The day after Christmas, 1950, Margaret and I drove to Washington, D.C., where we rented an unfurnished apartment in a brand new complex in far off S.E. Anacostia. Twenty years later it became a ghetto. We had not a stick of furniture, so we bought that on time at Sears. As we contemplated twin beds, a wise older salesman nixed the idea, saying, "Young couples need to lie close together in the night. Good for the marriage!" Except for the long periods of sea, this idyllic recipe for couples lasted until recently when a beagle puppy took up residence in our bed. Now we're a menage a trois.

       New Years Eve (1950) found us at Indianhead, Maryland, where former Cecil Supply Officer, Mel Conard, was at the Navy Powder Factory. As we danced at the O'Club and kissed the old year goodbye--also the Cecil--visions of Okinawa danced in my head.

       We remained in Washington for over a year, during which time we were always close to Mel. I would see him again in California a few years later, and then "poof," he left my orbit. I'm pretty sure he's still alive, I just don't know where. Can't find him on Yahoo.

       After Washington, I became the Assistant Naval Attache in Rome, serving as a military aide to Ambassador Claire Booth Luce.

       My next tour came as CO of the minesweeper, LUCID, which replayed much of my life on the Cecil. I had the ship for 18 months, during which time I saw my wife twice, for a total of less than 20 days--once for a long weekend in Key West, and again for two weeks at Christmas while the ship lay in a dry dock at the Long Beach (CA) shipyard. Nine months later, in September, a son was born. A little something I gave Margaret for Christmas.

       On the Lucid, we sailed west through the canal, where bar girls in Panama were doing what they had been doing since the canal was built-- including those scarlet lip prints on sailor- whites. You must see it to believe it. By then, I had mellowed a bit and felt I was fairly well respected by my officers and crew. But that area is always touch and go, and in the end, I was happy to go home to take care of business and then to an Admiral's staff, where, for the most part, I briefed the old man on many things that seemed terribly important at that time.

       In 1959, I transferred to the Ready Reserves and took a job at NATO's SACLANT ASW Research Center in La Spezia, Italy, where we lived for six years. Our four kids (one born in Naples, one in La Spezia) went to the Italian schools, and Margaret, to the conservatory. Since they spoke only Italian in the daytime, we soon began speaking only Italian the rest of the time. Sometimes in the car, I would "command" the kids to speak English. Silence would fall for awhile, then suddenly we were all speaking Italian again.

       One item about La Spezia is especially important to my story. At Christmas, c. 1964, the Cecil came into the port for the holidays. Maybe the ship carried a flag then, but I suspect there were other destroyers in port. In any event, a Protestant chaplain appeared, and he conducted a special Christmas-Eve service at our church (Metodista Episcopale), in English for a nice change, and Margaret contributed to the joy by singing some favorite carols. Quite a few men from the ships attended.

       Within the following week, several sailors off the Cecil visited an orphanage, and I went along as interpreter. Such a good time we had with the "marinari americani" carrying "bambini italiani" around on their backs, playing "giro-giro-tondo" (ring- around-the-rosy), and just generally horsin' around. My chest swelled with pride, seeing our young boys spreading such joy among those children.

       My only moment of sadness from the Cecil's visit to La Spezia came from this: No one on board had ever heard of me!

       By 1967, we were living in the Chicago area, where I served as the Publications Manager of the American Nuclear Society--the organization of professional nuclear scientists and engineers. There, on a cold day in January with her pea-coat turned up around her face, our 15-year-old daughter (first born) crossed the tracks at a railroad station, thinking the incoming train would be hers from the west. Instead it came from the east, hit her, and killed her. We have never fully recovered.

       Afterwards, Margaret and I had trouble living there because it meant passing nearby the spot on our separate ways to work. I hung in for about a year, while teaching some night classes at a Naval Reserve Training Center, but finally we packed it in and came to the University of Florida, where Margaret obtained a faculty position in the voice department. We stayed for four years and, as a grad-student, I taught freshman Humanities. As I said above, my master's thesis, in Italian art history, concerned Portovenere in the Gulf of La Spezia. A published monograph is in the Library of Congress. My "discussion" at Portovenere is also published (in English).

       A couple of years ago, a professor in Jacksonville tracked me down through the monograph, and I went over to Jax and gave a series of lectures. That rekindled my artistic sensitivity, and now I am working on an up-date, which I hope will be published in a scholarly journal

       After Florida (1974), we went to New York City, where I became an editor for McGraw-Hill, and Margaret joined the faculty at Marymount in Tarrytown. We had been there three or four years, when the American Nuclear Society re-hired me to be its Washington Representative, and I became an advocate of nuclear energy. Most of my days were spent on Capitol Hill, and I wrote a political-commentary column (see enclosure). Thus, as you can understand, my high-school typing class paid dividends. Along about then, I started using a word processor, and I haven't seen a typewriter in years.       

In retirement, we came home to Gainesville, where Margaret still teaches in her private studio, and I write all kinds of things, much like this. Mostly, I support and advocate the Gators. Football is primary, of course, but the only tickets available are student resales for seats in their section where everybody stands throughout the game. That lets me out, although I can remember when I thought I could stand forever. Those were the days!

      It's easier to get tickets for basketball, but I need a son to help me climb up and down in the bleachers. Baseball is divine. Costs me two bucks, and every seat in the park is a good one--and easily accessible.

      I would be happy to hear from any one who may have known me on the Cecil, and anyone who didn't, for that matter. I answer all letters, and promptly too. E-mail is best, and my call sign is on the cover of this document. Perhaps Ed Crowley can tease others into writing for him as I have done; thus, he fills in chunks of the history he would like to present.

      I would especially like to hear from anyone who might have some news of the following officers who served on the Cecil: Mel Conard; Jack Rinker; David Foxwell; and Chester Knowles, who could still be in the SF Bay area.

      This comes with my most sincere respects for everyone who sailed on the Charlie P.

                                     ---- John Graham ----

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