As the wife of Vice Admiral Samuel L. Gravely Jr., the U.S. Navy’s first African American flag officer, Alma Gravely was a pioneer as well. In 2009, the Naval Institute’s Paul Stillwell interviewed her for what became the final chapter of the admiral’s memoir Trailblazer, published by the Naval Institute Press in 2010. This is an edited excerpt. Mrs. Gravely died at the age of 102 and was buried in Arlington National Cemetery in November 2024.
When Sammie was on board the battleship Iowa (BB-61) in the early 1950s, I went to wives’ luncheons on board ship. I wanted to get to know the wives and be a part of them. I remember the first time I went. When I arrived, the officers’ wives were all sitting around in the wardroom, which was huge. Peg Horrall, the wife of Sammie’s boss, Gene, got up when she saw me coming. We had a little social time at the beginning. She led me right into the middle of the group and gave me a big hug and a big kiss. That set the tone for the day. We became very, very close friends. She and Gene became our son David’s godparents several years later.
Interestingly, even though some of the Iowa women may not have wanted to sit with me during the meal, the seating arrangement had nothing to do with likes and dislikes. We sat in sequence according to the ranks and seniority of our husbands, just as our husbands sat when they had regular meals in the ship.
Probably the person whom Sammie felt the closest to outside of his own family was Clyde Hassell. He and Sammie had met in Norfolk at the end of World War II and played football together. The day I went to that first Iowa luncheon, Clyde and Sammie sat in a restaurant nearby, worrying about me the whole time I was gone. They said, “We’re going to be right here, and you come right back here when you leave there, because we’re not going anywhere.”
I told them then, “Don’t worry about me. I can take anything that’s dished out to me.”
When I came back, they said, “How did it go? How did it go? Were you all right?”
I said, “Sure. I’m sure some of the wives didn’t want me there, probably, but they didn’t show it, and that was nice enough of them.”
In late April 1971, when his cruiser Jouett (DLG-29) was almost home from a deployment, I got the news that Sammie was selected for rear admiral. That was my bowling day. I was sitting there in the bowling alley. One of the women in the group called me from about two lanes down and said, “Hey, Alma, congratulations . . . for your husband making admiral.” So that’s how I learned the good news. I was really pleased with it. I felt he deserved it after all he had accomplished over the years.
A few years after he made rear admiral, in the mid-1970s he was commandant of the 11th Naval District in San Diego. One day I received in the mail an envelope that was addressed to me. I opened it, and inside were two or three sheets of toilet tissue, and on them was human feces. There was nothing else in the envelope. When Sammie came home from work that day, I said, “I have something to show you which is quite interesting.”
I showed it to him, and he said, “Well, I’ll be damned.” He decided to take it to the FBI, which he did. We never got any word back from the FBI. All we could do was form our own conclusions about the type of person who would send such a thing. I can speculate that the event that triggered this vile piece of mail might have been the announcement of my husband’s promotion to vice admiral and upcoming transfer to command the Third Fleet.
Sammie had originally joined the Navy in 1942, and in 1980 his active duty came to an end. I loved the Navy as much as he did. In fact, I think when he retired I missed it more than he did. I liked the closeness of the Navy. I feel very fortunate that my husband and I could live together as long as we did. We were both 82 years old when he died in 2004, and we had been married since our early 20s. As I look back, I have so many happy memories.
He worked hard at his many jobs, and I have heard of so many cases in which he was able to inspire young people, both in the Navy and in civilian life. His life is a demonstration of what happens when someone can take advantage of opportunities and in so doing create opportunities for others. It is truly fitting that a warship and a school are named for him, because they embody the values that he cherished throughout his life. I was so happy to take an active part in his long journey.
