Paddy Cole, R.I.P.

It's not often you meet someone, quite accidentally, enjoy and hour or so with them, and then later discover they're really quite famous. Now Paddy Cole might not have been a leading celebrity here in the USA, but in Ireland he was well known across multiple generations. Of course, when Diane and I met him, under the most casual of circumstances, we simply thought he was wonderfully pleasant, a kind and humble man, far more interested in learning about us than telling us about himself. 

Back in September 2012, Diane and I traveled to Ireland to spend a week or so with our dear friends, Nancy and Dave Lee. The primary purpose of the trip was to attend the Navy-Notre Dame football game being played in Dublin that year. (Dave and I are both Naval Academy graduates.) I won't discuss the game, which was more than a little one-sided, but still made for an enjoyable day.

While Diane and I stayed at a local B&B, the Lees had booked a room at one of Dublin's nice hotels. As it turned out their hotel happened to be hosting a fundraising event for a Catholic parish, complete with food, drink, entertainment, and dancing. 

Before the festivities began, Diane allowed me to quench my thirst, and we sat down at a one of the hotel's outdoor tables. As I sipped my Guinness, a man approached and asked if he could join us. Of course we agreed. And thus, we met Paddy Cole.

Here's a photo I took that day as Paddy played his saxophone and entertained an enthusiastic crowd: 

Paddy Cole Entertaining us in Dublin

It was obvious Paddy knew we were Americans and just launched into a subtle Q&A about our lives. When we asked about his, he mentioned he was there to play the sax, sing, and otherwise entertain for the parish fundraiser. This led us to ask more about his music and background, and we soon discovered he'd had quite a history as an entertainer not only in Ireland, but also in Las Vegas. After a few years, however, he decided Vegas was no place to raise a family and wisely returned to Ireland.

Before he left us to take the stage, we swapped email addresses and phone numbers. As you'd expect, I googled him that evening and learned all about this remarkable man who was a legendary showband superstar in Ireland.

Although we met him only once, I did go on to correspond with him occasionally over the years, usually just brief emails. We'd write about things he'd mentioned on his radio show (I was able to listen to it online) or he'd mention something I wrote about in my blog. Ours was by no means a close friendship, and in the years since our first meeting in 2012, we might have swapped about a dozen emails. 

I hadn't heard from Paddy in a year or so, but given all the busyness of my life, I thought little of it. Then a few days ago, looking for something else, I accidentally stumbled on an obituary in the Irish Times.

Paddy Cole died in January at the age of 85 as a result of lung cancer, diagnosed several years before. It was an honor to know this man, if only briefly and certainly not deeply. As a man of faith, he is surely safely held in our merciful God's loving embrace. 

Rest in peace, Paddy. It was great knowing you.

Politicians vs. Navy Lives

During my years in the Navy I had a few interactions with our special warfare troops, specifically the Navy’s Underwater Demolition Teams (UDT) and their successors, the Navy SEALs. SEALs are remarkable, extremely competent warriors whom our nation calls on to carry out the kind of special operations few others can do. Years ago, as a Navy helicopter pilot, I occasionally flew small teams of SEALs out over the Pacific so they could practice their night, over-water parachute jumps. Although I would never doubt their courage, as a pilot I will always question anyone’s decision to jump out of a perfectly good aircraft, particularly at night over the ocean. But that’s the kind of men they’re are. They do whatever the mission demands, all that must be done, even in training.

Something else most people don’t know about SEALs is their intentional avoidance of publicity. Indeed, the less said about the SEALs in the media or anywhere else, the happier they are, something that applies to most special warfare groups. As you might expect, they’re a highly decorated bunch, but many of the citations for their medals are classified and cannot be shared with others. There are, of course, important reasons for all this. Because most of the operations conducted by SEALs are clandestine, and for good reason highly classified, media coverage can jeopardize other related operations and national security. But media coverage can also endanger the lives of individual SEALs and even their families. This is especially true these days when the target of most operations are terrorist groups that would love to know the units and the men responsible for destroying their people and assets. The Navy and the entire Department of Defense, therefore, do not release the identify of individuals, unit names, or even which special warfare groups were involved in an operation. It’s always best to keep the enemy in the dark and guessing about who’s just hammered them.

