The Last Voyage

 Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

I'd  been off for about 2 1/2 weeks recovering from surgery, which went well.  The only byproduct was a loss of energy which is still taking its toll.  Returning to the ship on a Saturday, I saw in the wardroom a small memorial for one of our long-standing tour guides, a man named Ford,  Apparently he had passed away while I was off, and this sudden breaking news was a shock.  He was a friend, and had been literally since my first day back aboard.  He gave me my first orientation tour that day, setting a very high bar for sharing the ships story.

Over those many months we spent a lot of time talking as old men are wont to do.  He was older by ten or twelve years, and had stories to tell.  We spent a lot of time sharing parts of our lives, along with our shared bemusement of the state of the world.  He was a superb guide and I learned a lot from him about presenting Missouri’s history, and myself, as well as the best ways to deal with our guests.  Ford was a bountiful resource about so many things as well as a trusted confidant.

He had been in declining health for awhile.  He had several falls, and at one point had to be taken off tours altogether.  He took up a static position in the wardroom where he would spend his day regaling everyone who came by with his trove of stories and knowledge.  Despite his condition, he never sought sympathy.  I don’t think any of us were aware of just how bad things had gotten.

A sudden or unexpected death is always a shock.  For reasons unclear, I think we expect life to go on without change, especially in our relationships.  It’s akin to driving down a road at night in a storm, then discovering just a tad too late that the bridge we assumed was there…wasn’t.  Everything drops away and suddenly we’re twisting in the wind.

I miss Ford.  He was a trusted friend, and we never have enough of those.  I know his memory will grace the decks of the Battleship forever.

I’ve reached the point in life when people I’ve known, some throughout my life are disappearing.  The loss of those relationships and friendships always leaves a hole in my life.  Somehow, I assume that they will always be around.  As I sit here today, it’s hard to come to grips with the fact that Ford is gone, irretrievably so, that I won’t ever see, talk to, or here that ever cheerful gravelly voice again.  Life has changed. 

None of us ever want change, yet it is the one consistency in life.  We are mortal, and on some cosmic or divine calendar is a date circled in red, a date that we will never know until it is upon us when we shall sleep for the final time.  Death is the last great unknown, the final frontier, if you will.  The familiar will end, the unknown just ahead.  For most that is scary.

I had once what is called a “near death experience” which is recorded elsewhere in this blog.  Even though that was more than 20 years ago, I’m still processing that experience.  The point being, I’ve been there, so it is no longer that mysterious unknown.  I lost the fear of death then, and it has never returned.  It was a beautiful and profound moment.  Now, I’m in no hurry to go back anytime soon.  I’m still having way too much fun here.  But I am comforted by the certainty that when that day arrives, I will embrace it without fear or regret.  

There’s no more important moment than now.  So I take the time to enjoy the warm sun, the cool breeze, the blue sky.  I listen to the birds and their songs.  I have been blessed by people who love me, and how they have filled my life with joy and meaning.  Each moment is a treasure, never to be repeated.

Yes, I am a lucky man who has lived a long and full life.  I know it will end at some point, but until then, I will live life to the fullest, just as Ford did.

I think about my friend and the hole left in life by his passing.  I wonder where he is, what his thoughts are, and hope that he is at peace.

Wearing the Anchors, and What That Means

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

Every year in late summer, the Navy releases a list of names.  For thousands of First Class petty officers, the release has been awaited with a mixture of excited anticipation but also fear and dread.  For years, sometimes a decade or more, these career-minded sailors have accomplished and endured, all experiences pointed towards that moment.

The Navy is alone among the services in the promotion of personnel from pay grade E-6 to E-7.  Because of the special status accorded Chief Petty Officers, everything changes.  First and foremost is the uniform.  The newly minted Chief now dons a khaki uniform along with that coveted hat.  It is similar to the uniform worn by officers, except that on the collar lapels, the traditional "fouled anchor" is worn, which is the symbol of that new rank.  But other things change as well.  Aboard ship, they move into quarters specifically set up for Chiefs.  They also join an exclusive group, known as the "Chief's Mess," which refers to both where they eat and where the collected wisdom of decades of Navy service can be found.  

The Navy Chief is the embodiment of knowledge, wisdom, experience, strength, and authority.  To the enlisted crew, the Chief is the most critical person in their lives.  A young sailor's growth, maturation, and expertise lie in the hands of that Chief.  That learning also conveys to officers.  Many a raw ensign has been (respectfully) schooled by that wizened Chief, and all admit that they're better officers because of that.  

I recall that time, back in 1988, when I saw my name on the list.  I had only been in the service since 1980, so to have risen that far, that fast, was unprecedented.  It also made me nervous.  I was fully aware that most candidates had around 10 to 15 years in before being selected.  I talked to my detailer and asked if it wouldn't be better for me to do a tour at sea as a Leading Petty Officer, the First Class who works just below the Chief.  I was told that if I turned down this promotion, it would never be offered again.  We had four children, and we needed the hefty pay raise, so I accepted the promotion.

The intervening time was filled with numerous activities, hampered by the fact that I was on independent duty, not on a Navy station or ship, and thus out of the communications loop.  But I did show up for the initiation.  Tradition dictates that I can't share the activities of that very long night, except to tell you that I know how an earthworm and fish oil cocktail tastes.  But finally, just before dawn, I passed the final tests and was sent to get cleaned up and dressed.  

The pinning ceremony was impressive.  An old Master Chief told us, "Starting today, you will be known as a Chief Petty Officer.  You will still be called "Chief" long after you leave the Navy.  Because once you pin these anchors on, they stay with you forever.  For they are also pinned to your heart."  Then, the moment arrived.  Cheryl pinned those shiny new anchors to my collars. I stood there in a moment of pride and accomplishment, not only for me but for her as well.  She earned them just as much as I did.

For that and a hundred other reasons, this period is an emotional time for me.  To watch these men and women go through the tests and trials, and to arrive at that supreme moment, is for me to relive it as well, experience those emotions, and, for a time, feel again that pride for what was then the greatest accomplishment of my life.  

