I can still hear the CO's words clearly from the day I reported to my first ship in August 1980. It was one of the first things he said to me as I sat in my blues, perched with perfect posture on the chair in his inport cabin during my in call.
"I don't think the Women at Sea program will be around very long."
I remember blinking and being unsure of what to say. Hmmm, this did not sound good; maybe he knew something I didn't. I had been commissioned in May 1978, and women hadn't been assigned to ships then, so I had gone to shore duty on Guam. In October 1978, a few women were assigned to a limited number of ships under the Women at Sea program. I was thrilled when I was accepted into the program and received my orders to a sub tender, one of the few classes of ship then available for the embarkation of women. Now, I wondered, was it all going to abruptly end?
Listening to the CO's comments, I knew he didn't say them maliciously. Instead, I recognized it as his sincere attempt to prepare me for what he believed would have to be another career path. Knowing that still didn't make it sound any better. He went on to say that, while he didn't think the program would be around much longer, he would treat me as he had every other junior officer he had commanded. That meant while I was on his ship I would be expected to qualify as engineering officer of the watch, officer of the deck under way, and, if around long enough, surface warfare officer. And because of his strong belief in his responsibilities toward a junior officer's qualification, if not his belief in women qualifying as surface warfare officers, most everyone on the ship followed his lead. In fact, some of my shipmates were downright enthusiastic about the five women officers being assigned there.
Two of the most enthusiastic were my department head and his assistant. They were determined to give both Ensign (now-Captain) Ann O'Connor and me every possible opportunity to get under way on other ships since ours did so infrequently. As the Repair Department team, they were not above bribing other ships to take us to sea. While most people are uncertain as to their value, Ann and I could take comfort in knowing exactly how much we were worth—27 brass ship's seal plaques made by our tender's foundry for the lucky destroyer that took us out to sea for six weeks so we could perform shiphandling skills often not feasible on our own ship.
But those words from that first CO would haunt me. Sometimes they seemed to be confirmed. At one point, a later skipper of that same ship decided that when the Soviet Union attacked (and he was certain it would), all the women officers (we had no women enlisted) would need to be put ashore. While it seemed very odd that the Navy would assign women officers (in our case a physician, damage control assistant, main propulsion assistant, navigator, automated data processing officer, and electrical repair officer) to a ship, then before the ship fought its way through the Greenland-Iceland-United Kingdom gap, would have them all taken off, we thought maybe that was what the Navy planned to do with us. (At one point, I remembered hoping that we would be ashore when the balloon went up because there was no doubt in my mind if we were at sea, this CO would load us in a lifeboat and give us a magnetic compass and directions to the closest land. At least we had the navigator!) While it would eventually be settled in my CO's mind that we shouldn't be thrown off in time of war, it didn't make me feel any more secure in my choice of professions.
At the same time, those words would spur me to qualify in every watch and qualification I could, as quickly as possible, and at every opportunity. Who knew when it all might be taken away? As a result, I proudly earned my SWO pin on 16 September 1981. I wear that same pin today, having worn it through countless sea details and hundreds of underway replenishments. It may not be pretty, but except for my Command-at-Sea pin, I value it more than any other decoration or badge I wear.
Great Strides
Certainly things have changed since that day in 1980. No longer must destroyers be bribed to take women to sea. They are already there. Often they command the ship. However, knowing something has changed is not the same as believing in the change. I don't think I ever really believed that women would be allowed to remain at sea until just before I took command for the first time. It actually didn't having anything to do with taking command. Instead, this epiphany came from a rather small, innocuous event.
In preparation for taking command of the USS Kiska (AE-35) in the spring of 1995, I was attending steam engineering hot plant training in Great Lakes on the day shift and entered the small storage closet that served double duty as the women's dressing room. Inside was an ensign changing into coveralls to take the evening shift. After we exchanged pleasantries, I asked where she was going and she replied she was going to be the boilers officer on the USS Boxer (LHD-4). I said I was so happy to hear that and that I wished I had been able to be the boilers officer on the Boxer as an ensign. She gave me that look only junior officers can give their superiors, indicating a moment of impossible stupidity, and after an instant, asked:
"Well, um, ma'am, um . . . why didn't you?"
I laughed so hard I nearly fell over and tried to figure out how I would even begin to answer that question. I finally stammered something to the effect that going to any ship hadn't been possible when I was an ensign and left it that. As the young officer made her escape from the closet with a polite, disbelieving smile, it struck me that things really had changed. Here was a generation of officers, both men and women, who would never know a time when women hadn't been stationed on ships. It was simply a part of their normal life on ships of all classes. And I was so thankful that this ensign would never feel that same sense of concern that her profession would suddenly be taken away from her.
