Author: John Turley Page 9 of 12

Anchors Aweigh, Part III

On January 20, 2023

In Commentary, History, Medicine, Travel

When I left my duty station in Key West, the Navy handed me my orders and a check to cover my travel costs. As always, they left it up to me to figure out how to get there. I didn’t worry about that for the first two weeks. I was at home in Charleston, WV, and when I had a week left in my leave, I thought it was time to figure out how to get from Charleston to Norton Air Force Base, where I was supposed to get government transportation to take me to my new duty station, the hospital ship USS Sanctuary that was cruising off the coast of Vietnam.
I asked my father. He had never heard of Norton Air Force Base either and he suggested we contact a friend of his who was a travel agent. So, Dad gave him a call and two days later I went down to pick up the tickets. The agent handed me an airline ticket to Ontario International Airport. While I was trying to explain to him that I wasn’t going to Canada, that I was going to take my orders to Vietnam, he laughed and told me that Ontario was actually in California. It was the closest commercial airport to Norton Air Force Base.
While the Navy had given me money for transportation, it would only cover coach. In those days a coach seat was about the size a first-class seat is today. That flight took me to California where I got a bus to the Air Force base for the government chartered flight to Vietnam.
It was a long trip from California to Da Nang. We stopped in Hawaii to refuel. Unfortunately for us, they wouldn’t let us out of the airport. We were on that airliner long enough that they fed us three times, once on the way to Hawaii and twice between Hawaii and Da Nang. All three meals consisted of baked chicken, peas and carrots, and mashed potatoes. It wasn’t so bad for lunch and dinner but baked chicken for breakfast just wasn’t something I was up for. In typical government style we had three meals supplied by the lowest bidder.
I arrived in Da Nang to discover that the Sanctuary only came in port about every 6 to 8 weeks to resupply and wasn’t due back for three weeks. I got assigned to the transient barracks, where the Navy puts people awaiting further assignment. Sometimes at morning muster (roll call) they gave us jobs such as unloading trucks or doing basic lawn maintenance. Most of the time we were on our own to entertain ourselves.
The transient barracks was in Camp Tien Sha, a Sea Bee run support base. The most popular place on the base for enlisted men was the movie theater. It was open 24 hours a day and was free of charge. You could bring your own beer and they even allowed smoking in the theater. (Everyone smoked in the 60s.) They only had four movies which they ran in continuous rotation. But most importantly, it was the only place on base that an enlisted sailor could go that was air conditioned. Some guys even slept there.
While the camp was in one of the most secure parts of the Da Nang area, occasionally at night the alert sirens would sound. If any place in the surrounding area was attacked everyone got an alert. We would then go out to the bunkers and stand around outside to see if there were any rockets landing close to us. If there were, we would go inside the bunker. If not, we stood around outside smoking and trying to avoid the shore patrol who drove around to make sure we were in the bunkers. Occasionally we could see an explosion or the path of tracers in the air. Mostly we could just hear them. We were never quite sure where they were, but we were fairly confident they weren’t very close.
One of the most entertaining things was watching the TV news reporters. Camp Tien Sha had a weapons repair facility. If you were near it, you could hear machine guns and other weapons being test fired after having been repaired. You could also see tanks and other armored vehicles running up and down their test track. We got a big kick out of watching reporters put on a helmet and a flak jacket and stand in front of the camera while the tanks ran up and down behind them and the machine guns fired and them saying: “I’m reporting from the front lines in Vietnam. You can hear the battle raging behind me “. Occasionally, we would laugh so hard that one of the production people would come over and run us off. I know we ruined more than a few shots.
Eventually I got called to the personnel office and was told that the Sanctuary was due in port that afternoon. They handed me my orders and told me to report on board. I asked how to get to the dock and the personnel clerk just looked at me and shrugged. I eventually found my way to the motor pool and got a ride with a jeep that was heading down towards the docks.
There were several ships in the port at that time. However, the Sanctuary was hard to miss. Unlike other Navy ships that were painted gray, the Sanctuary was painted bright white and was emblazoned with big red crosses on the hull. I walked up the gangway, saluted and requested permission to board. In Anchors Aweigh Part IV I’ll talk more about life on the Sanctuary.

Parking in Italy An Unexpected Adventure

By John Turley

On December 8, 2022

In Commentary, Travel

Over the years, I’ve complained a lot about the parking in Charleston. Not enough on-street parking. People encroaching on the next space. Parking garages are too crowded with too many reserved spots. However, I’ve gained a new appreciation for the ease of parking in Charleston.

Margie and I recently took a trip to Italy with our daughter Annie and her family. At Annie’s recommendation we decided to rent a car so we could travel more freely. One of the most interesting or perhaps I should say stressful parts of our trip was the driving and parking in Italy. But driving is a story for another day. Today I’m going to talk about parking.

Even the process of car rental in Italy is different from what we’re used to. I reserved a car online and filled out all the necessary forms including passport and driver’s license numbers. When we arrived at the car rental agency, they asked for my driver’s license, passport and credit card. They made a copy of my license and passport and ran my credit card. We had a brief conversation where they tried to get me to upgrade to an SUV for only an additional €20 a day. My son-in-law had already warned me that I needed to get a small car because parking was difficult. They had one more tactic to try to get that extra upgrade. Unless I upgraded to an SUV, I would have to take a standard shift car. I wasn’t concerned because I learned to drive on a standard and drove one for many years. More on that later.

They handed me a set of keys and gave me vague directions towards the parking garage. When I got to the garage and found the rental company’s area, I was expecting to be handed paperwork and to inspect the car with the rental agent. To my surprise, the agent pointed down the row and said space #26. No paperwork, no inspection and no directions on how to get out of the garage.