Now, some people think that leadership simply means issuing orders and meting out punishments.  But as any senior Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) in any branch of the military will tell you, the job goes way beyond that simplistic view.  First and foremost is the mission.  What the goal is, and what needs to happen to achieve the goal.  Crew members must be assigned to the tasks required.  This is not a "dart board' approach, but rather knowing your people.  Qualifications, yes. But also their individual strengths, weaknesses, and temperament.  Assigning the wrong task to the wrong person can be problematic.  

You have to know your people.  Someone who is in the grips of a personal off-the-ship issue might never talk to anyone.  However, those distracted behaviors manifest in subtle ways.  The leader has to remain ever vigilant and prepared to intervene.

The military loads NCOs with a lot of administration.  This is all vital and necessary to the running of the great military bureaucracy.  However, a leader knows how important it is not to be held prisoner by the office.  The proper place for the NCO is out on deck, spending time with the crew, observing their work habits and the progress of the assigned projects, and being aware of their interactions with one another.  Much of this is intuitive, recalling what it was like to be them.  Unfortunately, intuition can't be taught, but must already be an inherent part of a leader's makeup.  

The most important part of the relationship between leaders and subordinates is trust.

Trust can't be commanded.  It can only be earned.  For the junior and mid-grade folks, the NCO is the authority figure.  But there also has to be the sense that they have someone in their corner; that they can come to the NCO with an issue in confidence and expect a fair shake.  Every NCO, of course, must have the ability to bring down the wrath of God Himself upon the head of someone who richly deserves it.  There will always be that line that Shall Never Be Crossed, and they have to know clearly what and where that line is.  Young people always function better when operating within a clear set of boundaries.

That goes hand-in-hand with respect.  It has been my experience that respect for juniors is reflected back to leadership.  Treat them as if you know that they know their job and you know...just know...that they'll get it done.  Conveying that respect and confidence empowers people.  And they will respond.  

The Navy taught me the basics of leadership.  But the real education came through the crucible of experience.  For any of us, life is an academy.  As much as we learn from both good and bad experiences, we also gain insight from both good and bad leaders.  We will all make mistakes.  That's inevitable for humans.  Don't run from mistakes.  Instead, confront them, analyze them, and understand them.  Take those lessons and apply them, and they will inform you for the rest of your life.  Confronting our own faults and errors takes a certain kind of courage, the drive to be better, and keeping the promise we made to ourselves and our people that we will be the leader they will want to follow.

Courage.

That is the supreme element of leadership.

The Final Muster

 

The last surviving USS Missouri crewmen from World War II

Image by U.S. Pacific Command

Copyrightt © 2025

By Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

The day was festive, the ship fully dressed with bunting along the lifelines, and the gaily-colored signal flags hoisted from the bow up and over to the stern.  On the pier, a long line of American flags greeted visitors as they entered.  A steady breeze caused the flags to wave and snap.  Above, the perfect blue of a Hawai'ian sky arced above the darker blue waters of Pearl Harbor.

It was September 2nd, the 80th anniversary of the end of World War II, an especially meaningful day aboard the Battleship USS Missouri, where, on that day in 1945, the Japanese signed the surrender that ended the War.

The entire Labor Day weekend was filled with events.  A formal dinner, a crew reunion, a huge barbecue, gatherings of every kind.  But the most meaningful was the gathering of the "Elite Eight," the last surviving USS Missouri crewmembers from the War.  They were old, frail, and wheelchair-bound, yet the years had not dimmed the light of pride shining from their eyes.  They were greeted and honored by current active duty servicemembers, a linking of the past, present, and future.  It was also a poignant reminder that the Greatest Generation is quietly slipping away from us, lost to the inexorable passage of time.  

For those of us Missouri crew of more recent vintage, we were reminded that we are the last.  Unless Congress and the Navy lose their minds, there will be no more battleships, and thus, no more battleship sailors.  The long legacy of the elite, hard-fighting, spit-and-polish sailors who manned those powerful ships for over 100 years ends with us.

But the weekend was also attended by veterans of every service and era.  World War II, Korea, Vietnam, the Cold War, and the Gulf Wars.  They walked proudly, heads up, shoulders back across Missouri's decks, and as the floodgates of memory opened, they shared their stories.  I lost count of the number of times family whispered to me, "He's never, ever talked about this!"  If you have an aging grandparent who's never spoken of his wartime experiences, be alert.  One day, perhaps in the presence of a beloved grandchild, he will begin to talk.  If you're nearby, grab your phone and start recording.  It will be the record of a priceless moment that will likely never happen again.

These voices will be silenced, the stories lost forever, unless we can preserve them.  This is our duty to the generations yet to come.

There will always be anniversaries.  Every year has a December 7th, a September 2nd, and a 9/11.  We tend to focus more on those years that end in a five or zero, but this one was special.  The men who were there were in their 90s and early 100s.  It is unrealistic to assume that they will still be here five years from now.  Their presence was a gift of the ages, a touchstone in the collective memory, a deep connection to a singular time when the future survival of our country was in doubt.  For them, this was their final muster.

Missouri will continue to host other ceremonies, and time will continue to pass.  Those who were aged will leave us, the youth will grow old, and the generations will continue.  But there was a sense of finality during those days.  For there will never be another weekend like this one.  

It is my sincere hope that even as those voices fade and disappear, their stories will be remembered and retold.

Being Pet Parents Again

 

Pickles in her native habitat

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

Owning a pet is a process of relationship building, as any pet parent knows.  The affection is there from the get-go, of course. But those first few days and even weeks are about getting to know each other.  Habits, schedules, moods, and most importantly, earning each other's trust.  

In such a non-verbal relationship, its the more subtle clues couched in behaviors.  The owner must know, for example, the signals the dog sends when it needs to pee or poop.  And once outside in the yard, trusting that the dog won't go sprinting off into the neighborhood.  