Make no mistake, the question of women belonging still lurks out there. Sometimes it is in the smallest, most innocent of things. One example is the case studies book used in the leadership and ethics course taught at the Naval Academy and NROTC. In it is a case study discussion on whether or not a female Judge Advocate General officer should be used on a mission in the Middle East. In one respect, this is a reasonable question since not every partner nation shares our values. Having been the Commander of the Naval Logistics Forces in Central Command for nearly two years from August 2003 until June 2005 and the captain of the USS Detroit (AOE-4) deployed to the Middle East after 9/11, I understand there are significant cultural differences between the United States and other countries. There have been businessmen who could not shake my hand or look me in the eye. I have had harbor pilots come on board my ship and address my male third class yeoman phone talker rather than speak to me or my female conning officer. There was no point in taking offense. It was, after all, their culture I was entering and I was respectful of it. The businessman would either agree or disagree to provide services or products, and most were quite willing to overlook my gender to gain the contract. In the case of the pilot, I didn't care to whom he spoke. I could still hear him, and I was absolutely certain it was my voice that my crew would ultimately listen for and follow.
A Diverse Navy
In addition to task force commanders and commanding officers, women have served in numerous leadership roles in the Middle East including amphibious squadron commanders. Since women are already there, an even more reasonable question is how we deal with differences of culture, not in regard to women or any specific group of naval personnel, but to values held and customs in general.
As we move toward a more diverse Navy, reflective of our great nation, we work not only to recruit, but more so to retain that diverse population. And to achieve this it is important for our people to believe in our belief in diversity. To that end, words are significant, especially if you are on the receiving end of them. It took years for me to get over that simple sentence by my first ship CO. But seeing is believing. If you don't see it, you don't necessarily dream of achieving it. Just this past summer, as I was conducting NROTC midshipmen training in San Diego, I had junior women, both officer and enlisted, coming up to me while I was in uniform in a variety of locations from on board ship to the Exchange, asking what I did. As I conducted mini-mentoring sessions, I received reactions such as "I didn't know we could do that" and even "I have never seen a female captain." I found that last statement very hard to believe.
"You mean a female captain who is a surface warfare officer, right?" I would ask.
"No, ma'am, any female captain. I might have seen a female captain once, but I'm not sure."
The Navy is working hard to change those reactions. But it can't just be an institutional thing. It has to be something that each of us, whether a member of the majority or minority, embraces. Watching our words, yes, but also honestly examining our own beliefs to see where we can make a difference. I am no different. For many years, I would cringe if asked to participate in anything that remotely smacked of publicizing a "female SWO." I just wanted to be known as a SWO and I would get on my high horse, and ask "why we needed to be labeled," or say "leave me alone to do my job." It was never a successful speech with my seniors but at least all of them were polite when they listened to it. Now I know there is more to my responsibility than just being a SWO of any label. Certainly my greatest responsibility is to be the best CO possible to the men and women under my command. But I have come to realize and cherish that, as the commander of an NROTC unit, I have a part in educating both the Navy and the civilian community here in New Mexico. That is my part, but each of us needs to determine how we best fit into the puzzle.
Follow Your Dream
Despite the sometimes chaotic beginning, I certainly can trace part of my success to that first ship. First and foremost, I found the career I loved. While I enjoyed my first tour on Guam, it could in no way match my time at sea. The responsibility, the camaraderie, the sense of doing something worthwhile all made for a career that was beyond my wildest imagination. I especially loved being a logistician. Sometimes I would look longingly at that sexy destroyer 140-180 feet away from me, connected up by rigs and wonder "what if." But being a "loggie" meant you didn't practice your profession, you performed it, every single day. There is something incredibly satisfying about racing across the Indian Ocean, finding the carrier in the creeping moments of the dawn, sliding through the rendezvous point and closing up Romeo precisely on time, succeeding in spite of the carrier's best efforts to thwart your hard work by changing the rendezvous and course three times in the last hour. Serving in the "blue-collar Navy" with such individuals as steam engineers and boatswain's mates is an honor I will always treasure.
Yes, that first CO's words were in some respects discouraging, but his actions belied those words. Before the first women walked on board his ship, he had stressed to the crew the respect we should be shown and explained that we were to get the appropriate opportunities to succeed. He might have had personal reservations, but he ensured his professional obligations came first. Those opportunities each of the original four female SWOs on the ship were given must have worked—three of the four would remain in the Navy, have surface command, and go on to selection for major command. It taught me to give people their own opportunities to follow their dreams, even if I am uncertain of their ultimate success.
I have thought of that first CO each time I have taken command. He gave me my start and in many ways pushed me to go farther than I ever thought possible. But I am really, truly glad he was wrong!