I finally found my way out and onto the highway. It took about an hour to get to Milan from the airport. As soon as we located the hotel, we started looking for parking. The hotels in Italy typically do not have a parking garage as part of their facility.

My first thought was on-street parking. But that thought didn’t last long. There was hardly an inch of curb that didn’t have someone parked on it. The cars were all parked less than a foot apart with little or no space to maneuver in or out. I really don’t know how anyone got out of these spaces. I know I couldn’t have. The cars were fairly small so maybe they could just drag them out into the traffic lane. I soon realized why no one left spaces between the cars. If there was more than about two feet of space, there was a motor scooter parked in it. I wasn’t yet brave enough to attempt parallel parking on the street in Italy.

Luckily Margie spotted a parking garage just around the corner from the hotel. We pulled in and I tried to get a ticket to enter. I kept pressing the button, but nothing happened. Finally, Margie got out of the car and got the parking garage attendant who was busy smoking and talking on his phone. He came over, gave me an exasperated look and did a quick double tap on the button and that produced a ticket. Perhaps that’s what it said in Italian underneath the button. I really don’t know.

But the gate still didn’t go up. I waited for a while and then thought maybe I had to back up and go over a pressure plate in the driveway. The whole time the Italian drivers were lining up behind me. Much to my consternation I discovered I didn’t know how to get this car into reverse. I tried all the things I remembered from driving standards in my younger days. I pressed down on the shift lever and tried to shift it. It didn’t work. I felt for a button on the shift knob, nothing there. I felt for a handle underneath it to release the gear shift, nothing there either. About that time, Margie noticed that the arm on the gate had opened. I didn’t know why, but I wasn’t going to complain because I certainly couldn’t back up.

We started up the ramp. Now imagine a spiral ramp much like the exit ramp in the parking garage of most large malls. Now imagine it’s about 15% narrower. And now imagine there is two-way traffic on this ramp. I was fortunate on my way up because I only encountered one other car. He had just started to enter the ramp as I got there so he backed up into the garage and I went on up the ramp. There were six floors in the parking garage and of course there were no spaces on anything but the 6th floor. I pulled into a very narrow space and told Margie this car is going to stay here until we leave town.

Additionally, if I couldn’t figure out how to get it into reverse it was going to stay in that parking garage forever. After playing with the shifter for a while I discovered that about a third of the way down the shift lever under a leather boot was a ring that you put your fingers under and pull up in order to shift it into reverse. It was very cleverly hidden, I’m sure just to confuse American tourists.

The trip up the ramp was exciting but nothing compared to the trip down. We started down slowly and I was very thankful that I didn’t upgrade to an SUV. On the way down the ramp, we passed five other cars. With each one we had to get over to the edge of the ramp and then continually jockey back and forth to work our way past, with literally inches to spare between our cars and the wall. I kept waiting to hear scraping of metal on concrete or metal on metal as the cars collided. I was watching the other car while Margie was watching the wall. I wish I had thought to turn off the car’s proximity alarm because it was dinging all the way down. Luckily, we made it to the street without any structural damage to the car.

I vowed then and there that I wasn’t going to park in any more multi-level parking garages. We went from Milan to Florence. There we found a parking garage where we pulled through the door and turned the car over to an attendant. Next, we went on to Siena where we found a parking garage outside of the main part of the city. We pulled in the door and the attendant took over and drove us to our hotel. Then he took our car back to the garage, parked it and came back to pick us up at the end of our visit to Siena. (If I had wound up on the 6th floor of another parking garage with a narrow two-way spiral ramp, I might have just abandoned the car and started sending a monthly payment to Italy.)

Parking in Charleston may not be as bad as I thought, but at least in Italy I never saw an extended bed, super duty pickup truck in a space marked “small car only”.

Have You Been To The Museum Of African American History And Culture?

By John Turley

On September 7, 2022

In Commentary, History

Margie and I are frequent visitors to Washington, DC. We love its history, its cultural activities, and its restaurants. We love the feeling of pride in being Americans that comes with a visit to the city. Over the years we have visited almost every major site from the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier to the Treasury to see money being printed. But there had been one place that had eluded us since it opened in 2016, the National Museum of African American History and Culture. We tend to be last minute travelers and the tickets have always been booked up months in advance, until this year.
We finally got tickets during our visit in May. It was a profound experience and I recommend it to everyone. Beginning with the early 1600s, it is a magnificently presented and emotionally challenging trip through the Black experience in America. As would be expected, slavery plays a significant role in the story told by the museum just as it does in the lives of African Americans and in the history of America.
I can never know nor understand how the history of slavery affects black Americans. I do know, after visiting the museum, I was deeply affected and that if those enslaved people had been my ancestors, I’m not sure I would be able to accept it without deep anger. It made me think that it is time for me to take a deeper look at slavery and how, 150 years later, it still reverberates through our society.

Intellectually, I believe I have had a basic understanding of the facts of slavery, its economics, its structure, and its broader role in history, particularly in the 19th century. But until I saw those exhibits I had not had a true understanding of the suffering, the pain, and the dehumanizing impact inflicted on those who endured it. I want to share with you some of the things I have learned about slavery.

John C. Calhoun, vice president under both John Quincy Adams and Andrew Jackson, was one of the strongest advocates of slavery ever to have served in the US government. He defended slavery as an almost benign institution that benefited the black people who were subjugated in his service. He used the term “the peculiar institution” or “the peculiar labor” to avoid the word slavery. As you can see below, he may also have been one of the scariest looking people ever to have been in our government. But slavery didn’t start in the American south and to begin to understand it we must go further back in history.

