Blue Guidon Winter 2022

The Blue Guidon The Newsletter of Andover and the Military

Winter 2022

A Life’s Commission

By Harry Flynn ’48, CDR USN (Ret.)

There were two things I knew from the age of 2: Answering the Call I was going to be a U.S. Navy officer and I was In that fall of ’44, there were many great young going to attend Andover. My father had gone to Andover men—including Cal Burrows ’43, Diz Andover, then on to the U.S. Naval Academy and Bensley ’43, Angus Deming ’44, and Rob Lawlor then to Harvard. Two of his brothers had gone to ’44—who had recently graduated but were yet Andover and Harvard. Both had also been Navy to be deployed into action. They would soon men. It was unusual at the midpoint of the past serve their country with bravery and honor, often century for Irish Catholics to have established a fatally, from Iwo Jima to Normandy. Older alums legacy at such institutions, but none of us, to my already commissioned served not only with disknowledge, had ever felt a moment of what is tinction but with the highest possible merit. fashionable today to call “alienation.”

The Academy welcomed us, and we were A Life’s Commission continued on page 2 grateful to be there. I do recollect going into our dorm room closet in the evening to pray Novenas under a bare bulb so as not to disturb my roommate. But this was hardly the apostolic saints in the catacombs. Far from it. I was merely being considerate. And as far as inheriting a preordained family destiny at an early age (I was no more consulted about it than I was about being born), it was something I took pride and exulted in; the era of retrospective childhood resentments would not be ours.

Entering Andover at age 14 during the war years, we were acutely aware of the great conflict and proud of our nation’s, and Andover’s, involvement, but were too young yet to be “over there.” My roommate and I went to the Oliver Wendell Holmes Library junior (frosh) year to find the yearbooks, just to look up the young alum we’d heard about, “one of ours.” He had graduated two years earlier and was already flying combat in the Pacific Theater, the youngest Navy pilot in the war. George H.W. Bush ’42’s example led my roommate In 1955, Andover alumni George Rider ’51, Shelby Coates ’48, and Harry to become a USAF pilot.

Flynn ’48 were coincidentally all assigned to the USS Preston (DD-795)— and bunked together too.

Andover in the Civil War: Sam Tucker’s Story

By David Chase, Faculty Emeritus

Samuel Francis Tucker completed his Phillips Academy studies in 1853. A decade later he would be in the thick of the Civil War. Like hundreds of Andover alumni, he risked all to save the United States during its greatest crisis.

In 1860, Sam Tucker was 26, working on his family’s Andover farm as he had since boyhood. Unmarried, itching for change, he ventured west. By August, Tucker was panning for gold on California’s Yuba River, a greenhorn prospector living at hardscrabble Moore’s Flat, a mining camp 4,000 feet up in the Sierras. The following April the Civil War began. In August 1861,

The guidon of Tucker’s California Battalion

A Life’s Commission continued from page 1

Capt. Richard O’Kane ’30, USN, “The Bravest Man,” was awarded the Medal of Honor as a submarine skipper. Fred Stott ’36 earned the Navy Cross as a Marine during MacArthur’s island-hopping campaign. Tom Hudner ’43 was at the U.S. Naval Academy in their compressed threeyear wartime commission program.

Our family had been friends with the Hudners for generations, going back to the late 1800s. Both families were in the same industry and lived on the same street: Highland Avenue in Fall River. Lower year, my father drove up to campus with Mr. and Mrs. Hudner to pick me up at the Andover Inn and watch Tom’s younger brother, Rick, play in the Andover-Exeter football game.

Rick went on to serve in the Marine Corps.

Tom was eventually commissioned a pilot during the Korean War and was awarded the Medal of Honor for a near-suicidal wheels-up crash landing into the side of a mountain under enemy fire to attempt the rescue of his downed squadron mate at the Chosin Reservoir.

The impression I wish to convey by way of anecdotes and written snapshots is of a school and culture composed of a 2

a year after Tucker began prospecting, he enlisted: Private Tucker, Company E, 2nd California Cavalry. He was promoted to corporal that October.

In executing President Lincoln’s call to arms, the War Department exempted enlistees organized in the far west from coming east. They were to defend home territory. Army top brass were concerned the Confederacy would attempt to seize western territory, especially the mining districts of Nevada and California, sources of gold and silver bolstering the Union war effort; and Southern California ports, to become Rebel raiding bases. The War Department was right. Jefferson Davis authorized such a campaign in 1862. It set out from Texas into New Mexico, with plans to continue west. Initially the campaign was a success, but Southern California Union troops thwarted the Confederate invasion.

Northern California regiments, including Tucker’s, stayed put—important duty, but not where the action was.

A group of transplanted Easterners in Northern California were determined to get into the fight. Finessing War Department directives, they petitioned Massachusetts

Governor John Andrew to accept them as a California cavalry unit within one of the state’s regiments. Andrew accepted, the War Department acceded, and off they went in January 1863. Soon 400 Northern California Easterners were recruited to follow, Tucker among them. But he was bound to the 2nd California Cavalry. A ruse solved Tucker’s problem. On March 19, he was discharged, certified medically unfit.