At a Pentagon briefing the day after the raid that killed Osama bin Laden on May 1, 2011, a senior defense official was asked if it were a Navy SEAL team that found and killed the world’s most wanted man. The terse and proper response was: “Not going to comment on units or numbers.” On May 3, however, Vice President Joe Biden, at a awards banquet event in D.C., told the world that Navy SEALs we’re responsible for taking out the terrorist leader. His words:

"...the incredible, the phenomenal, the almost unbelievable capacity of the Navy SEALs and what they did last Sunday...I'd be remiss also if I didn't say an extra word about the incredible events, extraordinary events of this past Sunday. As Vice President of the United States, as an American, I was in absolute awe of the capacity and dedication of the entire team, both the intelligence community, the CIA, the SEALs."  

Hearing this, most folks considered it fine praise for our Navy special operators. But not the members of SEAL Team Six. They were surprised and upset that the Vice President had named the SEALs as the operators involved in the mission. Most told their families to remove any references to them and the SEALs from social media because intelligence folks had already alerted them of expected attempts to retaliate. For example, the next day, SEAL Aaron Vaughn called his mom and told her, "There's chatter and all our lives are in danger, including yours. Mom."

Three months later, on August 6, 2011, a CH-47 Chinook helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan. All 38 aboard died, including many members off SEAL Team Six, including SEAL Aaron Vaughn. Was this attack related to the earlier "outing" of the SEALs? Unanswered questions still remain about this incident, and many believe it was a well-planned attack by the Taliban in retaliation for the raid against their favored ally, Osama bin Laden.  Check out this report: SEAL Team Six Betrayal.

Here’s a brief news video from 2012 highlighting the family of one of those SEALs killed by the Taliban.

When it comes to understanding military operations, politicians often display abysmal ignorance. As you might expect this leads them to say and do a lot of foolish things. Joe Biden’s not alone here. Politicians of all stripes have fallen prey to the temptation to reveal information best kept confidential. Sometimes they do so simply to grab a headline, gain a few political points, or just to hear applause during their after-dinner speech. Ironically, too often they hope to highlight their patriotism by addressing things military. I suppose this is to be expected since so few members of Congress are veterans. Back in the late 60s and early 70s almost 80% of the members of Congress were veterans. Today it’s down to about 20%. Joe Biden was one of his generation’s exceptions. He never served in the military, but instead got one deferment after another. Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump did much the same, but at least Trump seems to understand his job is to define the objectives and let his commanders do what’s necessary to achieve them. 

Perhaps our politicians' most catastrophic errors have been the politically inspired rules of engagement forced on our warriors by those who have never experienced combat. Our enemies today don’t follow the rules of the Geneva Convention, but use any means whatever to kill and destroy. How many 911s do we need to understand this? To send our warriors into harm’s way with their hands tied behind their backs always leads to unintended but predictable consequences that inevitably result in disaster.

Julie Barrett, R.I.P.

On Monday one of our long-time parishioners, Julie Barrett, 88, returned to her true home and is now in the embrace of our loving God. Julie had always been an inspiration to me, a woman to whom I listened because what she had to say was always worth hearing. But more than that, it was always said kindly and with a smile.

In addition to our shared faith, Julie and I shared a few interests. We both served in the U. S. Navy, Julie as a Navy photographer and I as a helicopter pilot. We were, of course, separated by quite a few years, so we never served together. As an amateur photographer, I always flew with my old Leica IIIf camera with me, in the event I happened on something worth a photograph. On a few rare occasions I actually took an interesting photo. But it was from the pros, the Navy photographers, that I learned what little I know about good photography. During my Navy career it wasn't unusual to have an official photographer aboard my helicopter to take photos of everything from returning space vehicles to Soviet ships and aircraft to aerial views of major events in which the Navy had an interest. I learned early to respect those Navy photographers who seemed to know instinctively how to capture a scene perfectly and to ensure I flew them to the right place at the right time. Julie and I, then, were both avid photographers. But there was one huge difference between us: Julie was a true professional while I simply dabbled, and not particularly well.