Slavery as an institution has been around for millennia. It is even mentioned in the Bible. However, most Americans’ concept of slavery is that of chattel slavery as practiced in the antebellum south in the United States and in the Caribbean. It is important to understand the history of slavery in the world to gain a true perspective on the odious nature of that exceptionally cruel form of slavery.
The practice of slavery preceded written history. It occurred in ancient Egypt, in the early mid-eastern states, and in ancient China. It is described in both the Hebrew and Christian bibles. Mesoamerican civilizations were known to have practiced slavery prior to European contact. It appears to have been well-established in almost all ancient cultures.
However, most historic types of slavery generally differed from what we think of as slavery in the Americas. In ancient civilizations many slaves were either prisoners of war or what were known as debt slaves. War slaves sometimes were repatriated when wars ended. Those who were not sacrificed to the victors’ gods were occasionally integrated into their captor’s society. This is not to say that this type of slavery was not brutal. Slaves were often malnourished and were at times subjected to such arduous working conditions that they died of exhaustion.
Debt slaves were those who entered a period of slavery because of the inability to pay bills but were sometimes able to work their way out of slavery and purchase their freedom. Their treatment, while less harsh than other forms of slavery was far from kindly.
Similarly, the serf system of the European middle ages was a form of slavery where peasants were bound to the land and owed their lords their service but were not specifically owned by the lord. A modern analogy to serfdom occurred in the first decades of the 20th century where miners were bound to the coal companies by their heavy debts to the company store.
Among the earliest international slave traders where the Vikings, who may have been the first to develop the slave trade into a purposeful business rather than a byproduct of war. They raided into the Baltic and Slavic countries and sold their captives into slavery in Western Europe and the northern African Muslim countries. Because Muslim law prohibited one Muslim from holding another in slavery, the trade in slaves quickly became international and highly profitable. It may be apocryphal, but some people claim that the word slave was derived from the fact that many Viking slaves were of Slavic origin.
While it would never be argued that any slaves were well treated, most did not suffer the type of abuse that existed in the Americas. Chattel slavery considered the slave to be not human but property. Property that could be disposed of or treated as the owner saw fit. This led to be a form of abuse which was particularly heinous.
But even this form of slavery was more complex that most of us realize. In the African slave trade, many of the people who were bound into slavery initially were captured and sold by other Africans. Most of the African coast slavers were Black rulers who sold either their subjects or their enemies captured in battle. Many Muslim African rulers had no problem selling other Africans they considered to be pagan. And of course, the Christian whites had no problem enslaving people that they felt to be “less than human.”
While we in the United States focus on slavery in the 13 colonies, most Africans sold into slavery in the Americas were sold in the Caribbean. Slavery on the sugar islands was particularly cruel. Due to disease, over-work and the brutality of the slave owners, most slaves did not survive the first year in the islands. To further underscore how the enslaved were considered as property and not as people, Caribbean slave holders believed to was cheaper to replace those who died than to provide them with adequate food, shelter, or health care.
After the slave importation was abolished in the United States, but while slavery itself was still allowed, many slaves were sold from the 13 colonies into the Caribbean sugar islands. This was little more than a death sentence for those who were shipped there. Families were broken apart with husbands and wives, parents and children never seeing one another again.
Even those who remained on the plantation were often brutally treated. On most plantations, slaves were forced to work from sunrise to sunset six and a half days a week. They had one set of clothes. Often entire families were housed in a 10 by 10 foot cabin and given only meager food. Those who did not work to the satisfaction of the overseer were frequently beaten and women were subjected to sexual abuse without any recourse. Many of the enslaved were not even allowed the basic dignity of a last name, though some, often secretly, gave themselves a last name to express their humanity and to strengthen their family structure.
To understand how these people were treated as property, one only need look at wills and probate records of the time. A will might state the “property includes five horses, a plow, a house, a barn, three black men, two black women, and three black children.” They were listed as property alongside animals and farm tools.
It is little wonder that slaves frequently made any attempt they could to escape to freedom. In fact, it is amazing to me that there were not more slave uprisings.
In the years following the Civil War, as part of the myth of the lost cause, there was an attempt to rewrite history, picturing slavery as being “good” for the slaves. The claim was that it provided them with structure, a Christian education, and a chance to become “civilized.” You can look at photographs taking during and immediately after the Civil War and realize that a big lie was the basis for this claim. People who deny the brutality of slavery have much in common with those who deny the brutality of the Holocaust.
I’m not a believer in original sin or that the evils of past generations are bestowed on the present. However, we must recognize that many of our fellow citizens are still, over 150 years later, strongly influenced by the echoes of the evil of slavery. This has been an open wound for many years. If it is ever to heal, we need to recognize what happened and that many people have a deep emotional tie to that history.
Black Lives Matter has a visceral meaning for African Americans that white Americans can never truly understand. But everyone can understand that there was a time when Black lives didn’t matter.
I don’t have all the answers. I never have and never will. But I do know that healing begins with understanding. Denial only prolongs the hurt. It is time to reach out, from both sides, face the uncomfortable truths and recognize that we are all Americans and must work together for a better country and a brighter future.
And that is my grumpy opinion. Agree or disagree, that is your right, but please give it your thoughtful consideration. Your comments are welcome.

