Playing Fair and Being Kind

Goodbye Notes
Part Five

Here’s to that New York City cop with the red hair and the huge feet. You must have been over 6 feet tall, you goon. During the 70’s activism phase of my life when I marched to shut down nukes. It was 1979 to be precise. Millions of people were upset with the dangers of nuclear radiation. I was still an active member of the U.S. Navy so I was demonstrating on the Q.T. This event was dubbed “Wall Street Action”. It coincided with the M.U.S.E. concerts at Madison Square Garden in The City. You big bastard, you just had to walk on me when I went limp on the bus so you had to drag me everywhere. Along with Emily, my non-violent protest partner. You had to drag us both up the stairs of the bus and down the aisle because we had locked arms as we were taught to do. When you dropped me like a sack of shit you walked on top of me and Emily to get back off the bus. Your jackboots were enormous! You must have weighed a couple hundred pounds! It hurt! Just the same I fully understand your frustration being as you were just a tool of ‘the man’ and you needed to follow orders. Still I think you got your shit off on what you were doing. No big deal. I learned a little about human behavior that day from you. The day turned out good though. During the bus ride to the police station to be booked I got to sit on the back seat of the bus next to Daniel Ellsberg. We didn’t talk. He was busy in conversation with another dude. Goodbye, Goon-face. I hope your feet are killing you.

 

There are moments of reflection where I remember individuals in my life who were brutal, mean, ugly, criminal towards me. There are no words to describe the injuries, insults, acts all of you deigned to put on me. There is no way to describe in a safe way to others what happened behind closed doors or in secret even in crowded spaces. I was shamed, denigrated, demeaned, de-humanized by your bullshit. You came in all shapes and sizes. Often you were the authority in the situation. Sometimes you were the adult in the room. Always you were the disappointment and nightmare for me. I survived but I did not grow true and straight. I am bent, twisted, mis-shaped, discolored, stunted, mutilated. In return I as well have been brutal, mean, ugly, criminal toward others who were vulnerable in my presence and suffered indignities, insults, fear-filled moments. I’ve learned to modify my responses to kindness and well-behaved others. All I can say after all these years of poor behavior and distrust is “Fuck You!”. Because I am still standing and breathing and, on this earth, I finally caught on to the cycle of violence I am a part of and I am sensitive to other’s plights. After decades of therapy, practice, attentiveness I’ve become a helper/ally in the constant struggle to stop injustices. Oh, yeah; and “Fuck Me!” too.

 

To the guy who was getting ready to go to work. I was walking down Winter Street toward Kane Square to catch the bus to Dudley Street Station. I was a freshman in high school. You were alert to my situation. A pack of half a dozen dogs had gathered around me and I was having trouble walking on the sidewalk. The dogs were crowding me and I was scared out of my wits. One of them nipped my wrist and you acted quickly by bending down pretending to pick up a rock and you shouted “GIT!”. The dogs scattered and I was saved. Thank you! Thank you! You were a real hero and you saved me from being mauled, possibly killed. Thank you. I learned a valuable lesson and I’ve used that tactic a few times since in similar situations.

To the Officer in Charge of my final tour of duty in the U. S. Navy. I use a tongue-in-cheek exit for you.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

 

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.
How in the world did we ever stand each other? You were a four striper, a full captain in the Navy and I was a smart-aleck, anarchistic, chief warrant officer. You could neither promote me nor fire me. We had a classic stand-off relationship. The best we could do was smile and tolerate each other. I had fun poking you and you had fun feeding me bullshit. It came to a head one morning when I discovered my limit. I finally realized I was wasting valuable minutes remaining in the Navy.  This is the situation, as I remember. I needed to respond to a memo from another command. When I searched our file system for the references included in the memo I could not find them at first. After rummaging through the file cabinets in the office I discovered the references in a stack of unfiled papers scattered on top. The stack must have been several feet high. When I was through with the task I knocked on your open door to get your attention. “George!”, you cheerfully exclaimed. “Come in! What can I do for you?”. I entered and sat in a chair without waiting for you to invite me. Of course, that always made you feel respected. I explained to you my disappointment at the state of affairs with the filing system in the office. Your response lives forever in my brain. My head is still shaking thirty-eight years later.
“George”, you said patiently. “This is an excellent teaching moment for me. I am happy to take this opportunity to explain how to recognize proper staffing management for you.” I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs in anticipation of a mind-blowing oration. “Do tell, Skipper!” I enthusiastically gushed. “Skipper” was not your favorite title by the way. I could tell by the way you shuddered every time I called you that. “George”, you continued, “the stack of unfiled papers on the top of the file cabinets is an excellent indicator that we are properly staffed numbers-wise. You see, that shows a certain level of back-log of work which is necessary for optimum use of people. If we are up to date on our work then we have too many staff. If the lag in paper work is too gross then we have too few staff. That two-foot pile of unfiled memos indicates that we are properly staffed!” I did an excellent job of disguising my horror and shock.
“Skipper”, I said, “you can not imagine the sense of wonder I am holding right now in hearing this explanation of proper staff level management. Please allow me to exit your office and retire to my humble cubicle to reflect on this impromptu moment for my learning. I am overwhelmed by the information you have given me in this regard and I need a moment to digest all that you have given me.” You smiled smugly thinking you had finally impressed me and nodded your old head in granting me leave to disappear.
I stumbled and staggered to my desk and sat down. My cubicle mate was an E-9 Chief Petty Officer whose collateral duty was “Career Officer” for our small contingent. “Mike”, I groaned and told him what I had just heard from the skipper. He sucked on his empty pipe and said nothing. His eyes said it all. I asked Mike, “How long would it take me to retire; get out of the Navy?” He said six months once all the affected transfers and assignments to fill my vacancy fell into line. Six months at the outside once I submitted my request to retire. “O.K., Mike”, I said. “Let’s do that. I want to get out of the Navy. I’m done.”
I returned to the skipper’s office and tapped on his door frame to get his attention. “Skipper?” “George! What can I do for you?” “Skipper, I’ve had a few moments to think about what you told me and I’ve come to a decision. I want to get out of the Navy. I want to retire.” “Certainly, George! Certainly! Have you spoken with Mike yet?” “I will, Skipper. I will. Thank you very much for all your help.”

It didn’t take six months. With a little help from the skipper I was out in thirty days. We finally found a common purpose. Well, Skipper, I hope your retirement came as happily as mine. I know you were marking time before you would be forced out. You weren’t gong to make Admiral and that means “up or out” for you senior officers. You weren’t a bad guy at all, just a forgotten guy. The Navy does shitty things to passed-over senior officers. Shit jobs. Up or out. No dignity left.

G. M. Goodwin
June 22, 2018