The Crossed Pond

In 1984, as a plebe at the U.S. Naval Academy, I knew by passing acquaintance a Midshipmen Third Class (a sophomore anywhere else) named Joe Steffan. By long tradition and institutional structure, Third Class “youngsters” were of little importance to plebes; they were neither the terrifying Second Class quasi-drill sergeants specifically tasked with “training” you, nor the august First Class Midshipmen (seniors) acting as the brigade leadership, standing as they did on the cusp of a commission. The youngsters existed, in our minds, almost entirely as something to become, hopefully; characterized more by what they were not: harassed freshmen or responsible upper class. As such, none had a particularly large impact on my life at the time. Joe I remember, however, for events in his life would plant a seed of doubt in my mind that has blossomed into a strong conviction that tends to dominate my limited blogging.

Joe was a highly professional and talented midshipman that would go on to become one of the top ranked midshipmen in his class. His bearing, academic performance, commitment, and involvement resulted in selection as a “Four Striper,” a Midshipman Lieutenant Commander. Only five others in his class were of higher rank. He was expelled six weeks before graduation for having revealed to a confident his growing belief that he was gay. His admission was reported to the officer leadership, and when questioned by his Company Officer, he answered truthfully. He was accused of no homosexual conduct; his separation from the military was predicated solely upon his admission of homosexuality. This was, of course, before Don’t Ask Don’t Tell.

The Naval Academy is a rumor factory built on a gossip economy, and this event produced an extraordinary bit of tongue wagging. I joined in with enthusiasm, reacting like pretty much every other Mid: with ridicule and fag jokes. But something started, some small gear turned.

In 1989, a year following my commission, I joined the wardroom of my first ship, a small East coast frigate. My primary job involved supervision of electronics technicians and their ilk, but like every other shipboard officer, I had several collateral duties, the most significant of which was Shipboard Legal Officer. If this sounds even vaguely impressive, as though it might imply JAG-like coolness, let me disabuse you: I received a grand total of three weeks training, and the job involved, almost exclusively, preparing paperwork for the non-judicial proceeding known as Captain’s Mast, and processing the documents for the administrative separation of the bad apples. Rarely were actual lawyers involved. Nonetheless, I was the face of the Uniform Code of Military Justice for many a sailor, and I kicked out my first queer in 1990. Nothing earth shattering, no complex investigation or lawyerly maneuvering, just a young guy quietly living with a lover, even known about by many of the crew, until the wrong dude found out and reported it. A few questions asked, an admission made, and he was gone.

The next one was more disturbing. He was a hard working deck hand, a book worm, a loner, and a fundamentalist Christian. He made the mistake of leaving a moderately erotic drawing of a partially nude male on his rack in his assigned group berthing compartment. Someone took it, reported it, officers questioned him, and then we kicked him out. But along the way, I learned about self loathing. This young man believed he was demon-haunted and devil-tempted. He could resist these urges so long as we stayed in our home port, where he could attend nightly services at his small church, and pray for strength with the handful of other worshippers. But when we left home port, spending weeks at sea where he had no access to his support group, he grew weak, and would seek anonymous sex in the usual hang outs at the first port call. He hated himself. He comes to mind often; I wonder if he ever came to terms with his sexuality, if he still exists in his self imposed purgatory, or if he killed himself. My questions and doubts grew.

I spent over four years as a legal officer, and that job accounts for both my most humorous and my saddest sea stories. In addition to the numerous drug users, the prostitute shooter, the thieves, racists, devil worshippers, disordered personalities, and a complete identity swapper, I also processed four homosexuals for separation. Right about when DADT came into being, I transferred ashore and progressed sufficiently in rank such that Shipboard Legal Officer was no longer a feasible collateral duty.

Over the next fifteen years, my ever-so-small question on the subject grew into a nagging doubt and then a firmly held conviction in direct opposition to the current policy, along with support for the majority of gay rights issues. This occurred independent of, indeed, prior to my self identification as a libertarian. As I have mentioned before, I came to my libertarianism late, and from the civil side. My willingness to engage others on the subject, however, did not manifest until my retirement date was largely determined, and promotion concerns not particularly relevant. How convenient.

My shipmates, coworkers, and Commanding Officers would likely tell you that my most apparent personality trait, and flaw, is my big, barely edited, hyperbolic, overly opinionated mouth. Following one particularly awkward incident involving myself, an unfortunate but innocent senior officer, and a whole lot of witnessing spouses, my CO gave me a one way dynamic counseling session, in which he told me: “From now on, in public settings, that thing you’re about to say? Don’t.” If only they knew how often I had already been self-censoring. For rarely did I admit, at least in anything other than a “let me play devil’s advocate manner,” my strong and growing convictions regarding a host of civil liberties issues. I was a coward. Only when my career was already over, when I was safely at home plate with my pension, have I truly opened up on this issue. Perhaps I feel I have a bit of making up to do.

I believe DADT was, in 1993, a reasonable compromise. In that era our society, and our military in particular, probably wasn’t ready for openly gay service members. The other significant social based transformations in the military: racial integration and expanding roles for women, did not proceed from zero to sixty overnight, but were, rather, functionally instituted in phases. But DADT has run its course, for our society and our military are far different today, at least in terms of toleration and acceptance of homosexuality. The DADT phase, sixteen years long so far, should end: we are ready for the next step. And yet over one thousand retired generals and admirals disagree, so obviously we have a tough row to hoe. As I mentioned previously, there were some pretty significant names missing from that list, not the least of which is Admiral Charles R. Larson, the only officer to serve as Superintendent of the Naval Academy twice, including during most of my, and Joe Steffan’s time at The Boat School on the Severn. In fact, Admiral Larson has not simply declined to sign the alarmist DADT support letter, but has come out forcefully in favor of equal treatment by topping a list of 104 admirals and generals who signed on to a repeal effort in 2008.

I take this as small, but significant comfort, and hope to do my part to support this effort.

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