Monday, January 15, 2007

Traveling Home With the Boys in White

I was heading to the gate when I first saw them, a group of seven young men dressed in white, calling to each other, walking in circles, trying to decide which way they should go. They are so young I thought to myself, and then continued on my way. When I reached the gate, I was relieved to see my flight to Providence was on time, unlike my trip out to Chicago when I faced a five hour delay. I settled in my seat, pulled out my newspaper and waited to board.

I looked up when I heard their voices and then spotted one of the crew, a tall lanky young man with closely cropped hair leading the others to an area where they could sit together. He was followed by a slight young man with a boyish grin, barely filling out his uniform, oversized pleated collar draped down the back. The sailors had found their way, and they were on my flight. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help looking at their faces. Though different, one thing defined them. They were all so young.

On the plane, one of the recruits sat in the aisle seat next to me. “Good morning, Ma’am,” he said in a slight southern drawl. I nodded and smiled and said good morning back. The group of seven were scattered, some sitting with a comrade, and others, like the sailor next to me, seated with civilians.

As we fastened our seat belts and readied for departure, one of the sailors asked, “Rhode Island isn’t really an island, right?” I think he was joking. The young man next to me said they’d just finished Boot Camp at the Great Lakes Naval Station, and were now heading to their base in Rhode Island. He’d never been there before. He talked of being relieved to be done with training. “It will be nice not being yelled at all the time,” he said, before going on about how cool it was to see the inside of a gas chamber and to shoot a gun. I looked down and saw a PlayStation Magazine resting on his lap.

I thought about what these young men were doing—risking their lives, protecting us. And then it hit me. I wondered what dangers they would face, how they would fare. I thought and thought and thought about this as I sat so close to them and looked at their excited, anxious faces. They were so young; they were really just boys.

During the flight the sailor next to me leaned over and gazed out the window. “Look out there,” he called to his buddies in front of him. “Check out at all the clouds.” And later, “Wow, that’s a really big river down there,” he said. “It just goes on and on.” I got the feeling he’d not been in an airplane many times before. He asked if I knew how far Groton Connecticut was from Rhode Island. His brother lived there, and he hoped it wasn’t too far away. I told him I wasn’t certain—I thought it was on the coast and might not be more than an hour away. I assumed the naval base was in Newport, but none of them spoke of going anywhere but to Rhode Island.

I asked how long he would be at sea. He told me he wasn’t sure, that it depended on his duty. One assignment would put him on a nuclear submarine for a three month stretch without a break, while the other would take him away for nine months, stopping at ports every now and then. He said he would miss his family, and that they lived in Dallas.

As we prepared for the final decent, the sailors began chatting again. They talked about mundane things, like how they can now fall asleep sitting up and how they might be getting new blue dress uniforms soon. I looked again at their sailor suits—they were almost blindingly white—and at their shiny black shoes poking out below their big bell bottoms. When we landed, they began gathering their things, each clutching an identical manila folder with their names printed on the outside. I wondered what was in those folders.

As I said goodbye and was called Ma’am again in the most respectful of tones, I thought about all the soldiers who have been killed in Iraq. I hoped that these boys would not be going anywhere near there. I thought this again as I watched them stand and politely insist that others go ahead of them. And again as I watched them walk down the aisle and make their way up the gate plank, bright white fading into the distance.

(This column was originally published on townonline.com August, 2006)

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