In 2004 when I was assigned to what then was a rather small St. Vincent de Paul Parish, I volunteered to take photos of parish events, ministries, people, liturgies...whatever was needed. Some of these photos were okay, but others...well, let's just say they were less than perfect. But then Julie arrived and I was relieved (as were many parishioners) of my photographic duties. We now had a professional aboard and the quality of parish photos improved dramatically. One of my favorites was one she took at a Good Friday service during her first Holy Week with the parish. Our large team of deacons surrounded Fr. Peter Sagorski, then our pastor, and filled the small sanctuary of that earlier church. A friend kindly sent this photo to me the other day, but Julie had given me a copy years ago.

Deacons Galore on Good Friday

But Julie was far more than a photographer. She was the mother of a wonderful daughter, Theresa Campbell, whom I've also known for years, and a loving grandmother. A woman of deep faith, Julie attended Mass daily and always had a kind word for everyone. She will be greatly missed.

Julie Barrett with her daughter, Theresa Campbell

Rest in peace, Julie. We will pray for your beautiful soul and for the family you leave behind, and trust you will plead for us before the throne of our merciful God.

A Sea of Humility

Friday, 1 November 2013
Today we are again blessed with calm seas and a sun that has warmed us and our immediate world to the point where Dear Diane and I can sit comfortably on our cozy balcony up here on deck 9 on the port side of the Celebrity Infinity -- a balmy day indeed.

"Infinity" -- an odd but interesting name for a ship, one that the cruise line likely chose because of its connotation. As ships go, ours is certainly not the largest, but neither is it small. And yet that's exactly why its name seems so very odd, because in relation to its environment it becomes almost infinitely tiny. But I doubt this was on the mind of the one who gave it its name. As I sit here on the edge of this ship, looking out over the expanse of the Atlantic, I feel so very small.

The old seagoing habits die hard and instinctively my eyes scan the horizon, searching for signs of others, for the superstructures that first appear over the edge of that fine line marking the division of sea and sky. Late yesterday I spotted another ship, a tanker steaming eastward. At first only a bump along that line, a mere speck, it eventually came within a half-dozen miles of us as it passed by heading probably for the Mediterranean. Like our own vessel, it too was a large ship, but before long it had been swallowed by the curve of the earth and simply disappeared. Infinity indeed! Only sea and sky can claim such a name; certainly not a ship made by such finite creatures as men. Perhaps, though, our nameless namer had that in mind. Perhaps he too had spent such moments and had christened this vessel as a tribute to the seas on which it would sail. Perhaps...but not very likely in a world in which such humble thoughts are rare indeed.

My life, however, has been littered with humbling experiences. Being in the presence of another possessed of remarkable talent can certainly be humbling. So too are those moments when my foolish mistakes are brought into the open for all to see. But true humility is more likely experienced alone, during those rare moments when I encounter myself as I actually am.

Years ago, as a young naval officer aboard a U. S. Navy ship in the South Pacific, I took advantage of a Sunday "swim call", an opportunity to take a dip in the ocean. It was a hot day, the sea was truly glassy, as calm as one ever sees it, and a swim seemed a nice way to cool off. So I donned my swimsuit, joined several dozen others, and jumped into the sea which was nearly as warm as the air. The depth of the water at this particular mid-ocean spot could more easily be measured in miles than in feet or fathoms. It was very deep.

At one point, after swimming about for a while, I ducked my head under water and looked down into the depths. There in the South Pacific, not far from the equator, the noonday sun was almost directly overhead and the resulting visual effect was so striking I couldn't turn away but stared down transfixed by the awesome sight. My bare legs dangled in the center of a funnel of light, a brilliant sunlit vortex that pierced the darkness and stretched seemingly forever into the depths of the ocean. Those legs of mine looked tiny indeed, as if they had been pasted, paper doll-like, onto the almost surreal scene that world, sea and sun had presented to me. It was a fearful scene, one that said, "Do you see how small you are? Do you grasp how great is God's creation? Do you see these depths, these darknesses that will forever remain hidden from you? Can you accept your relationship with Me, the I Am that brought you into existence so you can share in mine?"