Dogs learn many human language words, and I'm convinced that the first one they understand is "walk."  After all, to spend a day cooped up in a house, especially alone, is not fun.  Remember COVID?  That walk at the end of the day is not only their opportunity to break free, but it is something that the dog gets to do WITH you, and this is important to that relationship.  For humans, it is inherently relaxing, a way to also break free from the confines of their job.  A mutual benefit.  Emotionally, we need each other, and that's so important for our well-being.  Every sentient being (and a dog IS sentient, I don't care what you think) has a need to be loved and accepted.  For both Cheryl and I, that moment when we come through the front door and Pickles meets us, wildly ecstatic, is a joyful moment.  And it doesn't matter whether we've been away for 10 minutes or 10 hours, the greeting is the same.  I've read that dogs don't really have a sense of time.  They also live very much in the moment, so every moment can be the best moment or the worst moment.  

When dinner is over, the dishes washed and stacked, and we finally get a chance to sit down on the couch, Pickles immediately jumps up beside us.  This brings us feelings of peace and contentment that is nigh impossible to articulate.  She joins us on the foot of the bed at night, and when one of us has a nightmare, it is comforting and calming to reach out and pet her, a moment of peace in the middle of a dark night.

Pickles loves toys that squeak.  She came with a stuffed lamb, which has since been dismembered and replaced by something that resembles an eel.  With three squeakers.  All we have to do is sound one of the squeakers and she comes running from wherever she is, ready to play.  

I bought and installed a dog door in the sliding back door.  We also installed gates and a short fence on the side of the house, so she could go out and explore whenever the mood struck her.  She has been reluctant to use it, but she is beginning to understand the new world that exists beyond.

We have several fruit trees in our yard, and an accompanying herd of geckos.  Pickles is fascinated by them and will slink up to the base of the orange tree and stare long and hard, waiting for one to make an appearance.  She hasn't caught one yet, and I suspect she wouldn't know what to do with it if she did.  Maybe get a car insurance quote?  

Pickles in her car seat

We take her with us as much as possible, even to church.  We bring a pad to put down, and she'll settle in quietly as the service proceeds.  The only kerfluffle she raised was a short "whuff" and one of our church chickens as it passed by the windows.  But she knows she has to be quiet there, and of course, the congregation loves her.  One thing she does when riding around with us is when she realizes that we've reached the destination (and we don't know how she figures that out) she gets very barky and yelpy, and no amount of effort on our part settles her down.  Maybe she thinks she may be left in the car.  Just don't know.  There are places that she just can't go, and while parting is difficult for Pickles, we've prepared a perch for her on the back of one of the couches that is backed up against the front window.  From there, she can survey the world, and she looks pretty comfortable there.  Of course, from there, she can see when our car returns to the carport, and she'll know we're home again.  We've discovered a couple of YouTube channels that will play what is advertised as "dog soothing music" while showing videos of other dogs having fun.  It's hard to say if that really works, as we're not home, but we do know she barks at any dog she sees on TV.  But at least it assuages our guilt a little.

Several times per week, we visit a nearby park, which is mostly fenced.  We feel safe enough to unhook the leash and let her run free.  We have a tennis ball that she will chase madly until she runs out of steam.  We then follow her around the park at a more leisurely pace.  It's a lovely thing to do while the sun sets in the west, with its usual stunning display of color.  

When Pickles first came to us, she experienced a time of sadness and mourning for the loss of her previous owner, who passed after a terminal illness.  Over time, she brightened up and has become happy and content.  When we lost our last dog, Tweeter, to congestive heart failure, it was a time of deep sorrow for us, as he had been with us for 17 years.  We resisted getting another dog because of that sad truism that the only fault a dog has is that they don't live long enough.  We know that we probably have six to ten years left with Pickles, and although we dread that heartbreaking loss, we are still glad we made the decision to bring her into our family.  She has brought back that joy, happiness, and laughter that we had missed so much.  

It's so much better to have had that for a little while, than never having it at all.

Visitors From Beyond

Copyright ©2025

by Ralph F. Couey

One of the things that has been learned about the universe is that it is neither quiet nor static.  Somewhere out there, stars explode, black holes form and merge, asteroids and comets streak through the void. The more that is discovered, the more we realize what a busy place it is.  

Up until 2017, what we saw in the sky, other than stars, was assumed to originate locally, that is, from our own solar system.  But that year, a new object was discovered, one that, when its trajectory and speed were analyzed, wasn't local in origin.  It had originated from outside our solar system, the first such object discovered.  Because it was found by one of the telescopes on top of a volcano in Hawai'i, it was named "'1I/Oumuamua," Hawai'ian for "messenger from afar arriving first."  The 1I marked it as the first object known to come from interstellar space.  It got a lot of attention, not only because it was the first extrasolar visitor, but because of its elongated shape.  Some people believed, and still do, that it was actually a ship from some distant civilization on a voyage of discovery.  After a lot of observation and study, it was suggested that 'Oumuamua was neither an asteroid nor a comet, but perhaps a piece of a destroyed exoplanet similar to Pluto.  

It was thought that this was a once-in-a-lifetime event.  But two years later, another object came streaking in from the outer darkness.  This one was given the less poetic name "2I/Borisov," 2I being the second interstellar object found.  This one was absolutely a comet, with the requisite coma and tail.  Now, a third interstellar object, "3I/Atlas," has been discovered.  Its trajectory suggests its point of origin was the crowded center of the Milky Way galaxy, and could be as much as 14.6 billion years old.  That's astonishing, because it dates this comet back to the very beginning of the Milky Way's formation, and perhaps close to the beginning of the universe itself.

Another surprise was Atlas' apparent size, initially thought to be about 6.5 miles wide, roughly the same size as the Chicxulub impactor that exterminated the dinosaurs.  Recent data reduces it to about 3.5 miles wide, although this is still sufficiently large to wreak life-altering damage to Earth.  That there are objects out there about that same size that we don't yet know about, at least gives me pause.

The Earth Quakes, A Wave Breaks

Copyright © USGS

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph Couey

Like most earthquakes, this one struck suddenly off the Kamchatka Peninsula, on the far eastern edge of Russia.  An initial assessment of magnitude 8.0 was quickly upgraded to magnitude 8.8, the most powerful earthquake in 14 years.

