by Virgil Teague

Created on: May 27, 2008

Naval officers often work under pressure, performing specialized and often dangerous tasks within a highly-structured bureaucracy laden with custom and tradition. Measurement of their skills and suitability for promotion derives in large part from an all-important Fitness Report, a regular assessment by peers and senior officers which is a permanent part of their service record.

In the spring of 1956, Jerry was a newly-promoted Commander, serving as Aide to the Rear Admiral in command of Opama Naval Air Station in Japan. Just across Tokyo Bay and now occupied by American forces lay the immense Yokohama naval facility from which Imperial Forces had launched their offenses during World War II.

It was nearly 0830 on a gray March morning when Jerry and the Admiral boarded a helicopter for a short hop across the bay. The Admiral was to make a courtesy inspection of sailors and Marines stationed at Yokohama; both men were in full dress blue winter uniform, complete with overcoats and gloves.

As it often is during spring, the water in Tokyo Bay was just above freezing. What little sun peeked through the leaden overcast couldn't overcome the bite of a sharp wind coming off the bay.

At the head of the division to be inspected that day was a very green Lieutenant, junior grade, who was acutely aware of the pressures of his job. As each junior officer must do, he was to act as the Officer of the Day, playing host to the Admiral and his aide, who comprised the inspecting party.

In the week or so before the inspection, this Lieutenant(jg)had tried to see that everything would go right. He held meetings with other junior officers and senior enlisted personnel; he visited shops and offices, holding impromptu inspections; he had issued a flurry of paperwork directives, detailing how the inspection was to proceed under his command. In short, he made a nuisance of himself in an effort to see that nothing - absolutely nothing -could go wrong.

Little did he suspect that many a military career has been scuttled by an unkind Fate that sends the inexplicable hurtling an officer's way at the least opportune moment.

A division of sailors and a company of Marines stood smartly in ranks on the taxiway in front of a seaplane hanger as the helicopter swept down. The divisional band ruffled a march and the Marine escorts cracked to attention as honors were rendered to the arriving Admiral.

Closely trailed by the young Lieutenant(jg), the inspecting party marched up and down the ranks of men. Neither

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