We are home. We are Lori, Dwane “DJ,” Tiffany “Tiff,” and me. Our home is 8107B Falconer Court on FT Meade.

Sporting khakis and new collar insignia, and with great anxiety, I report to my work location in Airport Square 11.

The plans for the two computer labs on the first floor proceeded while I was gone. The NSA contractors had almost completed the under-raised floor power installation. While they were finishing the power, raised floor, and air handler installations, I completed the plan for installing the computer systems.

Finally, the day came when the preps were complete, and I moved into my office in the secure computer room. They included an office for the system administrators and me in the room preparations.

A week or two later, a Navy Petty Officer reported as one of my lab assistants. Eventually, I would have a staff that included Navy, Army, and Air Force enlisted operators.

It took months to install the computer systems and the communication fibers from my lab to the researchers on the third floor. Finally, we began the daily operations. The operators performed routine maintenance and supported the network linked to other secure NSA computers.

One day, I received word that someone had penetrated (accessed, broken into) another NSA computer system from one of mine. It was an unauthorized entry, a violation of the law. It took a few days before my staff and I identified who had used my system to break into the other.

My supervisor notified NSA security, and they took the individual into custody. It was one of our researchers. He was released a few days later after confirming he was authorized to perform penetration testing of other NSA secure systems. He had only failed to notify the other systems administration of his plans. Still, my staff and I were given a letter of commendation for our work in finding the intruder.

Most of our work was mundane. We ensured the computers were online and available to the researchers through the ethernet network. We monitored the logs for any unauthorized system access, as happened with the system I previously mentioned.

One of our regular tasks was changing system passwords. We notified the researchers when we changed them. The researchers needed them to access the computers in support of their work. They were developing procedures and ways to keep computers secure.

Often, after changing passwords, we would notice in the logs that a researcher had logged into their account on a system, though we had not given them the new password. In other words, Some of them were proficient at successfully penetrating computer systems. We wouldn’t call security when noting such a thing because this was one of their authorized tasks, leading to improving computer security.

I also helped design the unclassified computer laboratory. It contained a computer system that supported dial-in connections. It allowed authorized persons to call one of several telephone numbers and access the computer using a username and password. Remember, this was when the modem speeds were 300 bits-per-second (baud), not megabits-per-second. several

I enrolled in a C computer language course requiring me to write a program outside my daily duties. I had the Atari computer I bought before going to Panama. After researching, I located a communication (comms) program to interface my computer with a modem NSA loaned me. The program translated the letters I typed into a code to be sent by the modem through phone lines to the receiving modem and computer.

I would start my computer and start the comms program. It initiated the phone call and negotiated a link with a comms program on the unclassified NSA computer. Then, I logged in with my username and password. Still, I hadn’t reached the resources needed to write the program.

The internet was yet to be a reality. However, the government created a network called ARPAnet. The acronym comes from “Advanced Research Projects Agency Network.” ARPAnet linked government facilities and multiple universities. It was the predecessor to the INTERNET.

After connecting to NSA’s computer, I used ARPAnet to connect to a computer at MIT-Massachusetts Institute of Technology. The MIT computer had the resources to create and test the program I developed.

During the last days of the course, I used a punchcard machine to create a deck of punch cards with my code. Then, I ran the cards through a reader to load my program onto an NSA computer. My program stored names, addresses, and phone numbers alphabetically. The program inserted new entries in their proper place. My program performed as designed. I had passed the course and got to keep the modem until the end of my tour at NSA.

The National Computer Security Center (NSA C3 group) was fully functional, and both labs were functioning. It was time to show off the organization with an open house.

I don’t know what went into organizing it, but my part was to showcase my lab. Someone else would host the unclassified laboratory capabilities. So, my staff pulled a field day, cleaned, dusted, etc., and got the room and system in pristine condition.

I gave tours of the computer room when the day came. I identified each computer system and told how researchers used them for an Undersecretary of Defense, several company CEOs, and other dignitaries.