As most people know, the Earth's surface is made up of numerous interlocking plates that float on top of the convection currents of the hot mantle beneath.  We also know that throughout Earth's history, these plates have been in constant motion, sometimes forming supercontinents.  Other times, they float away from each other.  In this case, the Pacific Ocean Plate subducts or slides beneath the Okhotsk Plate.  Also, in most cases, this motion is not smooth.  The plates will, on occasion, stick together.  But the oceanic plate still maintains its drift, which builds up pressure at the "stuck point" that scientists call the asperity.  As this happens, the continental plate rises and folds, just like curling your fingers into a fist.  When the elasticity of those rocks exceeds their frictional coefficient, they snap past each other.  When that happens, the continental plate snaps forward and up (unclench your fist quickly).  Since this occurs on the floor of the ocean, the snapped plate lifts a column of water as deep as the ocean at that point and as wide or long as the fault.  In this case, that depth is roughly 2.5 to 3.5 miles deep.  Plus, the quake originates deeper, also in this case, about 11 miles beneath the ocean floor.  This column of water was (strike the average here) 3 miles tall and 350 miles long.  When that column breaks the surface, gravity tears it down into a series, or train of tsunami waves, calving off in opposite directions.  One towards land, and one that launches across the Pacific Ocean.  

Subduction zones are monsters.  They have historically generated the most violent earthquakes and most destructive tsunamis in history.  Chile 1960, Alaska 1964, Tohoku 2011, and Indonesia 2004 all originated from these types of faults.

Pacific Tsunami Warning Center, located on Ford Island in the middle of Pearl Harbor, Hawai'i, is the agency tasked with analyzing earthquakes and tsunamis and determining their threat to public safety.  The initial assessment of 8.0 is sufficient to issue a Tsunami Watch.  But with the later evaluation of 8.8, a Tsunami Warning was issued.  Hawai'i Emergency Management Agency's State Warning Point immediately issued the required alerts, one of which was the Wireless Emergency Alert, or WEA, that exploded on everyone's cell phones.

These waves are detected and tracked via a system of what are called DART buoys (Deep Ocean Assessment and Reporting of Tsunamis).  There are two parts of these sensors.  Floating on the surface is a satellite transceiver.  A cable drops down to the ocean floor, where it is connected to a sea floor sensor.  When a tsunami moves, like I mentioned, it is an entire column of water, miles tall.  When the wave passes the sensor, it detects the weight of the column of water.  A signal is sent to the floating buoy and then fired off to the satellite.  Within a few seconds, the entire scientific world knows what has happened.  These buoys, 39 of them so far, are set up along the seaward side of known subduction zones, and off islands along the possible wave routes.  One of the limitations is that if the wave is generated landward of that buoy line, the wave that impacts the nearby land will get there before the buoys detect it.  But most of the millions of people who live along subduction zones have learned that when the earth shakes, they need to move inland, or uphill.

The first indication was the appearance of tsunami waves in Russia and Japan.  Japan saw waves about 3 feet in height, while the areas of Russia immediately adjacent to the event saw wave heights ranging from 10 to 16 feet.  As the waves moved eastward, Guam and Wake Islands reported waves ranging up to 6 feet.  Midway Island, part of the Hawai'ian island chain, also reported 6-foot waves.  The forecast for Hawai'i, based on these results, was for waves in the range of 3 to 10 feet along the north- and west-facing shores. Evacuations were ordered, and the entire state collectively held its breath.

When the tsunami arrived, it numbered around 20 separate waves, eventually ranging from 3 to 7 feet.  Thankfully, there was some minor flooding, but no damage was reported, and even more importantly, no deaths or injuries.

The first big question was why the waves were not bigger.  The answer lies in the amount of slip at the earthquake origin.  Estimates today estimate that the sea floor rose 10 to 20 feet over a distance of 430 miles.  This is significant.  But the Indonesian quake in 2004 generated an uplift of around 50 feet along a distance of 745 miles.  This difference accounts for the smaller waves.  But there is speculation among scientists that this fault may not be done.  The entire Kuril-Kamchatka fault runs over 1,300 miles end to end, and may yet rupture along the rest of its length, perhaps in pieces, or a full-margin rupture.  

I was at work aboard the Battleship Missouri Memorial in Pearl Harbor, and since I'm not allowed to have my cellphone with me while I'm working, I missed the initial alerts.  On a break, I checked my phone just in time to see the Tsunami Warning WEA message.  We continued on as usual because the wave arrival time was three hours after we closed.  But as more messages came in, it was decided to allow those who lived in the immediate danger zones, North Shore and the Waianae Coast, to leave early.  I stayed until I was ordered to leave, reluctantly.  Even the security staff was sent home, and for a rare night, the ship was left utterly vacant.  

The Day War Ended

General of the Army Douglas MacArthur, Supreme Commander Allied Powers, 

signs the documents aboard the USS Missouri, anchored in Tokyo Bay, Japan.

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

On September 2, 2025, the world will celebrate the 80th anniversary of the end of World War II.  

That day, a ceremony will take place on the deck of the Battleship USS Missouri, 

where the Japanese signed the surrender, officially bringing the war to a close.  

I offer my thoughts on that momentous day.

Eighty years ago today, on September 2, 1945, a ceremony took place in Tokyo Bay, Japan. Aboard the anchored battleship USS Missouri, representatives of the Imperial Japanese government and military signed a set of documents certifying their acceptance of the terms of surrender. With that act, the world, which had been at war in some form or another since 1931, finally found peace. Humanity, in an all-too-rare moment, was able to look toward the future with hope.

Peace is fleeting, as history has shown over and over. Humans have never had to search far for a reason to fight. Starting a war is much easier than ending one. Still, we cherish those rare moments because peace gives us a chance to breathe, to live, love, and dream.

War is terrible, destructive, and costly.  Novelist John Ball noted that the only reason a sane government gets involved in one is because the alternative is even less acceptable.  The United States, which had avoided global power and responsibility like the plague, was forced to accept that role in the world by two nations, Japan and Germany, which lusted after it.  We learned a hard lesson: that if we try to hide from the world, the world will come looking for us.  And the rest of the world also learned that an America, thus armed, united, and engaged, is unassailable. 

