May 25, 2012

Years ago I was superintendent at Stone Harbor. There, during my first year, a skinny older man with a filter-less Chesterfield cigarette hanging from his lips introduced himself  to me as Chet, explaining that he was there to help out however he could as he had done there each of the past few summers. So I gave him the bunker crew to supervise...

And soon one of the guys on the bunker crew came into my office to complain in a way I still have not forgotten... “My mamma don’t even treat me like that!” Turns out Chet was a task master. His way or do it again. And again, and again, until it was right. I realized that I didn’t have to worry about bunkers getting done  when Chet was around!

As Chet got older – into his 80’s – he lost a little stamina but still came in every summer day, whether he was scheduled or not. The last few years I was there, he became my tee divot guy. Although I had to worry about bunkers again, I now never had to worry about tee divots.

I spent a lot of time with Chet, or maybe it was he who spent a lot of time with me. At work and not at work. He’d come over to my home and play with my kids. I’d go over to his trailer and check on him, as he lived alone. We became friends.

Many times I would just listen to Chet – he grew up in the depression, his father was an orphan, his mom sold pies to the neighbors, his son was a NASA engineer, his daughter a teacher, he worked as a printer all his life, his wife died of cancer, and he served on the airplane carrier the “Franklin”, or Big Ben, during WW2.

He had enlisted in the Navy and chance put him in the hold of the fateful ship. When the two Japanese planes came out of the sky dropping bombs, hitting the ship directly in the elevator shaft, the ship became an inferno with fuel igniting and bombs exploding. 724 were killed and 265 were wounded. Chet survived and helped with the fires and later to get the listing ship back to Pearl Harbor. Not one to stand out in a crowd, but to be humble, Chet was overlooked when the ribbons were passed out.

I didn’t know anything about the Franklin until I met Chet. Fact is, he didn’t really bring it up until the last few years that I knew him. He told me the story, and gave me books that were written about the ship and the people on it. This was a watermark in his life that he needed to share. I listened. Chet said it became important to him to talk because he didn't want people to forget. He said he didn’t have many years left in him, and he feared that when he was gone, no one would be left to remember...that bothered him.

A year before Chet passed away he was finally recognized with a medal for his help during the attack and the trip back to Pearl Harbor. 

And he died with my promise that I would not forget. I haven't.