Thinking About A Legacy

By John Turley

On August 10, 2022

In Commentary

Now that I am in what is euphemistically called my twilight years, I’ve begun that to think about my legacy. How will I be remembered? Will I be remembered at all? Does it really matter?
There are already some things that I know. I will never do great things like Washington or Lincoln. I will never write great works like Shakespeare or Hemingway. I will never create great inventions like DaVinci or Edison. I will never have great thoughts like Aristotle or Thoreau. I will never be a great athlete like Jim Thorpe or Babe Ruth. And I will certainly never be a rock star like Elvis or Mick Jagger.
So where does that leave me? I think, like most people, I will have to be content that I did my best, helped as many people as I could, and did as much good as I was able.
I think my legacy will be in my family and my friends. For more than 50 years I have had the love of a good woman who made me more than I ever would have been without her and saw much more in me than I saw in myself. I also have two wonderful children, who while not perfect, (but whose children are, despite what their parents would have you believe) have been a great joy for me. And, of course, my grandson who is the best legacy that I will leave behind.
I’ve had many true and wonderful friends in my life, and I can only hope that I have been as positive an influence in their lives as they have been in mine. I know my life would have been far emptier without them. The one truly great thing about friends is that there is no limit to how many you may have and that you may continue to make new friends even as you get older.
I have also been blessed in my life and in my career to be able to help many people in the most trying times of their lives and to sometimes make a lifesaving difference. Most of these people, I expect, will never remember me, but it is enough that I know that I made that difference.
So, what is our true legacy? It is the people that we have loved and who have loved us. It is the good that we have done, and it is those whom we have helped. This then, is a true legacy of which to be proud. It is better than fame, notoriety, or wealth (well, maybe wealth would have been nice). It is certainly a legacy that I am satisfied to leave behind.
And, that is my opinion, although not grumpy for a change.

A Well Regulated Militia

By John Turley

On July 4, 2022

In Commentary, History

The Second Amendment
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

I don’t think there is any subject in American history where so few words have generated so much disagreement. Every time there is a public shooting and the subsequent outcry for stricter gun control, the debate inevitably revolves around the Second Amendment. I won’t reargue the gun control issues. That has been done by others better informed and more eloquent than I.
I am going to talk about something that most people taking part in this argument seldom address, and probably don’t understand. I include myself in that latter category. What exactly is a well regulated militia, particularly in the context of the US Constitution?
We all have a vision of the farmer soldiers at Lexington and Concord standing up to the professional British redcoats. This is an image that has become part of our national identity and the way we think of ourselves as Americans. But from where did it come and how has it evolved?
Militias have been a part of our history since the founding of the first English colonies in North America. When those first brave settlers arrived, there was no army to protect them; they were expected to provide for their own defense.
There usually was not a formal militia structure, there didn’t need to be. The whole community was the militia. The men did the fighting, and the women and children reloaded muskets, carried powder, and tended the wounded. At times, women and children also took a direct part in the fighting which might be taking part on their farms or even in their homes.
As the colonies grew and became more settled, the militia became more structured. Individual colonies passed their own militia laws that specified who was obligated to serve, the condition of service, and the rates of pay. Prominent citizens were appointed militia officers and tasked with organizing and training the citizen soldiers.
On the frontier the militia remained critical to the safety of pioneer families. In the more settled portions of the colonies some militia companies had become little more than social clubs and others had ceased to exist altogether. The majority of those that still functioned had little equipment and even less funding.
While some militia units served admirably, the performance of the majority of the militia in the Revolutionary War was spotty. Few militia units had the training or the equipment necessary to stand up to the professional British Army in a pitched battle and most had terms of service so short, often one to three months, that they never received the necessary training. Many militia units were called into short term service for guard duty, to garrison military camps while Continental Army soldiers were on campaign, and to help subdue civil unrest.
Experience with the regular British Army prior to and during the Revolution left most Americans with a distrust of a professional standing army. Many people believed that their freedoms would best be guarded by a reinvigorated militia; one designed to cure the problems evident during the Revolution. The Militia Act of 1792 was designed to create a well regulated militia.
I’m going to include a brief excerpt from the act to help us understand the relationship between the militia and the Second Amendment.
“Be it enacted…. That each and every free able-bodied white male citizen of the respective States…. shall severally and respectively be enrolled in the militia…..That every citizen, so enrolled and notified, shall, within six months thereafter, provide himself a good musket or firelock, a sufficient bayonet and belt, two spare flints…..”
The relationship of the Second Amendment to a well regulated militia is clear. Not only are citizens required to be a part of the militia, but they are also required to provide their own weapons of war. There is one key difference from our society today; their weapons were the same ones they used to protect their homes and hunt for food.
The 1792 act didn’t solve the shortcomings of the militia. Problems arose with issues of state and federal control, funding, and standardization. During the Mexican-American War, the Civil War and even as late as the Spanish-American War the militia was unable to provide the government with sufficient adequately trained troops. The federal government resorted to the creation of “volunteer” units when it needed to expand the size of the army. These volunteer units were not a part of either the militia or the regular army. The most famous of these was the 1st United States Volunteer Cavalry Regiment, better known as the “Rough Riders.”
These experiences led to the passage of the Militia Act of 1903 that repealed the Militia Acts of 1792 and organized the militia into two groups: the Reserve Militia, which included all able-bodied men between 18 and 45, and the Organized Militia, which included state militia (National Guard) units receiving federal support.
This leads to a question, “Do we still have a militia?” The answer is yes. Most obviously, we have the National Guard, a well regulated militia of citizen soldiers who serve under state control but who can be activated for federal service. Their exemplary service in the 21st century proves that the concept of a well regulated militia is viable when properly supported.
I’m sure it will surprise many people because it surprised me, that we still have state level militias that are independent of any federal affiliation. They serve under state control and cannot be called into federal service. They receive no direct funding or support from the federal government, although occasionally they may receive surplus equipment.
Twenty-two states have authorized state level militias, also known as state guards or state defense forces. They vary in training and function. Many operate only in a search and rescue, or disaster mitigation function such as supporting pandemic relief programs. Only a few states provide weapons training and have a police type mission in times of civil disturbance.
The latter half at the 20th century saw the rise of armed groups that style themselves as militias. They are both left wing and right wing although most tend to be on the far right. The one thing they have in common is a strong antigovernmental bias. They use their self-declared militia status to justify their use of weapons of war. They are among the most vocal proponents of unlimited Second Amendment rights.
But is this what the founders had in mind when they drafted this amendment? I don’t think so. They drafted the Second Amendment with the idea of the citizen soldier who would be defending his country. These groups certainly do not meet the well regulated qualification. They have no ties with any governmental entity and are under no supervision or control. If anything, many of them represent a threat to the government and civil welfare. If they want to keep their deer rifles, shotguns, and pistols, fine, just not weapons of war with no purpose other than killing their fellow citizens.
That is my grumpy opinion. I’m sure some of you will disagree. If you do, please leave comments and we can discuss it. We may never agree but at least we can air the issues.

