the next 12 months? How is demand for your products and services changing? How are client expectations changing? How are your competitors adapting?

Once you have a realistic picture of your current situation, we need to project what the economic environment is going to look like for the coming year for your specific business. Use the results of your situational evaluation, together with your appraisal of the current and possible future threat environment to build 3 scenarios for what the next year looks like.

• Best case
• Worse Case
• Most likely case

2. Consider all of your potential courses of action. Brainstorm every action you can think of, even the ones that may seem ridiculous. Sit down with your leadership team and list out all of the possible actions you could take at this time. For each course of action, detail out the potential benefits and risks of each one in each of the three scenarios you developed.

A few questions to get your creativity flowing:

• Are there functions that can be put "on hold" until they can be restarted?
• How can cash be preserved?
• Are there areas you can find deals, such as real estate or equipment?
• Can you negotiate discounts with suppliers?
• Would clients be open to discount offers if they guarantee purchase volume?
• How can staffing cuts be avoided or delayed?
• Are there new lines of business that could be profitable in the new environment?
• Are there existing lines of business that will be a drag on operations and cash?
• If you need to cut expenses, where can you do it without hurting your core business value proposition?
• How can you build alliances with other business owner? Are there ways to cooperate, share resources and information?

3. Compare all of your courses of action, discuss the relative merits of each, and rank them in order of preference. Use this ranking to decide on your preferred plan. The plan won't be perfect, and there will be risks and tradeoffs, but by comparing all possible courses of action, you will be selecting the  plan that has the best chance of being successful.

4. Document your plan. Hopefully, you have a written business plan for the year. If so, use the information and projections you made in the first step to update it. If a written plan wasn't something you ever completed, now is the time to do it. Even a simple plan is better than nothing at all. It is critical to write it down. Your plan should contain the important relevant modifications and be simple to understand so that every employee down to the most junior team member can explain it.

5. Communicate your plan to your team. Explain in detail how you'll execute on it as a team. Be honest about the risks as well as the potential benefits. Take time to make sure the plan is thoroughly understood. Have your team explain the plan back to you to make sure it is understood. Spend plenty of time answering questions and going through the "what if" scenarios.

6. Communicate essential elements of your plan to those outside of your organization that need to know. At this time, it's critical to keep up good communications so everyone is informed and in the loop on what to expect. Create a communications cadence matrix that includes clients, vendors, and employees. Each of these groups should know what to expect from you and your firm during this crisis. Try and keep up a regular cadence of communication, even if you don't have anything new to report. This will generate confidence that someone is firmly in charge and "on watch" as the situation evolves.

7. Execute the plan. Now is the time to get moving. Have your leaders put the plan into action, and check in with them as often as appropriate to see how they are doing. Meet weekly at a minimum to evaluate results and discuss any new information that should be incorporated into future operations.

I wish you all the best as you work through this. Our economy depends on leaders like you having the courage to face this situation and make the best of it. As a leader on the front lines of the economic aspect of this battle, your actions will have a lasting impact on the lives of many. I am grateful for you and those like you across our nation who will ultimately guide us out of this economic meltdown into a new period of growth and prosperity.

Economic Impact of the Corona Virus

The economic impact of this Corona virus is going to put our economy into a deep ditch, but it will pass. A quick recovery could be helped along by a special tax relief package targeted at the middle class and small business owners. This would provide the stimulus needed to generate confidence, security, and operating cash for both consumers and businesses.

Justification?  Operating capital is the lifeblood of any company. A mature, profitable, well run business will build up substantial cash reserves and credit lines over years of operations to get through a downturn. I always liked to have the ability to make 3 months' worth of payroll even in a worst case scenario. The danger comes in with an economic slowdown like I lived through in 2008-2009. We had been in an expansion phase and had started up a new line of business that had great promise, but wasn't yet profitable. We were plowing operating cash into it, creating jobs and revenue, but it took time to build credibility in the new market and land the substantial projects that we knew we could win. We were leaning forward very hard into growth because we believed in the people and the market. It was a good business, and we were a profitable company, but the investment in growth strained our cash flow. 

Of course, there are always options for financing growth, but organic financing through profit was our first choice. Then the slowdown hit. Some large clients slow payed bills, some went out of business, and a few cancelled contracts. It happened so quickly there was little time to adjust. Credit became incredibly tight, and financing was nowhere to be found. So, what to do? We were only a few weeks from running out of cash to meet payroll and tax requirements. We could have cut 20 jobs and contracted to a safe size, which would have been the textbook solution. That would have put 20 people on unemployment payments and possibly other government assistance. Luckily, I had some home equity I was able to tap and give us the capital needed to get by. In my instance we were very fortunate, and my thrift in early years paid off. However, if I hadn't already had that equity line in place, I wouldn't have been able to get it. We would have either gone out of business, or had massive layoffs. Both of those options would have had a cascade of bad impacts downstream for both our employees, clients, and vendors. It would have also been costly to tax dollars in the form of government assistance. At that point, I had been in business for 12 years. Many business haven't been around that long, and it makes it even tougher for them. 

