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Sample Submissions
Today, the entire crew had the opportunity to have their picture taken with the flag. The Captain even made an announcement to the crew on the 1MC (ship's intercom), encouraging us to do so. Many Sailors had already taken his advice and had posed for individual and group photos so I thought it best to have a personal one as well. I needed to change, though, from my work coveralls into my Service Dress Blue uniform. It would not only make for a good picture but was the appropriate decorum for a pose with the Stars and Stripes. The flag was on display in Damage Control Central or DC Central, as Sailors know it. DC Central was the place where the ship's firefighters were based. I got dressed - ribbons, shiny brass, shoes, and all - and made my way three decks down from my Stateroom to DC Central. When I reached the hatch (door) at the front of the office, I noticed two hooks were embedded in a steel beam that ran the length of the overhead (ceiling), which suspended the flag. The stripes ran vertically and the field of stars was positioned at the upper left side. There was a Petty Officer seated at a desk nearby who was designated as "Flag Watch" for this afternoon. The Captain created this Watch to provide ‘round the clock security for the flag. "Are you here for a picture, Sir?" the Petty Officer asked. "Yes, I am." "Well, Sir, the digital camera is being used at a pinning ceremony in the Wardroom right now. It should be back soon. Why don't you have a seat in the meantime?" "OK." I took a seat on the bench and rested my cover by my side. I found myself starring at the flag looking it over closely to see if I could detect something distinctive. It was an American flag, no doubt about that, and it seemed to be four feet in width and nine feet in length. The longer I stared I began to get a "response" but too faint to satisfy my search for meaning. So, I arose and approached it believing that perhaps handling it would allow me to connect with its symbolic essence. To the touch, I could detect that it was made of nylon except for the off-white canvas border at the top and the stars, each one sharply embroidered and equidistant, neatly arranged in the background of blue. Early in life, I learned that the flag represented my identity as an American, though not the sole representation but nonetheless an inescapable one. I began to ponder the most outstanding memories that I have had with the flag over the course of my life. I believe that my initial encounter with the flag was in the first grade when I learned to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. When I was ten, I purchased my very first flag, which was an old 48-star one at a garage sale (It's probably worth something today). By the sixth grade, I had met the "pain" of the flag; history classes taught that African-Americans hadn't received their freedom along with the Declaration of Independence. It was granted almost one hundred years later and would be a continuing struggle for at least one hundred more. July 4, 1976 was my most memorable observation of a mass patriotic event. The bicentennial celebration in New York Harbor featured the parade of "tall ships" during the day and fireworks display at night. In January of 1981, I was standing on Broadway on a blustery, bitter cold day when we welcomed home the Americans who had been held hostage in Iran for 444 days. The ensuing ticker-tape parade in the "canyon of heroes" was one of those "I was there" moments that left an indelible impression on one's memory. "Hey, Sir, could you take a picture of us with the flag?" a Sailor asked splashing my depth of thought. He had come down with five other shipmates who wished to be in the photo as well. "No problem. How many shots do you want?" "One shot each, Sir." Three of the six Sailors had cameras and I figured that each one had to have at least two shots; an extra one for "insurance." I had an impromptu photo session on hand. None of their cameras were digital, though, or else I would have asked for a photo too. They made several poses—standing at attention, kneeling and smiling—all giving the impression that this was a very special moment. "Hey thanks, Chaps!" a few of them said as they departed. "Sir, I'm sure they'll be back with the digital camera pretty soon," the Petty Officer reassured. "I'll give a call up to the Wardroom." "It's no rush. I'll wait." I took another look at the flag. "It's worth the wait." With this glance, I thought of my relationship to the flag as a Naval Officer. It was a compulsory practice to come to attention and salute the flag at its hoisting and retiring aboard ship. That's the basic military honors that the national ensign was due. I have even had the particular privilege of honoring my father, who was a Korean War veteran, as both son and Navy Chaplain by delivering his folded flag to my mother at his funeral. "Hey, Chaps. Have you seen the signatures?" asked the Petty Officer. "No, I haven't. Where are they?" "'Come take a look." Walking towards the flag, the Petty Officer reached up and unhooked it from the upper left corner with his left hand and folded it back across his chest. "Take a look," he invited. As I moved closer, I noticed three signatures clearly inscribed in felt marker on the canvas border. The first one on the left read, "RUDOLPH W. GUILIANI," the second, "GEORGE PATAKI" and he third, which was beneath the other two, "FIRE DEPARTMENT NEW YORK-DIVISION 1 WORLD TRADE CENTER SEPTEMBER 11, 2001 NEW YORK CITY, USA." Yes, this one was special; it honored the blood of the Innocents and represented the new cause of a nation. As the ship's chaplain, it was my responsibility to deliver the Evening Prayer at Sea. Every night while underway, I would make my way up to the Pilot House and deliver the prayer over the 1MC. The theme of each prayer was at my discretion. But tonight, the prayer could only be about one subject. At 2150 (9:50 p.m.) in the Pilot House, the Boatswain Mate of the Watch handed me the microphone to the 1MC and this is the prayer that was offered: Flag of Remembrance Let us pray Gracious Lord, compel each member of the crew to take a moment to gaze upon the "Ground Zero" Flag. Suspended and unfurled, it speaks for all those lost whose voice has been silenced, first in horror and now in memoriam: an utterance so pregnant with emotion the heart fails to contain it. Help us to look deeper than the stars and stripes in their apparent grandeur to consider the ground over which it has flown, the hands it has passed, the innocent lives it marks and the message it resounds: "Never forget, freedom isn't free." Lord, let this flag be more than a token of patriotism but a reminder of the frailty and sanctity of life; to teach that every day is a gift from you sanctioned and ordained for your Sovereign purpose. In your Strong Name we pray, Amen.
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