"How Terribly Strange to be Seventy"

 

You know you're getting old when the candles 

needed would set off the sprinkler system.

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

This post's title is a line from the Simon and Garfunkel song "Old Friends."  The song tells the story of two old men who sit in the park every day together on a bench, simply passing the hours.  At one point, Simon sings, "How terribly strange to be seventy."  It's a poignant line, a somber nod to the creeping inevitability of age.

I reached that milestone this year, May 23rd, and that particular verse has been echoing in my mind.  It's kinda funny in that in the past, I had always considered 70 to be incredibly ancient, perhaps even archaeological.  And now, here I am.  There are the usual maladies associated with aging, but nothing really serious or life-threatening.  One of my friends, after listening to my ruminations, said, "Hey, you've still got your knees, your hips, and your hair.  Be happy with that!"  He was correct, and I am well aware that many others never made it this far with this much intact.  

The day itself was uneventful.  Cheryl was in Japan with her sister, niece, and youngest daughter, embarking on a once-in-a-lifetime trip to her ancestral homelands.  I had just returned from Virginia, spending some precious time with our son and his family.  I slept in and took myself out for breakfast, pancakes, of course.  I went to the local IHOP only to discover it had been shuttered.  I went to Zippy's instead, a local classic that makes really good pancakes.  I feasted happily.

I went home and, after some TV watching, I got busy cleaning house, in anticipation of Cheryl's return.  Part of that effort was ripping up the old, nasty, and unlamented carpet in the living room.  That was hard work, but seeing that beautiful wood floor emerge made me wonder why we ever covered it up in the first place.  

Speech: Preserving the Past, Gifting it to the Future

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

Good Evening,

On behalf of the USS Missouri Memorial Association, I want to welcome you and express our sincere and heartfelt gratitude for the many ways you continue to support Battleship Missouri and its programs. 

My name is Ralph Couey. I am a tour guide and a former crew member of Missouri, serving from 1988 to 1990, the last two years of my Navy career.  I was a Chief Petty Officer in charge of Combat Engagement Center and the 65 good men who worked there.  As you might expect, many memories lurk among the passageways and compartments, ready to ambush me unexpectedly.  I can tell you that the first day I came back aboard to work here was an emotional experience.  I remember entering the ship's interior, being enveloped by that familiar scent of steel, paint, and fuel oil, and knowing I had returned home. 

Since that day, I’ve had nothing but fun, and I am so pleased and proud to work with such a great crew. I am hard-pressed to remember when I’ve been around a happier, more caring group of people. 

There are many memorials in the United States, touchstones of times of challenge and adversity, times that demanded from each of us our best efforts, passions, courage, and, most importantly, our unity. These places are where we can return to those moments and eras that molded us both as a nation and a people. It is good that those events can still inspire us because it is so vital that we remember our past.  We must honor those who went before, stood up to the dangers, and did the arduous work that brought us to this day.  Their stories, those accounts we need to tell and re-tell again. 

Memory is fickle. Time has a way of softening details and changing perceptions. For a given event in history, there are two groups of people: those who remember and those who learn.  We who were around and cogent on that terrible day we know as 9/11 have strong memories of that tragedy, driven by shock, sorrow, and, yes, rage.  We watched, most on television, some who were present as those aircraft knifed into both buildings of the World Trade Center.  We learned about the attack on the Pentagon and watched with disbelieving eyes as that great concrete battleship burned.  We heard about Flight 93 and the heroism of those passengers and crew who sacrificed their lives and prevented an even larger tragedy.  That day unfolded before us as no day ever had, burned into our memories.  We remember what we were doing, how we found out, how we felt, and what we feared. 

Speech: A Look to the Past, a Charge to the Future

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

On December 7^th, 1941, at 7:55 AM, the quiet calm of a Sunday morning was shattered by explosions and the hoarse sound of general quarters alarms.

In the first few minutes of the attack, hundreds of American Sailors, Soldiers, and Marines had already lost their lives.  This was the tragedy.  Then came the triumph.  The personnel aboard the ships did not wait for orders but rather reacted in accordance with their training and, in those same first few moments, filled the sky with anti-aircraft bursts.  It is important to note that most of them were barely older than these magnificent student musicians here.

The war that began with that attack lasted 3 years and 10 months, during which time some 69 million people lost their lives.

Then, on September 2^nd, 1945, USS Missouri was anchored in Tokyo Bay, Japan.  The destroyer USS Lansdowne brought a delegation of Japan’s representatives alongside.  Among them was the Foreign Minister Mamoru Shigamitsu.  For years, he led the peace faction within Japan’s government.  This did not make him popular with the hard-liners, who wanted to fight to the last man and the last bullet.  Mr. Shigamitsu was targeted several times for assassination.  One of those attempts cost him his right leg.  It was painfully difficult for him to have to climb down the side of a destroyer, then climb up the side of this battleship, and then up an additional ladder in order to arrive on the starboard side 01 level where the ceremony would take place.  I also know that when someone risks their life several times in the cause of peace, that by definition makes him a tough guy.

Speech: Time to Lead

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

There is a story about a young Marine who won a medal for fearlessly charging an enemy position.  He was asked later how he summoned the courage for such an act.  He replied, “I wasn’t running toward the enemy.  I was running away from my sergeant.”

When someone joins the military, it can be an unsettling experience.  It’s an entirely new and alien environment.  They are rarely sure what to do or when to do it.  In those moments, they look for help, direction, and assurance.  The person they always look to is the one with all the stripes.  There, they will find knowledge, wisdom, experience, encouragement, and the occasional kick in the ass.  That person is the Non-Commissioned Officer.  That leavening influence in a unit is essential in the day-to-day of peacetime.  It is absolutely critical in war.

It takes someone special to be a soldier, and it takes something rare to lead them. The roles of a Staff Sergeant are many and varied. They include training, administration, instruction, counseling, discipline, and being the subject matter expert on being a soldier.  But beyond those roles is leadership.

Soldiers want and need to be led, whether they realize it or not.  No matter how confident a soldier is, the acquisition of experience takes time.  That requires the steadying influence of the “been there, done that” NCO.  Therefore, all NCOs are responsible for teaching not only the technical aspects of this profession of arms but also the value of discipline.   In battle, that discipline will keep a young soldier on the line.  And alive.

