I had a place, on the catwalk under the number one catapult. I was a red-shirt and worked launches for 3 full Med. cruises. I would sit in the wind and sea spray and look ahead at the wonders of my life. I'd never been to Spain or Egypt. I'd never been anything but a poor farmer's son. I would look into the night and smell the air. An aircraft carrier always had company. It was always surrounded by smaller ships, just over the horizon. Silent angels of folded planes lay waiting on the flight deck just above. Ivory veterans whose untold stories gave me courage. And here was I. Who would I become? What wonders were in store for me. What stories would I tell? Often then I would turn my gaze to the fantail and the rolling wake. I marveled at the trail this mighty warrior left on the surface of the world. It was as if this journey had a life of it's own. As if I were part of a magnificent ballet where the past fell and was washed away. The future lay just over the horizon with the sunrise. But I was to enjoy the present. I could see and hear the water rushing 90 feet below me, just a steel grate between me and the water. And here was I. I could become anything. The world was waiting on the half-shell. Here, with all of the power and glory of the most powerful war ships in the history of the earth, I was touched by the hand of God. I was touched by the smell of the sea and the spray on my face. Over the wind and the roar of rushing waters I let my feelings free and shouted to the Lord "What do you want me to be?" With all the strength in my 17 year old body I shouted "Here I am, What do you want me to be?" I waited that night for an answer. Every chance I had I would return to my spot to wait for an answer. Then on the last cruise, crossing the Atlantic in early spring, we ran into the worst storm at sea I had ever known. The ocean was swelling up, flexing it's muscles, taking a long deep breath and then relaxing to swell again. The decks had been cleared and most of the planes were chained in the hanger bay. The waves were crashing onto the flight deck and the ship pitched and rolled like a tin can. It was there, as I clutched the chain ladder railing with one hand, I clearly heard my answer. There in the roar of the wind and the groan of the steel I heard my answer again and again. "Be a good man." "Be a good man." I will never forget the smell of the spray on that catwalk. Certainly every old sailor can still hear the sea calling. Now when I visit the ocean, when I stand at the shore, I can still feel the old man pulling me back. I can still feel the longing from deep inside me. I can still feel the power and courage, and I can still feel the hand of God.

Duane Hanson