The Man Who Saw The Future

By John Turley

On June 18, 2022

In Commentary, History

One of the true joys of studying history is coming to understand that no matter how bad we think things are, past generations have faced the same or worse problems. In fact, apart from science, there is very little that hasn’t been seen before.
We are constantly being told that we live in an era of unprecedented polarization and partisanship. This is probably due to the human tendency to give undue importance to our personal experiences.
Recently, I was reading George Washington’s Farewell Address to the People of the United States. It was distributed across the country at the end of his second presidential term. Truly there is nothing new under the sun. His address is very long, and I have reproduced only a portion of it below.
It is written in the style of the 18th century and specifically references the problems of that time. It takes some effort to read, given his tendency toward long and complex sentences. It is worth the effort because its application to the United States today is clear. It requires no comment from me.

“ …….a solicitude for your welfare, which cannot end but with my life, and the apprehension of danger natural to that solicitude, urge me on an occasion like the present to offer to your solemn contemplation, and to recommend to your frequent review, some sentiments which are the result of much reflection, of no inconsiderable observation, and which appear to me all important to the permanency of your felicity as a people….
“…. The unity of government which constitutes you one people is also now dear to you. It is justly so; for it is a main pillar in the edifice of your real independence, the support of your tranquility at home, your peace abroad, of your safety, of your prosperity, of that very liberty which you so highly prize. But as it is easy to foresee that, from different causes and from different quarters, much pains will be taken, many artifices employed, to weaken in your minds the conviction of this truth; as this is the point in your political fortress against which the batteries of internal and external enemies will be most constantly and actively (though often covertly and insidiously) directed, it is of infinite moment that you should properly estimate the immense value of your national Union to your collective and individual happiness;…. discountenancing whatever may suggest even a suspicion that it can in any event be abandoned; and indignantly frowning upon the first dawning of every attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together the various parts….

“…. Citizens by birth or choice of a common country, that country has a right to concentrate your affections. The name of American, which belongs to you in your national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of patriotism more than any appellation derived from local discriminations. With slight shades of difference, you have the same religion, manners, habits, and political principles….
“…. These considerations speak a persuasive language to every reflecting and virtuous mind and exhibit the continuance of the Union as a primary object of patriotic desire….
“…. In contemplating the causes which may disturb our Union, it occurs as matter of serious concern that any ground should have been furnished for characterizing parties by geographical discriminations—northern and southern—Atlantic and western; whence designing men may endeavor to excite a belief that there is a real difference of local interests and views. One of the expedients of party to acquire influence within particular districts is to misrepresent the opinions and aims of other districts. You cannot shield yourselves too much against the jealousies and heart burnings which spring from these misrepresentations. They tend to render alien to each other those who ought to be bound together by fraternal affection….
“…. The basis of our political systems is the right of the people to make and to alter their constitutions of government. But the Constitution which at any time exists, until changed by an explicit and authentic act of the whole people, is sacredly obligatory upon all. The very idea of the power and the right of the people to establish government presupposes the duty of every individual to obey the established government….
“…. All obstructions to the execution of the laws, all combinations and associations under whatever plausible character with the real design to direct, control, counteract, or awe the regular deliberation and action of the constituted authorities, are destructive of this fundamental principle and of fatal tendency…. to put in the place of the delegated will of the nation the will of a party, often a small but artful and enterprising minority of the community…. However combinations or associations of the above description may now and then answer popular ends, they are likely, in the course of time and things, to become potent engines by which cunning, ambitious, and unprincipled men will be enabled to subvert the power of the people and to usurp for themselves the reins of government, destroying afterwards the very engines which have lifted them to unjust dominion…
“…. But this leads at length to a more formal and permanent despotism. The disorders and miseries which result, gradually incline the minds of men to seek security and repose in the absolute power of an individual; and sooner or later the chief of some prevailing faction, more able or more fortunate than his competitors, turns this disposition to the purposes of his own elevation on the ruins of public liberty….
:…. It serves always to distract the public councils and enfeeble the public administration. It agitates the community with ill founded jealousies and false alarms, kindles the animosity of one part against another, foments occasionally riot and insurrections. It opens the door to foreign influence and corruption….”

George Washington
1796

Anchors Aweigh, Part 2

By John Turley

On June 13, 2022

In Commentary

I managed to successfully complete bootcamp despite my well-known inability to keep my opinions to myself. I also successfully completed the Navy’s Hospital Corps School. After completion I was what now might be considered partway between an emergency medical technician and a paramedic. After several months of training at the Navy’s Great Lakes Training Center north of Chicago I was on my way to my first duty station. I had spent several months on the banks of Lake Michigan where the temperature sometimes dropped below zero with windchills to 40 below. Now, late in November I was on my way to the tropical paradise of Key West Florida.

After an uneventful flight to Miami, I boarded a DC3 for the flight to Key West. For those of you too young to have ever been on a DC3, it is a venerable old plane developed in the years before World War II. It was well engineered and well-made in the time before planned obsolescence became the law of the land. In fact, over 80 years later some of those airplanes are still flying around the world.

You entered the plane from the rear. It set with its tail down and its nose up. You climbed up at about a 30-degree angle to get to your seat. There were no cocktails, no gourmet meals, and no inflight movies. There was just a nice wide seat, a lot of leg room and a comfortable flight. As we flew over the Florida Keys I remember looking out and wondering if there was any place where there would be enough dry land for an airport.