The after-event was disappointing. Shortly after, the C3 director held an awards ceremony to give out those for the open house. Several government people received a monetary (cash) award. Those in the military received a letter of appreciation because we couldn’t accept money. It was the law I heard. I need not say my staff and I were frustrated and a bit angry. It was stupid, in our opinion.

My son, DJ, joined the Boy Scouts. One weekend, we went to an overnight campout at FT Meade. I chatted with other fathers as we sat around the campfire. I didn’t know how this campout would affect my life at the time.

I neared two years in C3 as a Chief Warrant Officer. I needed to complete three years as a W2 to satisfy the obligation for taking a commission. I could submit a request to retire on 1 August 1987, a year before my three-year obligation ended.

I had spoken with my manager at C3 about a position as a civilian after I retired in a year. He said I likely could fill the same role I had as the classified lab manager. I became excited about the prospect and began considering what changes it would bring.

We would have to relocate from the quarters on Falconer Court to an off-base house. Our children might have to go to different schools, depending on the location of our new home.

Then, life turned upside down, and my plans were disrupted on 17 July. The command received word that the Navy was short-touring me to Adak, Alaska. My tour at FT Meade should have been three years, but I would transfer after two. It was fourteen days before I could submit retirement papers. I had two choices: refuse the orders or go to Adak. I elected Adak.

Lori and I decided that I would do an unaccompanied tour to Adak. She and the children would stay in quarters on FT Meade until I returned. It would be less disruptive for the family since my assignment officer promised I would return to the NSA after Adak. Not all promises are kept.

I learned the command on Adak needed an Electronics Maintenance Officer to replace the departing officer in October. I popped to the top of the replacement list because the Executive Officer at Naval Security Group Activity, Adak, Alaska, knew me from a Boy Scout campout. He had specifically requested me for the assignment.

October came. I boarded the flight, which led to my new command after hugs, kisses, and tears.

Veterans, thank you for your service! Today is the day we celebrate those among us who stand or stood tall in defense of our country.

I spent over twenty-five years in the Navy and retired in 1992.

My father served over twenty-five years in the Navy. He served in WWII for a time, was discharged after the war ended. He enlisted again during the Korean War. He retired in 1970 and passed in 2002.

My brother, Cletus, entered the service during the Viet Nam War. He was a Gunners Mate Gun and spent considerable time in the Tonkin Gulf on an oiler. The ship refueled others. We spent time together in Hawaii when the ship was in port. He was killed in a motorcycle accident in 2002.

My brother, Paul, was drafted during the Viet Nam War also. He didn’t spend much time in the service, but should be honored for responding when called. We lost him in 2003.

These are not the only family that has served. My Uncle Wilbur was killed in action in WWI. My uncle Hugh served in WWII and was a prisoner of war. My Uncle Bernard made a career in the Air Force. I apologize if I miss anyone or slight their contributions.

And, I married a woman whose family has many relatives who have or are still serving in the military. One, her uncle David J. Green served and met his wife while stationed in England. Read his story here.

I first met her cousin Donald Hanna in Germany, where he was stationed. David McWha, the husband of my wife’s cousin, served in the Air Force. As with my relations, I apologize for not noting others who served or are serving.

We are just a few of the many who served the nation in its military branches from the Revolutionary War to the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Thank you and God bless those who served and those who protect us today—be they Navy, Marine, Army, Air Force, Coast Guard, or Space Force.

“What were your grandparents like?”

It is the third question about my ancestors. First was one about my Mother, the second my Father, and now one about my Grandparents.

Regrets.

This one finally forced me to consider that I took my parents and grandparents for granted as a youngster. My grandparents were people we went to visit in the summer. My father was the man who came home for thirty days each year, and some years came on weekends as the Navy permitted. My mother was there every day caring for my siblings and me.

Life with them was special, not because of grand vacations or social events, but because of who they were. Unlike many others, my parents and grandparents were caring, loving, hard-working men and women. They weren’t college graduates, some not even graduating high school. Still, they provided down-to-earth examples of how to be soul-mates and parents.

These are the nuggets I dredged from my memory about my grandparents. The sparseness speaks to how much I took them for granted.

Mom’s Parents.

My maternal grandparents are Elizabeth Midkiff Harris and James Fredrick Harris.

