In the fall of 1962 Donna and I, with baby Keri, were living in San Diego in a cheap apartment on Mississippi Street - a few blocks from the tiny house on Arizona Street where my grandmother and my aunts Wilma and Waple lived. I remember that our monthly apartment rent was $75, and I was a lowly ensign assigned to the destroyer USS PARSONS (DD 949). Sometime in September or October the Squadron Commodore decided to hold a dress cocktail party, and all officers who were not on watch were expected to attend. This may have been our first evening out after Keri had been born, and the fact that it was free made it seem appealing. In addition, we had free access to the world’s three best baby sitters.
The party was in the Hotel Del Coronado, on Coronado Island where the Navy’s elite lived. This was before the bridge was built connecting the island with downtown San Diego, and the preferred means of travel from San Diego was by ferry; otherwise it was a rather long drive south to Imperial Beach which is almost on the Mexican border, then several miles north on the long causeway to the island. We took the ferry.
Our party was in one of several banquet rooms. We were all in our dress uniforms, and it was expected of all junior officers to introduce themselves and their ladies to the senior officers. It was all quite formal; there was even a silver plate in which each officer was to place his card. After a few martinis the party became somewhat more interesting, but still quite far from a frat party.
When Donna was young and naive she was a Republican and a Nixon supporter. And as our party wore on we realized that in the banquet room next to ours was a “Nixon for Governor” rally going on, and when Richard Nixon realized that he was next to dozens of officers in their dress uniforms he drifted into our room along with a photographer. I didn’t know the term photo-op, but Nixon understood it. We didn’t speak to Nixon but he was smiling and shaking hands all around.
In November Governor Brown was re-elected and Nixon blamed the press (and the voters) on his loss and made his famous promise that “You don’t have Nixon to kick around anymore…” . It didn’t take Donna long to understand politics in general, and “Tricky Dick” Nixon in particular.
The next time I came close to a president was very informal. Sometime in the fall of 1975 the Second Fleet flagship was moored in Norfolk. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon and I was the staff duty officer, whose chief duty was to read all the incoming messages, screen them and take any important ones to the admiral. Admiral Stansfield Turner had quarters ashore on “Admiral’s Row”, and each of the several houses had the name of a state. He lived in Georgia House which I think must have been a coincidence, but was certainly appropriate; Adm Turner was from Illinois but he had a guest - the Governor of Georgia.
By mid-afternoon I sorted the messages and had only a few that I thought the admiral would want to see, so I went ashore and walked a short distance to the Georgia House. There was a steward assigned to the admiral and I knocked on the door expecting the steward to open, but the admiral came to the door in his shirt sleeves and asked if anything was important. I said that I thought not, and he invited me in and said we’re watching the Redskins game on the TV and it’s almost over. ‘Bradberry, this is Governor Carter; my old friend from Annapolis’.
Jimmy Carter said something like ‘nice to meet you’, then we all watched the final minutes of the game. Afterward it was clear that the two old friends had important business, so I excused myself and went back to the ship. Shortly I learned from a senior officer who was close to the admiral that Governor Carter had come to discuss a presidential run; I can guess that “Stan” advised “Jimmy” to run. They were at the Naval Academy together and both of them were Rhodes Scholars; when Adm Turner retired from the Navy President Carter appointed him the CIA Director (and because of this there is another sea story to be told at another time).
Finally, my last encounter with a president was ten years after I had retired from the Navy, but it is definitely a Navy story. In December 1992 I was attending a mathematics education conference in Washington D.C. I was representing Idaho and had little to do other than listen to what some other states were doing. The third day of the conference was December 7, and a ceremony was to take place at the Navy Memorial which was literally just around the corner. It was a fairly nice day for December in D.C. so I excused myself from the conference and walked to the ceremony. I was
obviously in civilian clothes, suit and tie, and a tan overcoat. I was wearing a name tag from the conference which had my name and IDAHO. There was a fairly long line to go through a metal detector which was manned by Marines, and there was a large crowd starting to assemble. I thought I might end up across the street in the overflow, but then a corporal marched up and said ‘please come with me, sir’. I had no idea why, but I certainly didn’t want to make a fuss so I followed him to the VIP section where a group of Navy veterans of WWII was assembled (I was 53, and the youngest of the other vets must have been at least close to 70, but the young corporal probably couldn’t tell the difference). So I was in the second row of VIPs. I later found out that it was assumed that I was representing the battleship USS IDAHO (BB42), which had been decommissioned in 1946.
After a few minutes President George H. W. Bush arrived and gave a short speech. He was a naval aviator in WWII and had served well and was certainly accepted by his contemporary vets. After the ceremony he came to the VIP section and shook hands, including mine. President Bush was a lame duck, having just lost the previous month’s election to Bill Clinton, but he carried on admirably.
I recently discovered that a short film of this ceremony, including hand shakes, can be found on the internet by searching for The Bush Library MT3719. This is about 6 ½ minutes long, and the last half second (maybe less) shows Pres. Bush shaking my hand. Perhaps the view of the back of my head broke the camera.
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