On the flight I was sitting beside a First Class Signalman, an old Navy salt who had about 15 years of service. We got to talking and I told him this was my first shipboard assignment. He told me about his many adventures in the Mediterranean, in the Caribbean and in the Pacific. I was really fascinated and hoping to see some of those places myself.

We landed in Key West and went to baggage claim and picked up our sea bags. He asked me where I was heading, and I said to the ship. He looked at me in disbelief. He said “It’s only four o’clock in the afternoon. Look at your orders, you don’t have to be on board till midnight. Surely, you’re not going to give them eight hours of your free time?” In fairness, he expressed it more colorfully than I have recorded it here, liberally sprinkled with sixth letter alliterations.

There were a lot of things I didn’t know. One of them was how to go about getting a locker to keep my civilian clothes. Sailors on board Navy ships at that time were not allowed to keep civilian clothes. We could only leave and board the ship in uniform. We couldn’t be on the base in civvies.

He introduced me to locker clubs. This was a place where, for a small monthly fee, you rented a locker to keep your civilian clothes. It was also a place where you could take a shower and buy snacks and drinks. They looked the other way if you were under 21 and wanted a beer.

Following his sage advice, I got a locker, changed into civilian clothes, and stored my uniform and my seabag. And we headed into town. This was my first time “steaming” through local bars with an experienced sailor.

I grew up in a fairly sheltered environment in the conservative state of West Virginia. I had virtually no experience with other cultures, especially with the gay culture. However, a friend of mine and I did spend part of our senior year in high school drinking beer at what was probably the number one gay bar in town. We went there because it was a nice quiet basement bar where, if you were tall and looked like you were 18, which was the drinking age in West Virginia at the time, you could get a beer as long as you didn’t cause trouble. So, for six or seven months we went there usually once a week for beer and had no idea it was a gay bar, which says something, not only about our naivete, but about how conservative and low keyed the culture in West Virginia was at that time.

When I arrived in Key West, I still didn’t know that I had frequented a gay bar. However, I was about to find out that the culture in Key West was a lot different than it was in Charleston, West Virginia. My buddy told me we would be heading to his favorite bar; a place called the Safari Club. We passed by another bar named John Brown’s Body. There were a number of men sitting out front at tables on the sidewalk. As we walked by, I heard a couple of whistles and someone commenting “seafood.” My buddy looked at me and said “Don’t pay them any attention, it’s not worth the trouble. They don’t mean any harm. They’re just trying to get a rise out of you.” I still wasn’t quite sure what was going on and I looked at him with a curious glance. He gave me one of those you’ve got to be kidding looks and said, “Haven’t you ever seen a gay bar before?” Well, I had, I just didn’t know it. I had certainly never seen one like that.

I quickly discovered that Key West was a “live and let live“ place. There was occasional verbal heckling, but it was seldom mean spirited and almost never physical. Sometimes the Navy’s old Key West hands had to provide strong counseling on proper island behavior to new arrivals. Even now, over fifty years later I am amazed at how people from disparate backgrounds and with different lifestyles could coexist if they would just accept that their differences did not make them enemies. As I would discover, the sailors and the gay men engaged in friendly rivalry, and we occasionally challenged one another in beach volleyball and ended with group beer drinking watching the sunset over the Gulf of Mexico. I remain convinced that there are no societal problems that can’t be solved by sincere people on a beach with enough beer, despite their differences.

At 10 minutes until 12 we reported on board the ship. I walked up the gangplank, now back in uniform, and saluted the officer of the deck. I handed him my orders. He looked at them and said, “You’re cutting it pretty close, aren’t you sailor?” Then he looked at my buddy coming up behind me, obviously he knew him, and said, “Well, I see you’re falling into bad company already.”

The USS Bushnell was a submarine tender. A submarine tender is a combination of a supply ship, a repair ship and a floating machine shop. It was known by the Navy designation as AS 15. That stood for Auxiliary Submarine Support 15. Because it seldom went to sea, it was known in Key West as Building 15. Every time it would go out for its semiannual cruise the joke was that the tugs had to come out and pull it off the pile of coffee grounds that had built up underneath it. It had a disconcerting habit of catching on fire. The fires were never serious, but they were frequent enough that the crew referred to it as the Burning Bush.

I arrived in Key West in late November, just in time to have my first Thanksgiving away from home. At the time the temperature in Chicago was about 20 degrees with wind chills down to about 30 below. The first Saturday I was in Key West I decided to go to the beach because the temperature was in the upper 50s and I thought it was a heat wave. I went out to catch the bus to the beach and was surprised to see people walking around town in coats and in some cases even parkas. I guess it’s all about what you’re used to.

I really enjoyed my time in Key West. I took two night classes at Key West Junior College. Drank way too much rum. Bought a motorcycle and toured around the Florida Keys. It was a lot of fun and not much stress. But that was about to change.

I was having a great time until the Navy decided to decommission (retire) the USS Bushnell and all the submarines that were assigned to our squadron. The submarines were all diesel boats; these were World War II veterans and were deemed to be obsolete and no longer needed in the days of the nuclear submarines. Like many things time has passed by, the diesel boats had many die-hard proponents in the Navy, and it was hard for them to let it go. For me, I only went to sea one time in a submarine and that was just on a one-day tour where we went out into the Gulf, dove underwater for about 3 hours and came back. I never really had a true appreciation for diesel boats or the mystique that they held for their crews.

