It was a gorgeous May morning, heading east on Ohio's I-70, toward Maryland and the District of Columbia. Daughter Kara is about to graduate with her doctorate of nursing practice as a psychiatric mental health nurse practitioner from the Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences (USUHS). We roll through Columbus, home of the Ohio State University Buckeyes, national football collegiate champs. We Badgers don't usually have much time for the Scarlet and Gray, but we temporarily put aside this perennial family feud for the cause of the Big 10.
I had traveled this road before - some 35 years ago, also in a semi-military context. As a professor in the University of Minnesota's Applied Economics Department, I was, under auspices of the Intergovernmental Personnel Act, "on loan" to the Defense Department as Economic Advisor to the Assistant Secretary of the Army (Civil Works) for one year. The Army's Assistant Secretary for Civil Works presides over the Army Corps of Engineers, Arlington National Cemetery, and, at the time, the Panama Canal. It was my graduate work at University of California-Berkeley in natural resource economics that was instrumental in getting that assignment.
Although my office was on Massachusetts Avenue, I reported to the assistant secretary in the Pentagon. With my Pentagon pass, I could roam the halls of that city within a city, and view the interesting displays. I doubt if there ever were so many colonels, generals, and admirals crammed into one place as in the Pentagon.
Now, 35 years later, I-70 looks much the same, but the world has changed - surely an understatement.
We cross the Ohio border into West Virginia's panhandle and Wheeling, on the Ohio River. Wheeling is where Wisconsin's "Titus Oates" of a half century ago, Tailgunner Joe McCarthy, first announced the list in his pocket of "205 known Communists in the State Department." That speech initiated his meteoric rise to fame, then infamy, marked by ruined careers of honorable State Department employees, and an attempted smear of highly respected statesman and General George Marshall.
West Virginia's panhandle is narrow at that point and we're soon into the southwest corner of Pennsylvania. At Washington, Pennsylvania, it's I-89 south to Morgantown, home of the University of West Virginia's Mountaineers. From there, it's I-68 across Maryland. It's a gorgeous day, over rolling hills and the Allegheny mountain range. This route follows the "National Highway," the route that was first carved through the hills in 1811 to connect the east with the great American frontier.
We stop at a wayside on top of a high hill for a break. As I'm enjoying the sunshine, gentle breeze, and admiring the rolling hills, my phone rings. It's Wanda calling on behalf of Turner Hall. Del Heins can't entertain for the fish fry tonight. She apologizes for the late call, but could Bobbie and I entertain tonight? I suggest that maybe Bobbie, or possibly Henry Blumer, might. But I can't make it.
Early evening we approach Bethesda, the naval base on which USUHS is located, and the hotel at which Kara is temporarily based, and at which we, as guests of military personnel, will be staying. There is a heightened "security alert" in force. To get on the base, we need Kara to verify that we are legit. So we call Kara to alert her of our impending arrival.
I drive up to the gate, manned by a couple of brawny Navy guards brandishing ugly looking automatic rifles. Kara is not yet there, and I explain who we are. The guard requests my driver's license, orders me to enter and park alongside the curb. I can get my license back when Kara arrives - not that I intend to go anywhere in the meantime. I appreciate that these guys are following strict orders.
Kara soon arrives, in civilian clothes. I get out of my GMC and walk with her to the gate. She shows her Army ID, verifies that her guests are legit, and the guard gives me back my driver's license. With that the guard renders Kara a snappy salute that she returns. Sure, I know that enlisted men salute a major. But this former Marine corporal can't help being amazed as the brawny Navy guard salutes my kid who, at that moment, resembles a petite yuppie getting ready to go for a jog.
We arrive at the hotel, called "Sanctuary Hall," so named as it was intended for wounded warriors in need of rehabilitation. It also serves as temporary housing for military personnel and their guests. The cost is about a fourth as much as it would be in pricey Bethesda this time of year.
I start to unpack. Rats. Coat and tie are required for the graduation ceremonies. I have a whole closet full of ties at home, had intended to pack one, and didn't do it. Well, we still have to go out and have dinner, so maybe I can buy another one that I don't need.
So along with Arlin, my kids' mother, Sherry, Kara, and I pile into my GMC for downtown Bethesda. We stop at Lord and Taylors, buy the tie that I don't need, and have dinner.
Next morning I take Kara and two of her classmates over to the shuttle that will take them to D.C. for the ceremonies. I must say, those women look pretty sharp in their Army dress blues. The rest of us will arrive later.
During the night, son Johnny had arrived at BWI Airport and somehow, riding in a cab with a foreign-speaking driver, got through that tight security onto the base without an escort.
