I was back on the Yard the other day.
That’s what we call the U.S. Naval Academy campus in Annapolis, Maryland.
It was a Saturday, less than a week before graduation.
I expected the place to be crowded with the families of graduating midshipmen.
But it wasn’t.
It was quiet.
The cool temperatures and passing rain showers may have had something to do with that.
Or maybe it was because midshipmen would rather be anywhere else on the planet on a Saturday afternoon than on the Yard.
I get that.
I used to be one of those midshipmen.
Things are different now.
Today, I wouldn’t consider not visiting the Yard if I were within a hundred miles of the place.
Plus, if you still hold a military ID card, it’s a convenient place to park and then walk into town.
Parking in Annapolis is awful.
Especially in summer.
Especially on weekends.
I parked my car across from Alumni Hall.
Then I walked in the direction of the main gate, past the chapel and the Herndon monument.
Herndon is the charcoal-colored obelisk that resembles a miniaturized Washington Monument.
The Plebes, or freshmen, climb it at the end of the year to mark their ceremonial passage from under- to upperclassmen.
Maybe you’ve seen pictures of it.
The upperclassmen cover it in Crisco and place a Plebe “Dixie Cup” cover on top.
Someone from the Plebe class must then retrieve it and replace it with a midshipman cover.
Thus marks the official end of Plebe Year.
Sometimes it takes minutes.
Usually, it takes hours.
The ceremony had taken place only a few days before.
A long-time friend’s daughter was a Plebe, and he’d been there to see it.
He’d sent me pictures.
“The place still smells like lard,” I texted him.
That prompted him to inform me that his daughter was on the Yard that day.
“You should say hello,” he texted back.
I told him I would.
Right after lunch.
I continued to the main gate, out into downtown Annapolis, then over the drawbridge into Eastport.
The route took me past the Annapolis Yacht Club.
Where the sound of halyards clanking on masts rose from the basin.
I love that sound.
It’s so . . . Old Money.
Right out of The Preppy Handbook.
I stopped at the Boatyard Bar and Grill.
You’re immediately hit with the smell of Old Bay seasoning when you walk in.
They put it on just about everything there.
During lunch, I made arrangements to meet my buddy’s daughter.
She’s a varsity sailor, so we agreed to meet at the Academy’s sailing center.
I hadn’t been there in decades.
We linked up a short time later.
One of her teammates was with her.
So, what’s the plan for the summer? I asked them.
Sailing, of course, they said.
And also PROTRAMID, or Professional Training of Midshipmen.
It’s a month in which you get to experience every major warfare specialty—aviation, surface, submarines, and Marine Corps.
It was exactly the same itinerary I’d had thirty years earlier.
It was a great summer.
I sailed to Bermuda.
I did barrel rolls in a T-34 in the skies over Pensacola.
I dove off the dive planes of a fast-attack submarine during a swim call off the coast of King’s Bay, Georgia.
And I’d gone yut-yutting with the Marines through the woods of Quantico, Virginia.
I didn’t care for the yut-yutting.
But everything else was awesome.
We chatted a while longer before walking in the direction of Bancroft Hall, the Academy’s lone dormitory.
I said goodbye to my buddy’s daughter and her friend there, amused by how much the midshipman experience hadn’t changed through the years.
And then I went to the Midstore.
You have to go to the Midstore.
It’s like a Nordstrom, with all things Naval Academy.
You can get damn near anything there with the Academy crest emblazoned on it.
From cocktail napkins to ski parkas.
And, as a grad, you have to have it.
All of it.
Do I really need another set of Naval Academy luggage tags?
Yes. I do.
Anyway.
I returned to my car after the Midstore, walking through Tecumseh Court, then down Stribling Walk.
Stribling is the Academy’s main drag, connecting Bancroft Hall with the school’s original academic buildings.
There’s a certain spot on Stribling to which I always return when I’m on the Yard.
It was the place where it all clicked for me.
I’d just finished the last final exam of my senior year and was walking back to Bancroft Hall to pack.
Provided I could avoid being arrested and imprisoned in the two weeks that followed, it appeared I would be allowed to graduate.
That was significant, because I’d spent much of my time at the Academy certain I’d get kicked out.
Which may have been irrational.
I didn’t get in trouble, and I did okay academically.
But I never understood how the hell I ever got in.
Surely it must have been a mistake.
So, when I finished that last final and graduation became imminent, I finally felt part of the place.
And, for the first time, I began to think of my Academy experience in the past tense.
As an alumnus.
I remember exactly where I was when it all hit me.
And I always go back to that spot.
The same is true of another place on the Yard.
It’s stretch of road on Hospital Point that borders the Naval Academy cemetery.
It curves up and to the left until it runs in front of a row of red-brick apartment buildings.
My wife and I lived in one of those apartments when I worked on the Commandant’s staff.
I’d returned to the Academy after my first flying tour.
Our daughter was born not long after.
It was idyllic.
I’d walk to my office every morning in Bancroft Hall.
And before I departed in the evening, I’d call my wife to let her know I was on my way home.
One day, when our daughter was still only a few months old, I spotted my wife walking with her down the road in front of our apartment to meet me as I came up the hill.
My wife had her in one of those BabyBjorn things, strapped forward-facing.
As soon as I came into view, she said to our daughter, “There he is! There’s daddy!”
And our daughter then locked her eyes on me and start giggling excitedly and flailed her little arms and legs around.
She continued to do so until we came together on the hill, where I gave her a kiss on her little cheek.
This became our routine.
And we always met in the same spot on the sidewalk in front of the cemetery.
It was directly in front of where Lieutenant Commander Erik Kristensen’s headstone now stands.
Kristensen, a SEAL, Class of 1995, was killed in action in Afghanistan in June 2005 during Operation Redwing.
He was on the Chinook helicopter that was dispatched to rescue the SEALs of Lone Survivor fame and was brought down by an RPG.
All on board were killed.
I always return to that place when I’m on the Yard.
And, in my mind’s eye, I can see my wife and baby daughter, her little legs kicking, as though they were still standing there.
Later that evening, I met my old boss for dinner.
He had been the Commandant of Midshipmen when I worked on the staff and went on to become a three-star admiral.
He’s retired now and has a house in Annapolis.
I told him about my conversation with my buddy’s daughter and her friend earlier that day.
“It’s funny,” he said. “I saw a couple of Plebes in a coffee shop with their parents earlier this week. They must have been in town for Herndon.”
He continued, “I felt compelled to introduce myself and congratulate them on finishing Plebe year.”
That sounded exactly like something the boss would do.
Then he said, “I did the math in my head. If someone as old as I am now had done the same thing to me at the end of my Plebe year, he would have been from the Class of 1929.”
Nineteen Twenty-Nine.
“Can you believe that?” he asked me.
Actually, I could.
Because that’s how it is with the Academy.
In the course of one day, I had touched a segment of The Long Blue Line that straddled two different centuries and spanned five decades.
And there I was, right in the middle of it.
It’s humbling.
And a privilege.
Such an incredible privilege.
It’s a special place.
Which may help you understand
Why I need
More Naval Academy cocktail napkins
And luggage tags.
Of course, luggage tags.