Going Home. Again.

 

My new office

Copyright ©2023

by Ralph F. Couey

Photo and written content

"Life is about not knowing, having to change,

taking the moment and making the best of it

without knowing what's going to happen next."

--Gilda Radner

Change can happen slowly, with careful planning.  Or it can happen quickly, coming upon you like an approaching train.  My change in jobs this month was one of the latter.  I left the Hawai'i Emergency Management Agency and took a position with the USS Missouri Memorial Association as a tour guide aboard that venerable battleship.  I served aboard her for the last two years of my Navy career.  Like any sailor, I developed a deep affection for that hunk of steel as she took us across thousands of miles of ocean and into some interesting places.  I was still relatively young and as I look back, probably at the peak of my abilities.  However, my growing family responsibilities had begun to gnaw at me, guilt over my frequent and long absences.  I chose them over the Navy, and that's why I left.  I've never regretted doing that.  I served ten years, giving them the best I had.  But that time had ended.  

When we went back to Hawai'i to visit Cheryl's family, I always took a day to visit the ship.  Every time I went aboard, I felt that thrill of returning to what had been a special place.

Why did I leave my job?  Good question.  The answer is far from simple, or perhaps even comprehensible.  I was happy at my last job, working for the public and engaged in work that was important and necessary.  I really liked the folks I worked with in the State Warning Point.  But for some time, there had been a growing sense of disquiet within me.  I couldn't quite put my finger on it, although there were plenty of contributing factors which I won't go into here.  

A couple of weeks before Cheryl and I left for our three week visit to Virginia, I had been surfing through some job sites in a kind of languid manner.  Amongst all the listings which didn't stir any interest, was one that caught my attention.  The USS Missouri was looking for tour guides.  Urgently looking, as a matter of fact.

I had been down that particular  road a few times.  At least seven times I had sent applications and resumes trying to get their attention.  But I never received a response.  This befuddled me, as I served aboard the ship during the last two years of my Navy career, and there wasn't much I didn't know about her.  But this time was different.  Within two days of posting my information on that website, I received a call from the ship wanting to schedule an interview.  The interview went very well, and I was offered the position on the spot.  I asked for a day or two in order to discuss this with Cheryl. It did involve a rather significant reduction in pay, and as we are starting a series of renovations with the house, I was concerned.  But my wife knows me better than  I know myself.  She had sensed my growing unease, and enthusiastically encouraged me to take the job.  She wanted me to be happy again.

I called the tour manager and explained that I had three weeks of approved leave coming up, and that I really couldn't start until mid-November.  His response?  "No problem."  I accepted the offer.

At first, I was cautious about sharing this decision with my colleagues before informing the agency.  But it is a small unit, and there are really no secrets safe within there.  I spoke, circumspectly at first, about "making a change" and received a lot of support and encouragement.  So, now that this was the worst-kept secret perhaps in history, I went to my immediate supervisor and told him that I would be leaving upon my return from leave.  My first clue about my value to the organization came in his response.  He wished me well in many words.  But he never said, "Sorry to see you leave."  Perhaps I put too much over-thought into subtle things like that, but I knew then that my decision had been the correct one.

After returning to Hawai'i, I took two final days to close things out.  There wasn't any party involved on my last day, just some good wishes and a couple of senior staff who hustled down to see me off at the last moment.  I turned in my badge, walked out the door, and for the last time drove out of Diamond Head Crater.  

I had a few days off before I was to start, and I took that time to reflect on a few things.  Other times when I had left jobs, there was a certain sadness, even regret about closing that particular door.  Not this time.  I felt as sure about this as any decision I've ever made, which confirmed in my heart and mind that I had chosen correctly.

My first day was a Sunday.  I drove across the Ford Island Causeway and parked the car in the designated lot.  I gathered a few things and began walking in.  I had visited the ship numerous times, and turning the corner and seeing the ship's formidable superstructure had always thrilled me.  This time was no different.  That first day I spent reading and signing things, and touring the ship.  I shadowed some of the experienced guides on their tours, and had a chance to gauge my new colleagues.  I've never seen a happier or friendlier bunch of people.  They had been told that a former crew member was joining the staff, and they welcomed me with warmth and appreciation.

I'm now finishing my second full week.  I am becoming more familiar with the required information in the tour presentation.  Days, dates, numbers, places, events have begun to settle themselves more comfortably within my brain.  I've conducted a few tours and found that I am thoroughly enjoying myself.  The guests are interested and responsive, even excited to be aboard.  I get a chance to interact with them, listening to their stories which plucks the writer string in me.  While it is a lot to learn, it is a subject with which I am already intimately familiar.

The Missouri, through the eyes and the heart of one of her sailors, is a beautiful thing.  Her bow raises from the water and the deck flows past the mighty gun turrets and up into the towering superstructure.  Although she remains chained to her pier, I can still remember what it was like when she parted the seas and left a boiling wake streaming out behind.  Grace, power, symmetry painted a dramatic visage.  But Missouri is not just an aging warship.  It is also a very valuable piece of history.  On her decks, World War II ended, and that still resonates with people.  It was an important part of the collective pride we felt serving aboard.  For those two years, it was home.  And now, it was home again.

Being aboard again on a daily basis after some 33 years has brought back a ton of memories.  Some of them I don't miss, like the 18-hour workdays and the more than occasional 36-hour marathon.  But all who have served know that the importance of what we did, shared by all, and knowing that the sacrifice was a shared one created a singular bond.  There's simply no other relationship that compares.  We had camaraderie, for sure.  But we also shared that pride, pride in ourselves, in each other, and the shared identification with our ship.  We were a part of something truly special.  That feeling still lies deep within us, and will never fade.

The staff with whom I work also shares that pride, and I've never seen a happier more dedicated group of civilians working together anywhere.  Our ship is in the best of hands.

As a youth, I was once told by a gruff old man that it wasn't necessary to look for happiness in one's job.  A job, he intoned, was there for one reason:  to feed the family.  A man would stick through the hard times because to leave the job tagged a person as a quitter.  Quitters are not men.  But I've grown up in a different era.  One thing that Boomers have discovered is that it is not only possible, but necessary to find happiness in a career.  Fulfillment in one area of life feeds fulfillment in the others.

After all, life is only a few years long.  It's far better to spend it in peace.