And then I wrote...

by Dick Schilling, "Editor Emeritus"

... that this is being written the morning of Labor Day, and I have labored. If you call mowing the lawn labor. And I do!

I refuse to mow more often than once a week. That sometimes means a little raking afterwards in summers like this one, when the green is greener than it ought to be at this time of the year, on hill or in vale.

Because of predicted weather conditions, and with no dew on the grass for a change, I mowed in the morning. And it didn’t feel right. The sun, when it was out, cast shadows in the “wrong” direction. And I also discovered that morning mowing is not ideal for an old man with a prostate problem who drinks about three cups of coffee with breakfast. An hour and a half without a bathroom break is a strain!

Reading the morning’s news at breakfast convinced me that I would not have the patience or tact to be president. When the president went to China, not only was the usual red carpet not provided, he was forced by lack of a boarding ladder to exit from the back of the plane, using the plane’s own steps. China apparently has not progressed from the back of the bus days, still insisting on the back of the plane. Thus snubbed, I think I would have instructed my pilot to refuel and take off, without a meeting. I don’t think I could do the dance of the dog, chastised by its owner, tail between legs, still seeking connection.

I’m afraid a President Trump would have reacted differently, and I am really afraid that he might have!

Speaking of presidential candidates, I read with disbelief that Hillary Clinton “didn’t remember” any briefing about the handling of classified materials. I was named classified materials control officer for the Navy air group staff on which I served as a lowly ensign. It’s a task that seems to belong with administration, because later, as a lieutenant junior grade, I had the same position with the replacement air group which was formed. In both cases, I remember being cautioned with severe punishment if I screwed up, and also instructed on what the Navy called the “need to know” aspect of circulating, such materials.

The job had its benefits.

When messages came in, they were stamped with a routing stamp, that is, a check list of who was to see what. For unclassified materials, one of the enlisted men in my division was sent around with the clipboard for the appropriate officers to read and initial. If the material was classified, I took it around myself to those I decided had the need to know. I did not like one senior officer, and I liked his assistant even less, so I used to omit them whenever I could, to the point where they complained to the commanding officer.

The CO., to my satisfaction, explained that it was my responsibility to do the routing, and he was satisfied I was taking that responsibility seriously.

Which was sort of true.