At Refuge Farm there was the usual grudging acceptance of the return of the sun to the gently rolling hills of Virginia’s Piedmont. It is still cold, though they say the tenuous clouds will burn off later. Other things won’t.
I was filled with unease. ‘Jiffy’ sent the warning yesterday. Hospital care was not up to Point Loma’s standards, and he and his lovely bride Suzanne decided Hospice was an appropriate alternative to the numbing pain he had suffered of late. His pals and shipmates were on alert, and I was hoping for a last story from him before what was reported to be inevitable.
Muttering my way through the morning’s harvest of electrons, I saw a last update. Marc left us last night, at peace. In a just world, his departure should have been accompanied by the roar of departing jets, or the quiet nod of those at the helm of the great ships he drove under skies far distant from these.
In one of his pieces on the lives we all lived he talked about his family. I will not attempt a eulogy for him. Jiffy and Suzanne will give us one in time. But I recalled the way he thought of things, and how his personal exclamation sums up all our feelings this morning:
YHGTBSME.
These are his words, in this case on the subject of leadership afloat and ashore. He was all about that, and here are his feelings:
“My Uncle’s squadron call sign was “Owl,” as in wise old. In addition to being one smart guy and the best original thinker and BS sniffer I ever encountered – he kept his eyes wide open, and his hearing and radar were always up. If you don’t know much about owls, then look them up – awesome creatures, and they own the night. He had that quality in spades.
Obviously, he had a lot of lessons learned to offer, and I paid attention whenever we got together when I was TDY in DC. I’m trying to channel his wisdom in some of these pieces that I write. Sometimes I get it right, and sometimes I may miss the mark. Okay, I’m all right with that, since I am not afraid of being called out for being wrong.
So now hear this – get onboard the clue bus – leadership is not measured by the number of pg. 13 entries you rack up, but in bold, inspiring action. Your people are always watching you, and take their cues from what you say and the decisiveness in what you do. Realize that you are only as good as the weakest link of your organization, be it afloat or ashore. Avoid doing stupid shit things, and adopting or slavishly adhering to PC policies that may give you an out, but have your people wondering why they would think YHGTBFSM.
I remain your faithful servant.”
He will remain that, of course. But our world is smaller this morning. I have lowered the flag we served to half-staff in his memory, and thank the stars yielding to the dawn above for the chance to have known and worked with him. Sleep sound, Point Loma, and rest well. Peace be with you. See you at Fleet Landing at the other side of The River.
A virtual memorial will be in held soon. His ashes will be returned to the sea.
Copyright 2021 Point Loma
www.vicsocotra.com
>
Point Loma: Flag at Half Staff
At Refuge Farm there was the usual grudging acceptance of the return of the sun to the gently rolling hills of Virginia’s Piedmont. It is still cold, though they say the tenuous clouds will burn off later. Other things won’t.
I was filled with unease. ‘Jiffy’ sent the warning yesterday. Hospital care was not up to Point Loma’s standards, and he and his lovely bride Suzanne decided Hospice was an appropriate alternative to the numbing pain he had suffered of late. His pals and shipmates were on alert, and I was hoping for a last story from him before what was reported to be inevitable.
Muttering my way through the morning’s harvest of electrons, I saw a last update. Marc left us last night, at peace. In a just world, his departure should have been accompanied by the roar of departing jets, or the quiet nod of those at the helm of the great ships he drove under skies far distant from these.
In one of his pieces on the lives we all lived he talked about his family. I will not attempt a eulogy for him. Jiffy and Suzanne will give us one in time. But I recalled the way he thought of things, and how his personal exclamation sums up all our feelings this morning:
YHGTBSME.
These are his words, in this case on the subject of leadership afloat and ashore. He was all about that, and here are his feelings:
“My Uncle’s squadron call sign was “Owl,” as in wise old. In addition to being one smart guy and the best original thinker and BS sniffer I ever encountered – he kept his eyes wide open, and his hearing and radar were always up. If you don’t know much about owls, then look them up – awesome creatures, and they own the night. He had that quality in spades.
Obviously, he had a lot of lessons learned to offer, and I paid attention whenever we got together when I was TDY in DC. I’m trying to channel his wisdom in some of these pieces that I write. Sometimes I get it right, and sometimes I may miss the mark. Okay, I’m all right with that, since I am not afraid of being called out for being wrong.
So now hear this – get onboard the clue bus – leadership is not measured by the number of pg. 13 entries you rack up, but in bold, inspiring action. Your people are always watching you, and take their cues from what you say and the decisiveness in what you do. Realize that you are only as good as the weakest link of your organization, be it afloat or ashore. Avoid doing stupid shit things, and adopting or slavishly adhering to PC policies that may give you an out, but have your people wondering why they would think YHGTBFSM.
I remain your faithful servant.”
He will remain that, of course. But our world is smaller this morning. I have lowered the flag we served to half-staff in his memory, and thank the stars yielding to the dawn above for the chance to have known and worked with him. Sleep sound, Point Loma, and rest well. Peace be with you. See you at Fleet Landing at the other side of The River.
A virtual memorial will be in held soon. His ashes will be returned to the sea.
Copyright 2021 Point Loma
www.vicsocotra.com
>