I don’t want you to feel left out. Yes, the women of our
class have been the focus of my blog interviews, but only because I favor a
strong female protagonist in my novels, and my goal is to bring real-life
examples of these types of women—women who inspire—to the fore.
The men in the Class of 1989 have gone on to stellar careers
in both the military and civilian worlds, accomplishing some extraordinary
things. Just like the women I’ve interviewed, each of you has a fascinating
story to tell, a story that deserves to be heard, just like any other. Neurosurgeons,
carrier air wing commanders, commodores, CEO's of million-dollar companies. It blows
my mind, really, what you’ve collectively achieved.
With such an elite group, it’s no surprise that you’re a
rare one, too. Less than half of one percent of male veterans living today are
Naval Academy graduates. A half of a percent. A special fellowship indeed.
And because you matriculated in the Class of ‘89, you did so
with the women who would become only the tenth graduating class of women from
the Academy, our 94 officers to your 970. Women were still new, relatively
speaking, to the service academies at this point. There weren’t even enough of
us to populate each company. You remember. In a particular company, you might
have a smattering of third classmen here, a random few first classmen there.
Some of you even went through our school without ever having a woman from the Class
of ‘89 in your company. My husband, for one, would be included in this count.
Suffice it to say, it was an interesting
time for all of us.
Not only were we women working out how to blend in, but you
guys were figuring it out, too. Now, I’m not going to go where it seems most women-in-the-military
articles go. To the harassment. To the assaults. Did we experience this? Yes.
But that’s not the topic of this article.
No, this time, I want to recognize our male classmates who
helped us to succeed. Who stood up for us when it wasn’t popular to do so, who
had our backs—you who respected us just as you did your male company mates. And
there were a lot of you. This continued into the fleet and beyond, and to you,
I offer my sincere gratitude.
This camaraderie began as plebes, when we suffered the same misery
and missteps that came part and parcel with that interminably long year. I think
that when struggling next to someone, regardless of ethnicity or gender or
whatever, it tends to make us a little more accepting of the other. There was
bonding to be had on many levels. We chopped together, stood restriction together,
marched tours, braced up, and even passed out at sweat shop parties, the full
meal deal, side by side. The result? A common bond born through shared
experience and something you—our male classmates—took with you into the fleet, consciously
or not.
Some of you who took the oath of office in July 1985,
weren’t all that sure—and that’s obviously putting it lightly—about having
women in the ranks. It’s my hope that some of your minds were changed as you
worked with us and served with us. But even as I write this, I know that’s
probably not the case, nor will it ever be.
I’ll give you an example and I’ll preface it this way. Any
of you who know me, know I’m not a braggart, and that is not at all what is
intended here. But it’s one personal example I have—one of many,
unfortunately—that some people’s minds will never be changed about women in the
service.
My aircrew and I were named Helicopter Aircrew of the Year
for 1997 by the Naval Helicopter Association (NHA). This award for search and
rescue is given to both embarked and non-embarked crews. We won that year in
the non-embarked category for the rescue of thirteen people in the 100-year flood
that affected Yosemite and the area surrounding Reno, NV.
Year after year, it’s the coast guard units who normally
come away with this award, performing extraordinary feats of daring do in
Alaska, during hurricanes, with fifty-foot waves . . . you get the idea.
Our operation didn’t involve the ocean, but it was
considered harrowing enough to be grouped with the coast guard folks. Our
rescue occurred in a mountain canyon at night, in a storm with freezing rain
and uncooperative winds, picking people—including stranded swift water rescue
team members—from some tricky spots with
literally just minutes before the structures they were clinging to collapsed.
Yes, it was difficult, but to put this into perspective, we’re not talking
combat here. No one was shooting at us.
So anyway, first, we were put in for the NHA’s Western Region
award, which we won, and we traveled to San Diego for a low-key awards
ceremony. Then, we were picked among the regional award winners as the national
winner. The ceremony this time was formal, again held in San Diego, but this
time in a hotel ballroom with a fancy dinner, wearing dress whites, with
high-ranking officers and leaders of the industry present. I sat next to the
vice president of Bell Helicopters at dinner, if I recall it correctly.
After all the hoopla, my crew and I returned home to our
base in Nevada—Naval Air Station Fallon—and back to the business of providing
SAR support for visiting carrier air wings, and flying our specialty mission, technical
mountain rescue.
During a flight in Fallon shortly after the formal awards
ceremony, while discussing the events of the previous days, my male co-pilot
turned to me and asked, “Do you think they gave you that award because you’re
female?” That’s a direct quote, by the way.
I remember turning to him and saying, “Are you joking or are
you serious?”
“I’m serious,” he said, straight-faced, without a hint of
humor.
I didn’t think of it at that moment, but I wish I had said,
“Why don’t you ask the four men who
were with me on that flight? Let me know how they feel about that question.” I was the mission commander on that particular flight with a
male co-pilot, a male crew chief, a male rescue swimmer, and a male corpsman.
The question shouldn’t have been a surprise, not based on
the pilot who asked it. His mind was made up. Women weren’t supposed to be in
the cockpit. Period. It wouldn’t have mattered what I had done or what any of
the other women in our class who went on to stellar aviation careers had done. His
mind was set.
This particular pilot was not a Naval Academy graduate, but
much of the support and offers of congratulations I did receive, came from Naval Academy graduates—men of our class, who
considered me one of their own. It was surprising, heartening, and meant the
world.
I served on active duty for just over nine years, and during
that time, my goal was to do my job well, and hopefully, change a few minds, one
interaction at a time. I’d like to think I succeeded some of the time. But, of
course, there were examples like the one I shared with you, where it was a done
deal. I was never going to convince the person otherwise. It was one of the
most frustrating things I experienced in my naval service.
I’m not saying I didn’t make mistakes. Of course, I did. We
all do. Men and women both. It’s how we learn and mature and grow. The frustration
comes though, when you do get it
right, and the person refuses to see it or acknowledge it, purely based on
gender, ethnicity, or what have you.
I realize, now re-reading what I’ve just written, I’ve gone
off on a bit of a rant here. That wasn’t my intent. What I really wanted to do
was recognize the men I served with who did not
wear the blinders. Or if they did, the ones who took them off and allowed
themselves an open view.
I spoke with a dear friend, a male classmate, at our 25th
reunion, who has supported women in the ranks from the get go. During his
career, he has commanded on the order of thousands—men, women, junior, senior—just
like so many of you have done. He summed up his feelings on the issue in his trademark
“eloquent” way. “I don’t care who you are, just do your f---in’ job!” That is,
he treats his officers as officers, and as long as they’re competent, it’s all
good.
I’d say that’s it in a nutshell. Should you face the
consequences if you fail to do your job? Of course. But conversely, you’d think
you could get a nod of acknowledgement, just something, if you’re doing it
right. At least be afforded the decency of beginning a working relationship
with an open mind.
So my Veteran’s Day sentiment is just a bit different this
year. For those of you who have treated us with respect, who have supported us just
as you would any other officer, and especially for those who did so when we
lived together in Bancroft Hall, thank you.