There was one other thing that happened to me while I was in Key West, that completely changed the course of my life, although I didn’t realize it at the time. I was a high performer as an enlisted man. I made Third Class Petty Officer in just barely more than a year and made Second Class Petty Officer with only two years in the Navy. This was an extremely fast advancement that was partially due to the fact that the Navy needed to expand because of the Vietnam War, and I was in the right place at the right time. Because of my rapid advancement, I was invited to apply for a program called the Navy Enlisted Scientific Education Program (NESEP), a program where the Navy took young enlisted men with the potential to become officers and sent them to college for four years. There was an obligation to serve as an officer after college, but if you were getting paid to go to college it couldn’t get much better than that.

I will say, I was sorry to see both the submarines and our tender decommissioned. It meant the end of my time in Key West. All of us were reassigned. I was reassigned to the hospital ship USS Sanctuary then off the coast of Vietnam. I was fortunate because two other corpsmen on our ship were reassigned to serve with the Marines in Vietnam.

I took my seabag to the Greyhound station and put it on a bus to Charleston. I strapped a small overnight bag on the back of my motorcycle and set off on a three-day trip to West Virginia. When I say motorcycle, it wasn’t one of the big highway cruisers so common now. It was a small 350 cc Honda and in the pre-Interstate days that made for a rough trip.

More about the USS Sanctuary in Anchors Aweigh Part 3 and about NESEP in Anchors Aweigh Part 4.

You and Your PSA

By John Turley

On May 19, 2022

In Commentary, Medicine

Several years ago, I received a diagnosis no one wants to hear. Cancer! Prostate cancer to be specific. Thanks to two skilled urologists, I’ve been cancer free for three years.

But it might not have had a happy ending. Please indulge me and let me tell you my story. I think it will be worth your time.

It starts with the PSA. The prostate specific antigen. This is something every man over 40 should know about and every man over 50 should be getting checked.

So, what is the PSA? It is a protein that is produced by both cancerous and normal cells in the prostate gland. It can be elevated by prostate cancer but it can also be elevated by prostatitis (an infection of the prostate) or an enlarged prostate (benign prostatic hypertrophy). It is checked through a simple blood test. Your family doctor can order as part of your annual work up.

What are the recommendations for the PSA? The US Preventive Services Task Force (USPSTF), the group chartered by the federal government to develop recommendations for effective screening of health conditions of the American public has the following three recommendations: (1) consideration of annual screening for men aged 55 to 69 with no family history of prostate cancer; this should be a shared, informed decision between the patient and his physician; (2) for men who have a significant family history of prostate cancer consideration should be given to screening beginning at age 40; (3) for men over 70 years old they recommend against screening for prostate cancer. Please note the phrase “consideration of screening”. This is not a firm recommendation. Unfortunately, some have interpreted that as meaning screening is not necessary.

Their concern about large-scale screening is that it may lead to over diagnosis or over treatment. A PSA test can have false positives that may lead to unnecessary biopsies or surgery. Only about 25% of men who have a prostate biopsy are found to have cancer. Although, it is important to recognize that a prostate biopsy does not test the entire gland. It takes samples from several areas of the gland. It is possible, though unusual, that a cancer could be missed in the biopsy process

Additionally, most prostate cancer is very slow growing. Most men who have prostate cancer later in life will generally die of something else before they would die of prostate cancer. However, a small percentage of men will have a high-grade prostate cancer that can progress rapidly and cause their death.

A prostate biopsy is graded on what is called a Gleason score. This is a complicated process that involves evaluating the highest grade and lowest grade areas sampled by the biopsy. I won’t go into detail because even medical professionals frequently have to look up the scoring process. The simplified version is that a 6 is a low-grade risk, a 7 is an intermediate risk and an 8 to 10 is a high-grade risk. Originally the Gleason scale was rated 2 to 10. With 2 to 5 being considered no risk. Currently only 6 to 10 is used with 6 being the lowest score.

I’m going to use my personal experience as a way of explaining why I disagree with the current recommendations for PSA screening. The week before my 70th birthday I went in to get my annual physical. In our clinic we have a “birthday panel”, a blood test that we draw for people annually for their physical exam. I had not planned to have my PSA checked since it was not recommended by either the USPSTF or the American Academy of Family Physicians for 70-year-olds. However, it had slipped my mind that a PSA was part of our “birthday panel”.

My PSA came back slightly elevated. Since it was a very minor elevation, I followed the guidelines and waited six months and repeated it. At that time, it increased only a small amount. The guidelines suggested repeating it again in six months. I have to admit though, I have never been a wait-and-see kind of guy. I scheduled an appointment with a urologist.

The urologist and I discussed the options. He told me that the elevation was slight and we could wait and repeat it in 6 months or if I wished we could do a biopsy. Again, not being a wait-and-see kind of guy I opted for the biopsy. After the biopsy my Gleason score was 7 and the pathology report said specifically that it was favorable-intermediate. The guidelines suggested repeating the biopsy again in six months.

As I said, I don’t like to wait. I opted for surgery. I had my prostate removed. I should mention that my family are not wait and see people either and they insisted I choose surgery.

The post-operative report said that there was a high-grade carcinoma that apparently had been missed by the biopsy. It had begun to extend beyond the capsule of the gland. Fortunately for me it had not metastasized and had not spread to the lymph nodes. Had I followed the guidelines and waited another year or even six months for a repeat biopsy, it is possible that the cancer would have metastasized and it could have been fatal.

It is important to recognize that all screening and treatment guidelines are developed on what is considered cost effective medicine for the population as a whole. They are not necessarily what is best for you as an individual. If you have any concerns, you should discuss them with your physician. Never be shy about requesting treatment beyond what guidelines suggest. Just remember, they are guidelines, not hard and fast rules. Take responsibility for your own health and don’t let anyone talk you out of what you think is best for you.

That is the opinion of the Grumpy Doc. If you have any questions, please leave comments on the blog or email me at grumpydocWV@gmail.com.