However, the most important things that an NCO can impart to the troops are the more profound lessons of courage, honor, integrity, and commitment.  These are the most important reasons for wearing the uniform. 

An NCO helps soldiers grow as they respond to the challenges they face.  To confront adversity, rather than turning away.  To learn what it takes to become a leader.  To find within themselves the power and strength to stand their ground.  This was always for me, as a Chief Petty Officer, the most satisfying and fulfilling aspect of my job, taking a raw, nervous, inexperienced kid and watching them become a strong, confident, and skilled fighting sailor.  I’m sure many of you standing here also remember and treasure those moments in your careers.

Admiral Mike Boorda, a Mustang who rose to the position of Chief of Naval Operations, once told a group of Chief Petty Officers, “I may run the Navy.  But I assure you, the Navy runs because of you.”  This is an undeniable finite truth that applies to all the armed services.  All the great things the Army has ever done were because the Sergeants made it happen.  You are where the rubber meets the road.  Where battles are won…or lost. 

This country will likely find itself in another war in the coming years.  If that happens, you will be at the tip of the spear.  Know that the outcome of any battle is absolutely dependent on all of you doing your duty.  And on the sergeants to lead the way.  But wherever you give battle, make sure that the enemy knows that field belongs to the United States Army.

Sergeants, your time is now. Step up. Stand tall. And lead.

Re-learning How to Love -- And Trust Again.

 

Falling in love once again...

Copyright © 2025

By Ralph F. Couey

A lot has happened since the last time I checked in here.  Cheryl and I got sick in March, which stretched well into April before whatever it was finally released us from its vile clutches.  It left us both sapped of energy, and it's been a slow road back.  Then, about the same time we put that behind us, My Urologist decided that my continuing struggles with prostate issues had come to a head, and last Wednesday, I had surgery.  It wasn't major, as surgeries go, but, sparing you the details, my plumbing system is already improved.  I was out for about 2 hours, and it's taken another huge effort post-anesthesia to regain my stamina.  

Now, some good news.  Through one of our daughters, we were introduced to a wonderful lady who has been suffering for years from crippling chronic pain.  She was looking for someone to adopt her dog, a cute little Bichon named Pickles, as she wouldn't be able to care for her any longer.  We love dogs but haven't had one since we lost our beloved Tweeter in 2016.  He had been with us for 17 years, and that loss was sheer heartbreak for both of us.  We avoided getting another one because of that.  As one wise person said, a dog's only fault is that they don't live long enough.  Long story short, we agreed to adopt Pickles and will take her in late May after I return from Virginia.  The circumstances are sad, but we are happy to once again have a furry, loving companion back in our family.  We met with them on Monday and had a wonderful, meaningful time together.  This will involve some changes in our lifestyle, but none that will cause us any regret whatsoever.  It does leave us with the feeling that, as ecstatic as we are to get Pickles, we could feel the lady's heart breaking because of this necessary choice.  

That Day...And What's Coming Next

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

It's been a week and a day since Super Bowl LIX, and I think I'm finally in a good place to reflect on the disaster that day for the Kansas City Chiefs.

First off, All Hail the Eagles!  They played a great game and hit on all cylinders in all three areas, offense, defense, and special teams.  They did everything a champion is supposed to do, and they certainly deserve all the props that go their way.

Now.

I think many of us wearing red that day knew that the jig was up by halftime.  They were down by a bunch, and while the defense put up a courageous fight, the offense and special teams...didn't.  I have been a Chiefs fan as long as there has been a Kansas City Chiefs.  Across that span of 62 years, I've seen some spectacular games.  I've also seen a bunch of clunkers, which included most of the decade of the 1980s.  In the 6 seasons, Patrick Mahomes has been the starter, this team and this city have witnessed an unprecedented run of success.  They've been in 5 of 6 Super Bowls, winning three.  Their appearance in the AFC Championship game, most years hosting, became so frequent that people began to refer to the game as the "Arrowhead Invitational."  As fans, after years of epically bad football, we became used to winning.  Dangerous habit.

The Cost That Must Be Paid for Freedom

 

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

Freedom is not free. 

This statement has become timeworn, perhaps even trite.  But its use, perhaps overuse, hasn’t diminished the fact that it is still fundamentally true.

In what was then colonial America, a group of restless idealists decided that after decades of mistreatment by Britain, enough was enough. After countless hours of fractious, even combative debate, they published their intent to break from the Crown and form a new country. 

This was an incredibly bold and courageous move against what was then the most powerful empire on Earth.  They were, in fact, committing treason, the punishment for which was death.  Also at risk were their families, homes, and everything they had earned and built.  The risk was enormous, but they did not hesitate. 

The war resulting from that Declaration of Independence was long, brutal, and costly.  The army suffered bitter cold, hunger, and sickness.  Desertions were common.  The war was almost lost on several occasions but for the dynamic presence of a Virginia planter, George Washington.  His inestimable leadership, strength, and tactical brilliance kept the army together and allowed him to execute a series of bold, brilliant attacks that eventually drove the British out of America.  

Even after such an improbable victory, the internal struggles continued.  What kind of government would it be?  A republic with a strong central government and subordinate states?  Or a confederacy characterized by a weak central authority and autonomous states? Some of these questions were addressed in the Constitution, which required 13 more years of arguing.  Other questions would take a costly Civil War to find the answers. 

Learning the What, and the Why Behind It

 

Hubble Ultra Deep Field © NASA/Hubble

There are about 10,000 galaxies in this image.

There is still so much to learn...

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

Like most writers, I have a lot of curiosity.  Most of that occurs in the normal pace of life.  I'll notice something and ask myself, " Why is that there?" or "How does that work?" and especially, "How and why did that happen?"  Those questions trigger in my brain a restless little gnome that proceeds to run around wildly in its allotted space, shouting for attention.  That tiny imp won't sit down and shut up until I've at least tried to answer the questions.

