“Get your people ready.” He could hear the Admiral’s words as if he were still in the conference room with the Admiral’s staff and the other base CO’s. “Realignment,” he thought to himself, “Get your people ready. . . So easy, comparatively speaking, to do for most of the officers in the room. I don’t even know who my people are. How can I possibly lead an organization through such turmoil when I don’t even have an office yet?”
CAPT Jon Stevenson, US Navy, a career officer who served willingly and faithfully from DIVO as a young jg Lieutenant through Department Head and finally Commanding Officer on a cruiser. Two blistering tours in the Middle East, one in Afghanistan and the last in Iraq, in which he actually went in country and served with the Marines (crazy bastards) and most recently a deployment in the bowels of the organization, OPNAV in the Pentagon first in N8, Assessment, with a follow-on rotation in N1, Manpower and Personnel.
Afghanistan had been tough, but he had carried an unusual set of skills in his duffle bag; he had a mechanical engineering degree from Georgia Tech and a Masters in International Law and Diplomacy. He was well prepared for his tour as director of political-military integration for Combined Forces Command Afghanistan. Overseeing policy for the provincial reconstruction teams was challenging and rewarding. The time away from his wife, Gina, and his family had flown – almost as fast as a Blue Angel takeoff for the Veteran’s Day Pensacola Beach Air Show.
Iraq was another matter. He had been assigned to Rear Admiral David Nash’s staff. RADM Nash (now retired) was the director of the Iraq Reconstruction Management Office. Assigned to a PMO (Project Management Office) was supposed to be a cush job (if such a thing were possible in Iraq), but it hadn’t been. Once the gear was stowed and he had checked in with the unit, Stevenson learned that someone had to go forward in-country to get actual eyes on the Iraqi infrastructure. Hitching rides in a souped-up, armor-plated HMMVV (High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle), with members of the First Marine Expeditionary Force was not what he had signed up for with that recruiter oh so many years ago. Granted he was “seeing the world” but dodging rocket-propelled grenades and gingerly stepping about while on the lookout for IEDs (improvised explosive devices) wasn’t part of the contract. Silent prayer became second nature as he analyzed and prepared reports on the actual state of reconstruction efforts of hospitals, schools, and banks. His days in Iraq were months of frustration and just down right wondering when his number would be called.
The last set of orders had given him the opportunity to do something more for his family than just provide a roof over the head and food on the table. Two unheard of back-to-back tours at the Pentagon gave his family the stability it needed while the kids were finishing high school. Living and working in the center of the political and cultural action of the country had been cherished years. Gina had finished her graduate degree and had taken a job with an esteemed marketing firm. The boys were on ROTC Scholarships at Virginia Tech. Things couldn’t have gotten any better. And then he had decided to put in a few more years. Once last opportunity to command. He had drawn a premier assignment – Naval Station Newport, one of the crowning jewels for the Atlantic Fleet. Newport, mecca to every surface warfare officer, host command for the prestigious and historic Naval War College, and my god – talking about sailing. Pier after pier of sailing ships in all makes, sizes, and income brackets. He even had under his command the advanced undersea warfare laboratories. A mechanical engineer’s dream. A dream that quickly became a nightmare with the whisper of just one word, “Realignment.”
“Jon, is that you?” The slap on the back brought Stevenson quickly out of his misery-laden reverie. Standing at the hotel bar, high atop the Marriott in Crystal City, was none other than his college roommate, Hugh Tharpe. Still tall and lean, but without the shocking black hair, his old college roomie was grinning ear to ear. Just like the nights they had . . . on never mind . . . they had.
“Hugh, you haven’t changed. No, I take that back. You have. But certainly not like what I had expected. Armani sweater, Gucci loafers. You look like a walking billboard for GQ. Last time I saw you jeans and a sweatshirt were your standard wardrobe. What gives?”
The men bear-hugged as only two close friends could. Tharpe asked the bartender to bring a round of drinks to the window table overlooking the Potomac. Once seated, the unfolding chapters of both men’s lives captured and enveloped the hours of the evening. Stevenson, on a Navy ROTC scholarship, had completed the engineering degree and had gone off to serve the requisite payback. But the call of the sea had lured him beyond his wildest imaginations. Life in the military was the perfect fit for a third generation serviceman. Tharpe had parlayed his degree in computer science into the nether regions of big business and the explosive universe of information technology. Now, a consultant to clients with only acronyms as names, Tharpe maneuvered his way through financial and contractual minefields as skillfully as Stevenson had in Iraq. While a deal might blow-up, Tharpe never worried about whether or not he’d wake up in the morning. He just reduced the amount of his commission.
Dinner, followed by Louie the XIII Napoleon brandy and CAO Sopranos in the hotel’s cigar bar finally brought the time to the present. Tharpe could tell throughout the conversation that Stevenson had been holding back. The studied brow was a dead give-away. Just like it had been before final exams. “So what gives? You’re worried about something. I’m a good listener.”
At first Stevenson opted to play close to the chest and just passed the trouble off as nothing important. But the second Napoleon loosed the tongue along with the tie. “It’s work. I finally get the plum assignment of my career. The great ‘swan song’ and today I find out that the Navy is looking at major realignment. Newport is at the top of the list. Gina and I were really looking forward to this tour. We had our hearts set on buying a sailboat and spending off duty time checking out the waterways on the east coast. Historically, Newport has been the thank you for a job well done on your way out the door. But not this time.”
Both men were quiet for some time. The smoke hung lazily over the pair. The silence, rather than bring discomfort, brought a peaceful relaxation that both needed. Tharpe didn’t have a clue about the military, but he understood “realignment.” He had witnessed organizational change from all perspectives. He had watched successful leaders and those that weren’t successful transition organizations into either the next great opportunity or the closing of the doors. Stevenson didn’t need answers; but he needed insight. He needed a backboard for his thoughts.
Just as Tharpe was about to respond, the bartender announced that he had closed the register. Stevenson, stood and stretched. “Tonight’s been great. You can’t imagine how much I needed this. If you don’t have an early flight, let’s get together for breakfast.” Both men entered the elevator and Stevenson punched the floors.
Tharpe sensed that his friend had closed the door of opportunity, at least for now. “Great. I’m ready to turn in too. I have some meetings later in the day, but I was just going to work in the room. Give me a call when you’re ready.”
The door of the elevator opened. Stevenson turned to his buddy, stuck out his hand, and said, “I run about 0530. Want to join me for a mile or two?”
As the door closed Tharpe quipped, “So late? See you in the lobby at Oh-Dark-Thirty. I just hope you can keep up.”