Anchors Away

By John Turley

On April 12, 2022

In Commentary

A couple of friends recently reminded me that I hadn’t posted to The Grumpy Doc for quite some time. They were wondering if perhaps I decided to abandon the project. I wasn’t sure whether they were asking because they were glad they didn’t have to read it anymore or because they actually enjoyed reading it. I’m going to assume the latter so I’m heading back to the keyboard.

The easiest thing when you’re trying to turn out an article on short notice is to just indulge in some reminiscence. You don’t have to do any research and hopefully your memory hasn’t started to fail yet. Although, I’m not so sure about the last part.

Going back to 1967, I just finished my first year in college as a political science major at the University of Kentucky. I was restless and bored. I didn’t really know what I wanted to do with my life, but I was sure it didn’t have anything to do with political science. I was also having a lot of doubt about my plan to go to law school.

I spent the summer working construction, basically, as an unskilled laborer, hauling, carrying, and digging. I also spent the summer closely watching the Vietnam War. While there were some protests, the true nature of the war really hadn’t dawned on most of us. I’ve always been and still am very patriotic. I thought perhaps it not only would be my civic duty but also a great adventure to enlist. One night at dinner I told my father I had decided to drop out of college and join the Marines. I was expecting quite a bit of resistance, but he just looked at me and then finished his dinner.

The next night I came home for dinner and my father’s first cousin George was having dinner with us. I would occasionally see George around town. He spent a lot of time in the Navy, and I was pretty sure he was still in the Navy. What I didn’t know was that he was our local Navy recruiter and by the time dinner was over I was enlisted in the Navy. I guess my father decided better not to argue with a stubborn guy like me but just to take action.

I went to Great Lakes Naval Base for basic training or boot camp as we called it. It seemed that the main purpose of boot camp was to indoctrinate you in the military way of life and to get you used to being a member of a group rather than an individual. They also wanted to teach you how to follow orders and complete all your jobs as directed. As an aside, they also spent a lot of time teaching us the proper “Navy way” to fold clothes. Anyone who was ever in the Navy will understand when I say I still fold my underwear the Navy way.

I won’t bore you with a lot of detail about the myriad wonders of boot camp. However, I want to share one experience that pretty much sums it all up for me. It also should have taught me a lesson to remember throughout my life. Unfortunately, I’ve always been too hardheaded to listen to that inner voice that offers caution.

We were at water survival training. This is where they taught us how to abandon ship in combat situations. Not only would a sinking ship drag you down to the bottom with it, but very likely there was burning oil floating on the water everywhere waiting to burn you alive. Knowing how to get safely off the ship and away from it quickly could mean the difference between life and death.

Our instructor was a grizzled old salt. His skin was leathery and wrinkled, most likely the result of years of wind, salt spray and sun with liberal doses of cigarettes and alcohol thrown in. He looked to be at least 60 but he was probably barely 40. He was the kind of man who dedicated his life to the Navy and who made the Navy work. I didn’t know it at the time, but I would come to respect those men far more than I could ever know.

He stood on the edge of the pool with a 15-foot tower behind him. We were all sitting on the deck in a rough semicircle around him facing the pool. He began explaining how to abandon ship. The first thing he said was, “Always abandon ship feet first. There will be a lot of floating debris in the water.” Only he pronounced it deb-er-us. Being the oh so smart college boy, I said “It’s pronounced debris.” I thought I had said it too low for anyone other than me to hear, but I was so wrong. He zeroed in on me like a bloodhound. He pointed his finger at me, curled it in a come here motion and said, “Get up here wise ass, you’re going to be my demonstrator.” It was just about that time that I remembered my father’s parting advice as I left for boot camp. He looked at me and said, “Keep your head down and your mouth shut.” He was a Navy veteran of World War II and knew what he was talking about.

I spent the rest of the day in a variety of uniforms and heavy equipment repeatedly jumping off that 15-foot tower to show the proper way to abandon ship. I still wonder if our instructor didn’t mispronounce that word on purpose to try to catch a smart young fool like me and to show who was really the smart one.

Vaccinate! Vaccinate!

By John Turley

On December 29, 2021

In Commentary, Medicine

I’m going to climb on my soap box to thank those of you who are either fully vaccinated against COVID or who are in the process of becoming so. The only chance we have of putting this virus behind us is to reduce the population of non-immune, so that the possibility of new variants is limited. Hopefully, we can accomplish this by increasing the immune population through vaccination rather than decreasing the non-immune population through COVID related deaths.

The vaccine is safe. Yes, there have been reports of serious events and even death among people who were vaccinated. However, these events are approximately equal to their occurrence in the general population and with very few exceptions the vaccination could not be attributed to their death. Additionally, risk factors for adverse reactions, which can happen with any medication, have been identified and those people likely to have a reaction are not being vaccinated until further studies can be done.

The number going around on the internet is that 14,000 people died from the COVID vaccination. This is a blatant misstatement of the facts. Fourteen thousand people who had been vaccinated died during the study period. After careful review of each case, it was determined that the vast majority of deaths were attributed to other causes and for many of the others a proximal cause of death could not be identified. This is out of the more than six million who had been vaccinated at the time the number was first reported.

The bottom line is this: there have been over 800,000 COVID deaths in the US and over 5,000,000 deaths worldwide. This disease will continue its rampage until everyone does their part to stop the spread.

I find the argument about personal freedom to be disingenuous. We all give up some degree of personal freedom to live in a civil society. We get a drivers license. We stop at red lights. We don’t steal. We don’t go shopping in our underwear (except possibly at Walmart, but that’s a topic for another day).

I have to ask, “Do you consider your concept of personal freedom so important that you are willing to put the lives of others at risk?” If you do, then this is not about freedom, it’s about selfishness.

This is more important than politics. This is life and death. Please, get vaccinated.