In the ancient, dusty past, that meant a trip to a library, sometimes at a university, to spend hours flipping through card catalogs, followed by repeated trips into the stacks to chase down sometimes obscure tomes containing the information I would be seeking, hoping that someone hadn't checked it out.  Then I had to sit down and read the book and take notes.  This is a process that would take hours, sometimes days. Younger folks these days, spoiled by the Internet have no clue about the sheer drudgery and frustration of research. 

The problem with books is that events move so fast these days that they're instantly obsolete once published.  Today, the world is literally available in our hands or even on our wrists.  I am constantly reminded and amazed that humans landed on the moon using a computer that was many times less powerful than my smartwatch.  The problem with such an avalanche of information is successfully judging the veracity of sources.  The 'Net is full of stupid people saying idiotic things, and care must be taken to ensure factual truth and not be taken in by an attractive stream of rhetoric.  That takes time, patience, and even courage, all of which seemingly are in short supply these days.

A Day of Infamy; A Day of Grace

 

Sunrise, Pearl Harbor

December 7th, 2024

Copyright © 2024

By Ralph F. Couey

Images and written content

The sun rose, spreading its light into the clear sky, a moment of indescribable peace and tranquility. Across the harbor, the water lay almost glassy. It was eerily similar to another morning 83 years earlier, that Day of Infamy; December 7th, 1941.

That day, however, the calm was suddenly broken by the roar of aircraft and the shocking explosions that heralded the beginning of a new war.

This day, however, the peaceful calm remained intact. On the north side of Ford Island the destroyer USS Carl Levin and the submarine USS Hawai'i moved through the water with reverent dignity. The drawbridge connecting the island to Honolulu had been pulled aside, and the two vessels made their way through, passing alongside the grave of a ship that has always been the symbol of that attack. As they came abeam of the USS Arizona Memorial, a whistle sounded across the water and the white-clad sailors manning the rails came to attention. This has always been the tradition. When any Navy ship passes the graceful white memorial, they render honors in respect partly for the old battleship, but just as much for the 1,177 men who remain entombed within the ship.  

At the appointed moment, 7:55 AM, or 07:55 in Navy speak, there was a sudden roar from the south. A formation of four F-22 Raptor fighters from the Hawai'i Air National Guard swept in low. Just as they reached the memorial, one aircraft went vertical, knifing into the brilliantly blue sky accompanied by the roar of afterburners. It was the traditional "missing man formation," the moving salute to the fallen. Across the harbor, at the Arizona Memorial Visitors Center, a 103-year-old Pearl Harbor survivor rose from his wheelchair to render a salute.

Veterans Day 2024

 

At the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific

Honolulu, Hawai'i

Copyright © 2024

By Ralph F. Couey

Written content and images

The United States has engaged in many wars over the centuries.  In every case, young men, and now young women willingly left their homes, mines, shops, factories, fields, and schools to take up arms to defend the cause of freedom, and their beloved country.  They fought in many lands, on and below the oceans, and in the skies above it all.  The met dangerous, implacable foes in battle, the violence in which surpassed the ability of countless scribes to adequately express.

They don't speak much of those times.  It may be that the don't wish the hell of their very personal nightmares to be transferred to anyone else.  Or maybe speaking of them brings the horror back.  I once met an old Marine, who had fought with the legendary 1st Marine Division at Guadalcanal and Peleliu.  I have long had a deep interest in the history of the Pacific War, so I was asking him about his experiences.  He responded by saying, "Son, I can't tell you about war.  Unless you've been there, there's no way you could possibly understand.  Thank God you don't."

It takes a special kind of person to endure such an experience.  It is never the scripted false valor seen in cinema, because it's based in fear; that very primal instinct for self-preservation.  In the film "In Harm's Way," John Wayne's character said, "All battles are fought by scared men who'd rather be someplace else."  All warriors feel fear.  They wouldn't be human if they didn't.  But the difference between the courageous and the cowardly is how that fear is handled.  Fear can send some into mindless, paralyzing panic.  Others push past that moment understanding that there is a thing that needs to be done, and they can do that thing.  Perhaps that's what defines courage, the willingness to push fear aside and do what must be done.  As President Kennedy said, "The cost of freedom is high.  But Americans have always paid it."  

Aboard my first ship, the Knox Class Frigate USS Ouellet, in the engine room, it was just another slog through a seemingly endless midwatch.  At one point, a flange connecting two lengths of fuel line failed.  Instantly a high-velocity stream of fuel oil sprayed directly in to the face one of the main electrical switchboards.  Balls of green lightning began shooting throughout the engine room, while the fuel flooded the space.  It seemed certain that a disastrous fire was about to erupt.  One of the sailors on watch, a third class petty officer, all of 19 years old, waded through the flooding oil, past the balls of lightning to the panel.  Working quickly, he not only shut down the panel, but managed to reroute electrical power to another switchboard, ensuring that the rest of the ship could have power.  No hesitation, no apparent concern for his own safety.  Of course, he received a nice medal for his efforts, and I can't remember the last time he had to buy a beer for himself at our ship's reunions.  

The Spirit of Autumn

 

Copyright © 2024

by Ralph F. Couey

Images and Written Content

"Autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature."

--Fredrich Nietzsche

"Everyone must  take time to sit and watch the leaves turn."

--Elizabeth Lawrence

The air is warm, but dry, a comfortable pleasant kind of day.  The sky has taken on that vivid blue that contrasts so beautifully with the changing leaves.  The breeze is soft, yet with that unmistakable nip of October.  It is a fine autumn day.

I walked across a meadow through the tawny grass and entered the treeline.  After a short distance, I stopped and inhaled deeply.  It was there; that scent that is the hallmark of fall.  Yes, I know its just dead leaves I'm smelling, but there's something else, something undefinable but still manages to trigger the emotions within me that can only be summoned this time of year.

I am standing amidst a forest of trees that have been wrapped in brilliant golds and vivid reds.  Around me is silence, broken only the sound of rustling leaves as the squirrels forage for their winter provender.  Now and then, the breeze rattles the branches and dislodges a few more leaves.  They flutter gracefully as they fall, before adding to the thickening carpet on the ground.