We need to get to the Daughters of American Revolution Hall in D.C. for the formal graduation ceremonies. I had driven through the District many times, but that was decades ago. I'm happy to let Johnny do the driving.
Next week: Military graduation ceremonies.
- John Waelti's column appears in the Times every Friday. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
I had traveled this road before - some 35 years ago, also in a semi-military context. As a professor in the University of Minnesota's Applied Economics Department, I was, under auspices of the Intergovernmental Personnel Act, "on loan" to the Defense Department as Economic Advisor to the Assistant Secretary of the Army (Civil Works) for one year. The Army's Assistant Secretary for Civil Works presides over the Army Corps of Engineers, Arlington National Cemetery, and, at the time, the Panama Canal. It was my graduate work at University of California-Berkeley in natural resource economics that was instrumental in getting that assignment.
Although my office was on Massachusetts Avenue, I reported to the assistant secretary in the Pentagon. With my Pentagon pass, I could roam the halls of that city within a city, and view the interesting displays. I doubt if there ever were so many colonels, generals, and admirals crammed into one place as in the Pentagon.
Now, 35 years later, I-70 looks much the same, but the world has changed - surely an understatement.
We cross the Ohio border into West Virginia's panhandle and Wheeling, on the Ohio River. Wheeling is where Wisconsin's "Titus Oates" of a half century ago, Tailgunner Joe McCarthy, first announced the list in his pocket of "205 known Communists in the State Department." That speech initiated his meteoric rise to fame, then infamy, marked by ruined careers of honorable State Department employees, and an attempted smear of highly respected statesman and General George Marshall.
West Virginia's panhandle is narrow at that point and we're soon into the southwest corner of Pennsylvania. At Washington, Pennsylvania, it's I-89 south to Morgantown, home of the University of West Virginia's Mountaineers. From there, it's I-68 across Maryland. It's a gorgeous day, over rolling hills and the Allegheny mountain range. This route follows the "National Highway," the route that was first carved through the hills in 1811 to connect the east with the great American frontier.
We stop at a wayside on top of a high hill for a break. As I'm enjoying the sunshine, gentle breeze, and admiring the rolling hills, my phone rings. It's Wanda calling on behalf of Turner Hall. Del Heins can't entertain for the fish fry tonight. She apologizes for the late call, but could Bobbie and I entertain tonight? I suggest that maybe Bobbie, or possibly Henry Blumer, might. But I can't make it.
Early evening we approach Bethesda, the naval base on which USUHS is located, and the hotel at which Kara is temporarily based, and at which we, as guests of military personnel, will be staying. There is a heightened "security alert" in force. To get on the base, we need Kara to verify that we are legit. So we call Kara to alert her of our impending arrival.
I drive up to the gate, manned by a couple of brawny Navy guards brandishing ugly looking automatic rifles. Kara is not yet there, and I explain who we are. The guard requests my driver's license, orders me to enter and park alongside the curb. I can get my license back when Kara arrives - not that I intend to go anywhere in the meantime. I appreciate that these guys are following strict orders.
Kara soon arrives, in civilian clothes. I get out of my GMC and walk with her to the gate. She shows her Army ID, verifies that her guests are legit, and the guard gives me back my driver's license. With that the guard renders Kara a snappy salute that she returns. Sure, I know that enlisted men salute a major. But this former Marine corporal can't help being amazed as the brawny Navy guard salutes my kid who, at that moment, resembles a petite yuppie getting ready to go for a jog.
We arrive at the hotel, called "Sanctuary Hall," so named as it was intended for wounded warriors in need of rehabilitation. It also serves as temporary housing for military personnel and their guests. The cost is about a fourth as much as it would be in pricey Bethesda this time of year.
I start to unpack. Rats. Coat and tie are required for the graduation ceremonies. I have a whole closet full of ties at home, had intended to pack one, and didn't do it. Well, we still have to go out and have dinner, so maybe I can buy another one that I don't need.
So along with Arlin, my kids' mother, Sherry, Kara, and I pile into my GMC for downtown Bethesda. We stop at Lord and Taylors, buy the tie that I don't need, and have dinner.
Next morning I take Kara and two of her classmates over to the shuttle that will take them to D.C. for the ceremonies. I must say, those women look pretty sharp in their Army dress blues. The rest of us will arrive later.
During the night, son Johnny had arrived at BWI Airport and somehow, riding in a cab with a foreign-speaking driver, got through that tight security onto the base without an escort.
We need to get to the Daughters of American Revolution Hall in D.C. for the formal graduation ceremonies. I had driven through the District many times, but that was decades ago. I'm happy to let Johnny do the driving.
Next week: Military graduation ceremonies.
- John Waelti's column appears in the Times every Friday. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