Elizabeth was born on 16 Aug 1891 in Rome, Kentucky, and died 30 Apr 1962 in Owensboro, Kentucky.

Most of my recollections are from the short visits made to her house. My two brothers, one sister, and I slept on blanket pallets on one side of the kitchen.

My Grandmother always woke early to begin her daily routine. I, often, woke as she shuffled into the kitchen. I laid on the barely padded floor watching her move to an old, wood-burning, potbelly stove. She moved slowly, sometimes using a cane, as her lame leg permitted. I remember watching my Grandmother, a short, heavy-set woman, stoking the stove in preparation for making breakfast. All of our meals made using that stove.

James “Fred” was born 02 May 1890 in Owensboro, Kentucky, and died  04 Sep 1959 in Beverly Manor, Illinois. My Grandfather was tall to me, maybe six-foot, and slender in build. He, also, was an early riser, and by the time I got my lazy bones up, he was well through his daily chores. I would help with feeding the chickens and his dog.

I don’t remember any nuggets of conversation but things I do remember. My Grandmother would clean and cook the chicken my Grandfather killed Sunday morning. Her fried chicken was a treat.

Then there was the time a tornado came close to their farm while we were there. And the time their dog broke his chain the night we heard a large cat squalling

We spent many evenings gathered together around the radio listening to The Grand Ole Opry and The Shadow. There were other radio shows, but I can’t name them now. Prayers were said and to our pallets. Early to bed, early to rise.

They were godfearing, loving, down-to-earth people. I don’t remember either having a cross word for the other.

Dad’s Parents.

My paternal grandparents were Johanna Mae Elder and Hilary Oswald Knott.

Johanna was born in 1889 in Kentucky and died on 14 Oct 1967 in Daviess County, Kentucky.

My Grandmother was a widow when I became old enough to remember her. She was a white-headed, stately lady who lived on Clay Street in Owensboro, Kentucky.

She was an excellent cook, but the makings for her meals came from the local grocer, not from a garden.

I remember her displaying anger only once. It was after Cletus, my brother, and I peppered her porch with holes from metal darts. Otherwise, she was patient with her four rambunctious grandchildren, taking us shopping in big city stores and to nearby parks.

Hilary Oswald was born 28 Feb 1881 in Meade County, Kentucky, and died 22 Oct 1949 in Daviess County, Kentucky.

I don’t remember anything about my Grandfather. I was two years and twelve days old when he died. I can’t picture him, but I believe he was much like my Father—a loving, caring father.

Do Over.

If I had it to do-over.… How many times have those words been spoken or written? I wish I had a do-over, but life is as lived. People leave, and memories fade. Capture them while you can!

Winter weather where I lived in Illinois as a child was unpredictable, especially near Christmas.  I don’t remember once taking a family vacation during Christmas vacation. But, I remember the inches of snow to build snow forts, make snowballs, and shovel during that vacation.

The vacations I remember occurred during the school’s summer vacation. My Dad was in the Navy, and he tried to arrange his annual leave for the summer months. It allowed him to spend part of it with family in Kentucky or Indiana.

Starved Rock

The only trip not to family was to Starved Rock State Park in La Salle County, Illinois. As the story goes, in 1760, a group of Illinois Indians was attacked by Potawatomi and fled to a 125-foot sandstone butte. A park ranger told us how the Ottawa and Potawatomi Indians surrounded the butte and remained there until the Illinois Indians died of starvation. Hence the name Starved Rock.

Granddad Harris

Most of the trips to Granddad’s Harris’ place were unremarkable. He had a small house that we made smaller, filling it with an extra six warm bodies. My parents shared a spare bedroom, and the children slept on blanket pallets in the kitchen. Grandfather led prayers every evening. Sometimes we listened to mystery shows or the Grand Ole Opry on the radio before bedtime. We kids spent the day outside playing with our cousins living next door.

But…one vacation, we were at my Grandfather Harris’ house out in the country. I played in the yard with my siblings when my grandfather called us to get in the house. He was frantic that we obey. I shepherded my sister and brothers through the front door but stopped to wait for him.