These questions and more forced their way into my thoughts during that brief moment of revelation. Eventually I raised my head to the surface and gasped for air, confused and awed by what I had encountered there in the sea. I had been humbled by the sea, by the world, by creation, by my Creator. I was truly afraid, not physically afraid, but terrified by what I had learned about myself. Hoping to escape, I swam to the ship and quickly climbed out of the water, but then realized there was no escape. Even aboard a warship, one is dwarfed by the sea, where the expanse of creation is most evident.

How can one be at sea and not be humbled by the experience? Yes, we have climbed into space aboard rockets and have seen the world small, but once we return, when we once again take our proper place on the planet we've been given, we are forced to accept the truth of our relationship with the earth. It is a vast and varied home, this gift to humanity, and our lifetimes are far too short to see it all, to understand it all, to grasp the changes that both nature and human history have wrought. Indeed, it is only at sea where these changes disappear. For today I look out on an ocean that is no different from that which confronted a Phonecian sailor three millennia ago. Humanity may alter the landscape in a thousand ways that hide its past, but the sea is virtually changeless, and it is here that I feel most closely connected with my ancestors...and my descendants.

In a sense this is an antidote to our physical mortality, to that which seems so unjust about life. We all wish we could continue. We wish we could see the world as it was a century ago or as it will be two centuries hence. But we know it cannot be. We are mortal. We must die. And yet, we need only look out over the sea, confident that what we see now will be seen by those who come long after us, just as it was seen by those a thousand years ago.
God's peace...

(Just a note: I took the above photo as we departed Lisbon.)

Blue Angels over Annapolis - In the Cockpit

This is more than a little change of pace from my usual post, but as an old, retired naval aviator, I couldn't resist sharing this video. It was taken from the cockpit of one of the Blue Angels' FA-18s during an air show over the Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland. I suggest viewing it "full-screen" if you have a good monitor. Enjoy...

Habemus Episcopum!

As of yesterday, October 23, the Diocese of Orlando has a bishop. Archbishop Thomas Wenski left us in June and was installed as Archbishop of Miami. Since then we've been without a bishop. But yesterday we learned that Bishop John Noonan will leave his position as an auxiliary bishop in Miami to become our shepherd here in Orlando. Click here to read the official announcement. This is wonderful news. No diocese should be without a shepherd for very long.  (It seems, then, we made a kind of trade with Miami, sending them an archbishop and getting a bishop in return. Hmmm...I wonder if we'll get some additional draft choices, perhaps a priest and a few deacons to be named later??) Sorry, it's Sunday afternoon and I've been happily watching the Patriots beat (barely) San Diego, so my mind is not completely focused on things ecclesiastical.

I don't know very much about Bishop Noonan, but I like what I just read in the online edition of the Orlando Sentinel in which the reporter briefly described the bishop's first homily in the newly renovated St. James Cathedral. He seems to be a humble man and happy to be here. From the little I've been able to learn about him, he is 59 years old, was born in Limerick, Ireland, and was ordained as a priest of the Archdiocese of Miami in 1983. Our diocesan website provided a brief biography of our new bishop. He will be installed on December 16.

Here's a link to a video of Bishop Noonan during the announcement of his appointment by the Holy Father. (Just scroll down to the bottom of the linked page.)

Our prayers are with Bishop Noonan as he takes on this challenging assignment. We wish him well.

In other completely unrelated news, Navy (my alma mater) handily beat Notre Dame yesterday 35-17. (That's Navy quarterback Ricky Dobbs in the photo at left.) So very, very sad for all you fans of the Irish, but after all those years -- 43 to be exact -- of consecutive losses to Notre Dame, I am thoroughly enjoying Navy's recent victories: three out of the last four. I remember well the 1963 game in which Roger Staubach led Navy to a 35-14 win. I was a plebe (freshman) that year, which was the last Navy victory until 2007. Of course, there are far more important things in life than Navy beating Notre Dame in football: Go Navy, Beat Army!