Now, if the government had come in with an offer of tax relief  through a one-time reduction on personal income tax rate, it would have immediately helped the situation and taken off pressure. It would have been much less expensive to everyone concerned. I say personal income because most profits in SMBs flow through to the owners because of the structure most often used by small businesses. So, it wouldn't have helped the large corporations with deep pockets and the resources to weather the storm. Rather, it would have freed up money for those business owners who were risking everything to keep jobs in place and keep the economy moving. It would also have resulted in tax refunds for more middle class people, who would spend the refunds, injecting much needed cash into the economy. I'd be the first to say you don't want government picking winners and losers in the economy, but it seems like a little stimulus could prevent a lot of suffering. An across the board personal tax rate reduction seems a fair way to do it, benefiting both consumers and small business owners. I see today that the Fed just announced a half point interest rate decrease, and I think that is also a very helpful action.

A CEO's Approach to Problem Solving

Problems don't go away because money is thrown at them, they often get worse.

 Long term solutions are best developed by a planning process that blends innovation, accountability, and fiscal discipline with strategic investment. Results can then be monitored, evaluated, and incorporated into the next planning cycle. The critical question of, "how do we drive accountability and evaluate results?"  is what is often missing from government programs.

Want better government? Actively support better candidates. Every like, comment, share, and donation is a nail in the coffin of the current dysfunction. Thanks to all for your support and encouragement!

Potential Dangers of Artificial Intelligence and Robotics

Why should you be concerned about the potential misuse of Artificial Intelligence (AI) and robotics?
Imagine that someone creates a program to sweep through all social media accounts and make a list of everyone who shared a certain post or video, or liked posts by a certain person.
The list would include not only their name, but their picture, and phone number. This information is then loaded into a database and used to create a target list. AI could also be designed to target certain demographics (skin color, age, gender, etc)
A plane flies over a city and drops out 100,000 small drones, about the size of a hummingbird, but each with a camera, a "phone finder app", and facial recognition technology (like your iphone has).Each drone also includes a single explosive charge designed to detonate once within 1 inch of the target's head, or when the AI determines a door or window needs to be blown open so other drones can fly through. The drones talk to each other, identify the location of targets, and transmit a "mission accomplished" signal a millisecond before eliminating the target.
In a few hours, an entire class of people who believe a certain idea or belong to a certain group could be eliminated.
Farfetched? Not at all. Each component of the technology I described available now. It's just a matter of who gets their hands on it and decides to carry out an attack. These are the types of issues we need to be prepared to deal with in the next decade, and right now we are far behind.

https://youtu.be/GFD_Cgr2zho

Lessons Learned from History

Several folks have asked me if I've been following the impeachment. Honest truth - No, it's political circus that stokes the flames of divisiveness and further pushes us to the extremes. I am, however, thoroughly enjoying my latest deep dive into Roman history, because our government was patterned after, and has many of the same weaknesses as their Republic.
Was Marius or Sulla right? Caesar or Pompey? Octavian or Marc Anthony? Did the Gracchi brothers push social change too far, too fast? With the benefit of hindsight, does it even matter? I would say the true lesson is that hubris, ego, lust for power, and the inability to find common ground led to a steady decline in civil discourse, the rule of law, and the stability of the Republic. "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; There is nothing new under the sun". History bears witness to this fact, the only question is whether we learn from the blood stained dust of a ruined Republic and get our act together before we are lost.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/books/the-age-of-caesar-a-fresh-look-at-the-key-players-in-a-time-of-historic-unrest/2017/02/01/8c47df12-e49f-11e6-ba11-63c4b4fb5a63_story.html

A Shared Legacy of Values - Let's Do Government Better!

I grew up in a Southern Democratic household. My family believed in the party that brought us electricity through the TVA, infrastructure and jobs through the CCC, and national leadership during WWII. When I registered to vote, it was naturally as a Democrat. (I was attacked for this recently by a politician trying to dig up dirt on me. I guess that was all he could find.)

I switched my affiliation soon after college because I was inspired by Ronald Reagan's courage in standing up to the Soviet Union, and his vision and implementation of a revitalized America. I am a proud Republican, and I am dedicated to the Constitution I swore to protect as a Marine.

I believe there are good folks in both parties who earnestly want what's best for our country, and that the extremes don't represent the vast majority of our people. We owe it to those who have gone before, and to those who will come after, to work together to leave our home a better place than we found it.

Our party has a long history of supporting the causes and values that Americans identify with. From the faith in freedom of Abraham Lincoln to the trust busting and environmental protection of Teddy Roosevelt, to the vision and courage of Ronald Reagan that inspired me. Here in North Carolina, Governor Jim Martin showed us just what it meant to lead with vision and accomplish lofty goals. (driven on I40 lately?)

Let's reclaim the noble legacy that we all share: trust, maturity, dedication to country, courage, and ability to work together as Americans. Let's resist the urge to be forced to the extremes by those who seek to use fear as a weapon. Let's change the tone, and let's start right here in NC District 17. Let's do government better! www.Cav4NC.com