He ran to his car, a 1940’s something, and backed it up several feet. He left it and entered the house, dragging me with him. Granddad had us lay down, and we listened as something sounding like a freight train passed. When the noise stopped, he led us outside. His car sat between two fallen trees. It escaped damage because of the few feet he backed it.

Another trip to Granddad’s

We arrived on another trip to find my Granddad had a dog he kept chained to a doghouse. I think it was an Alaskan Huskie. One night after we went to bed, there came a sound, unlike anything we kids had ever heard. My grandfather said it was a bobcat or cougar. Anyway, we settled down when it didn’t come again.

The dog was gone the next morning. Granddad said not to worry because this was nothing new. The dog had figured out that it could get on the flat roof of the doghouse and leap off, breaking the chain. (I never understood why he chained it if it could get away whenever it wanted.) He said the huskie likely went after the cat. Sometime later, he came back a bit worse for wear. It appeared he found the cat.

I saw a bobcat or cougar on the way home from his house one trip. I was lying on the ledge before the back window. It was dark, and I was staring out the rear window when a big cat jumped out of a tree and ran across the road. One moment it was there, the next gone from sight again.

Grandmother Knott

Some trips to Kentucky were to visit my Grandmother Knott, who lived in Owensboro, Kentucky. Her husband died when I was less than two-years-old. She shared her house with my Uncle Carl, who took care of her and the house’s needs.

My brother, Cletus, and I spent some time with them one summer. That was the summer one of them gave us some steel-tipped darts. Hours of playing pretend-dartboard left the front porch marred with tiny holes. Grandmother was unhappy with the damage, but my Uncle Carl more for he had to sand and repaint the porch. The next time I saw real darts, I was a First Class Petty Officer in the Navy, far from porches.

There were a few brief excursions to see other families before I left home after graduation to work in a foundry located in Skokie, Illinois.

More

We spent a couple of days on one trip with my Uncle Albert and his family. My uncle had lost an arm in a farming accident. I remember I was uncomfortable as I tried not to stare at the empty shirt sleeve.

Sometimes we visited my father’s sisters, Aunt Imogene and Aunt Merici, but nothing stands out in my memory.

Everyone is gone now, but I have the memories.

Dwane’s Grandparents and Parents

A long time ago, Elizabeth Midkiff and James Frederick Harris had a beautiful daughter named Mary Ruth in Owensboro, Kentucky. The date was 23 January 1927. Almost two months later, Johanna Mae Elder and Hilary Oswald Knott had a handsome son named Francis Leo. It was 17 April 1927, and the place was Browns Valley, Kentucky. Mary and Francis, who everyone called Leo, are my parents.

Mary and Francis married on 17 August 1946 in Owensboro. I was born in October the next year. My brother Cletus James was born on 9 June 1949 and the twins, Mary Paula and Joseph Paul, on 3 December 1952. The four of us born in Owensboro. Early in 1952, the family moved to Peoria, Illinois.

We lived on NE Adams street in an apartment until my parents bought a house on Vohland Street in Beverly Manor, Illinois. We moved in the summer of 1953, in time for me to begin first grade at St. Patrick’s Elementary School in Washington, Illinois. Cletus and the twins followed when they reached school age.

Lori’s Grandparents and Parents

A long time ago, a beautiful daughter was born on 27 July 1933 to Mary Elizabeth Neubauer and Robert Joseph Green in Donna, Texas. They named her Virginia Louise. James Alexander, Jr, a handsome boy, was born to Margaret Sarah Sherlock and James Alexander Cameron, Sr on 31 July 1929 in Minot, North Dakota.  Virginia and James Jr. are my wife’s parents.

Virginia and James met in Corpus Christi, Texas, and were married there on 29 July 1950.  They had three children born in a Corpus Christi hospital. Colin James was born 24 July 1951,  Flora MacLeod (Lori) in January 1954 and Heather Jenny in November 1967.

Virginia and James bought a house on Rosedale Street sometime before Colin was born and lived there all their lives.

I hope you enjoyed the brief glimpse into our family history. Questions or comments are appreciated and enjoyed.

Be safe in this trying time.