Slowly, aimlessly I move, my shoes kicking around the leafy ground cover.  That sound, so familiar, so evocative, so comforting awakens memories, some just a year old, others that reach all the way back to a distant childhood.  I suppose that if the ticking of my life's clock had a sound, it would have to be the swishing of leaves in the fall.

Summer has most times been a season to be endured.  Heat and humidity is the bane of my existence, its oppressiveness weighing on my like a wet wool blanket.  Energy and stamina desert me on those days.  The nights bring little relief, the velvety air jealously holding on to the moisture within.  

This Time of Year, This Time of LIfe

The Autumn of Days

The Autumn of Life

Copyright © 2024

by Ralph F. Couey

Images and written content

We're hitting the road again, back to Virginia to spend time with our son and his family.  And of course, I get to spend time with the fall foliage and cool, perhaps cold temperatures that mark that passage into my favorite time of year.  In the mainland, anyway.  .

At this point in life, I've found more and more how important family is.  Of course time passes.  Grandchildren who were once young grow up and move on.  Our "children" now sport bits of grey hair, and begin to complain about aches and pains.  But that bond of blood, unbreakable as ever, continues to hold us together.  

I've always held a longer view of life, so I see the perspective of generations in my family.  My exploration of genealogy has taken me back to 10th century France and 17th century Ireland.  When I look through that long list of names, I often wonder how they viewed the future.  For most of them, it was the continuing birth of children that kept clans alive, flourishing, and powerful in those turbulent times.  

But these days are different.  The future, a constantly moving target, is uncertain at best.  Our grandchildren will face challenges we could never dream of, economic, social, political, perhaps environmental.  The wisdom of the aged in their lives can't provide a template, or even a vague sketch of how to navigate those expectedly stormy seas.  They will have to rely on their experience, knowledge, skills, and yes, sheer toughness all of which I dearly hope we've provided them.  This is uppermost in my mind because our oldest has gone to college in far-off New York.  We have a great deal of faith and confidence in her, but we all remember what that time of life was like, how hard it was to be away from home and family, learning for the first time who to trust and how much.  For the first time in her life, there's no safety net, no sanctuary when things truly go south.  Intellectually, I know this is a necessary experience, a required rite of passage to full adulthood.  Life is indifferent.  It is not what you allow it to do to you, but what you do to it that will forge a path of success.  Doesn't make it any easier to be so far away.

The others are also growing up.  Fast, too fast.  Our two grandkids in Colorado are blossoming into powerfully creative individuals.  They are strong, directed, and confident and there are great things ahead for them.  But at some point, they too will leave the nest and undertake their own flight.  And those of us left behind will be on pins and needles watching from afar as their stories unfold.  The younger two in Virginia also are striding forward in confident assuredness.  I still don't know what they will end up doing or being, but I'm pretty sure they'll be in charge.

Gut Punch...Or Perhaps Not

 

Happy Days...

Copyright ©2024

by Ralph F. Couey

"Life belongs to the living

and he who lives

must be prepared for change."

--Johann Wolfgang von Goeth

Everyone, I think, is familiar with the feeling of shock and dismay when normality is blown up by the unexpected.  The common reaction is "No!  This isn't happening!"  We push back in that moment, trying to evade what has befallen us.  But no amount of denial changes what has happened.  It must be faced, even embraced as a new reality.

I've been dealing with some health issues, mostly those attendant with aging.  I won't burden you with the details, as there is really nothing more boring than listening to an old person complain about their aches and pains.  But in April, my doctor, out of the blue, administered a memory test to me in his office.  Mainly due to fatigue, I bombed it miserably.  That was hard enough, but what he said next was a total gut punch.  

Dementia.

I was shocked and dismayed.  And scared.  The one thing about getting old that I feared the most was mental impairment.  I could have better dealt with the loss of a limb, but not my mind.  Everything I am, that I've ever been, that I could ever be resides there in that incredible organ inside my heard.  Without that, we are all just empty husks.

Over the last year I've noticed a tendency for short term memory dropouts, silly things like looking for car keys that are already in my pocket, or getting stuck in writing, desperately searching for that perfect word or phrase.  I've forgotten appointments, or gone on the wrong days.  I'll re-ask a question posed just minutes before.  But that time was filled with a lot of stress, mostly work-related at my last job.  Once I moved on, a lot of that went away.  But I was still worried.

In the months that followed, some other things happened, that indicated to me that this wasn't the disaster I originally thought.

I had an appointment with a neurologist and after hearing about the diagnosis, he administered a memory test.  I Aced It.  After some discussion, he put my problems down to something called "cognitive impairment."  Not sure what that means, but it doesn't seem to be dementia.  I was relieved. 

What Was Paid for Freedom

 

Little Round Top Battlefield, Gettysburg

Copyright © 2024

Image and Text

By Ralph F. Couey

Freedom is not free.

This statement has become timeworn, perhaps even trite.  But its use, perhaps overuse, hasn’t diminished the fact that is it still absolutely fundamentally true.

In what was then colonial America, a group of restless idealists after decades of mistreatment by Britain decided that enough was enough.  After countless hours of fractious, even combative debate, together they published their intent to break from the Crown and form a new country.

This was an incredibly bold and courageous move against what was then the most powerful empire on Earth.  They were, in fact, committing treason, the punishment for which was death.  Also at risk were their families, their homes, everything they had earned and built.  The risk was enormous, but they did not hesitate.

The war resulting from that Declaration of Independence was long, brutal, and costly.  The army suffered bitter cold, hunger, and sickness.  Desertions were common.  The war was almost lost on several occasions, but for the dynamic presence of a Virginia planter named George Washington.  His inestimable qualities of leadership, strength, and tactical brilliance not only kept the army together, but allowed him to execute a series of bold, brilliant attacks that eventually drove the British out of America. 

Even after such an improbable victory, the internal struggles continued.  What kind of government would it be?  A republic with a strong central government and subordinate states, or a confederacy characterized by a weak central authority and autonomous states? Some of these questions were addressed in the Constitution, a document that took 13 more years of arguing before its initial form was finalized in 1789.  Other questions would take a costly Civil War to find the answers.