That same day, Tucker enlisted as a sergeant in the 2nd Massachusetts Cavalry’s California Battalion.

On March 21, Tucker and comrades embarked on the Pacific Mail Line’s Constitution, sailing south from San Francisco to Panama City. They crossed the isthmus by rail to the East Coast, boarded the Ocean Queen, and steamed north, escorted by Union gunboat Connecticut. The escort protected not only the California Battalion, but also valuable cargo. The Ocean Queen regularly transported hundreds of thousands of dollars in specie. On this voyage, the Queen carried $208,000 in gold and silver coins (approx. $15 million today), a rich prize if captured for the Confederacy. The California

broad spectrum of individuals manifesting Andover’s historic mission to educate “youth from every quarter” and bound by the unity that coalesces people around a great common cause. We may have had differences here and there, but the Academy cultivated a foundational belief in the goodness of the country and sought to develop young men of character who could and would defend it—at the cost of their lives if necessary—and contribute in later life as indispensable elements of a virtuous citizenry. The midpoint of the 20th century was an era of conflict and crisis that endangered the United States and people of good will worldwide. We felt a duty to present ourselves militarily in far-flung corners of the earth that required defense and security as per our nation’s bidding.

Andover honorably and selflessly answered Lincoln’s call during the Civil War. That animating, ennobling spirit of communal identity with “the better angels of our nature” was inculcated in our core.

ever known. Steve Sorota was a legendary football coach. I wasn’t talented enough to make varsity, and when the dust had settled from the fall tryouts I would end up on JV as a third-string quarterback. But Steve was also the track coach. I was a hurdler, again with more persistence than talent, and every afternoon Steve would stay after practice and work with me. My time improved enough for Steve to award me a varsity letter, an achievement I owe to his selfless, personal dedication to drawing out the greatest potential in each of us.

Academically, the Andover curricula tested me more than I have been before or since: physics, chemistry, math, Latin, and Greek, “from Aristophanes to Xenophon.”

We also learned Morse Code, invented by the famed Andover alum for whom the math building is fittingly named. We would learn it again in our service branches, but Andover wanted us prepared. I was accepted to Harvard, Yale, and the U.S. Naval Academy with an appointment by Leverett Saltonstall. My Andover college counselor offered that rarely well-received token—unsolicited advice—but he may have known me better than I knew myself.

He convinced me to take the exam for the newly enacted Holloway Plan (now

Lessons Learned Through Scholarship and Sports Andover’s mission to build character through scholarship and sports was entrusted to some of the finest people I’ve

Sheridan’s charge, Battle of Five Forks, 1 April 1865; Kurz & Allison lithograph, 1886; Library of Congress.

Battalion arrived in Massachusetts on April 16. Rushed to protect Washington on May 12, the battalion—identified by a red and white guidon emblazoned with California’s golden bear—skirmished with Mosby’s Raiders, a band of Virginia irregulars attacking Union defenses, supply trains, communications, and loyal civilians.

In August 1864, Tucker’s battalion transferred to the newly formed Army of the Shenandoah, commanded by the Union’s best cavalry officer, “Fightin’ Phil” Sheridan. The fertile Shenandoah Valley provisioned Lee’s army. Sheridan followed

Grant’s scorched-earth policy, destroying farms, mills, and railroad facilities up and down the valley. The California Battalion fought hard through the remaining 10 months of the war, in the Shenandoah and beyond. The Battle of Tom’s Brook, October 9, 1864, began as a Confederate rout yet ended a Union victory, thanks to Sheridan’s cavalry. Sam Tucker, now a lieutenant, suffered a severe gunshot wound to his right hand. It took months to mend.

Tucker returned to the California Battalion the following spring, riding with his company on April 1 in Sheridan’s overwhelming

ROTC): “You’ll earn the same commission at Harvard and have more fun than you would at Annapolis.” He may have been right, and, regardless, that was the path I followed.

My “Irish twins” were born in the Navy Hospital at Long Beach, California, a time of such fruitful procreation that my oldest was born on a gurney in the hallway, there being no maternity rooms left. I left active duty but remained a reserve officer in Southern California until they forced my retirement 30 years later.

A Coincidental Assignment That service to the country was as commonly respected at Andover in that era as its Latin mottoes, the happy circumstance of being assigned to the same destroyer as two Andover friends did not arrive at such long odds as it might today. Classmate Shelby Coates, who was also one of my wedding groomsmen, along with his fellow Eli George Rider ’51 made us an Andover trio on the USS Preston. We remain friends today, but back then world events scattered us. George was soon monitoring the Suez Crisis, while we in the Pacific Fleet were dispatched to the Taiwan Straits when Mao began shelling Quemoy and Matsu. As a staffer to the flag officer, I was among the few to go ashore on Taiwan; this experience marked the beginning of a lifelong deep and abiding respect and affection for the Taiwanese people and a commitment to their defense and security.

It was the first principle of geopolitics I was to impart to my own young boys.

The Best Job in the Navy The combination of a Hollywood career with my Reserve status led to what I thought was the best job in the Navy. As skipper of the West Coast Combat Camera Group and Naval Air Reserve Mobile Photo Unit, stationed at NAS Los Alamitos, Point Mugu, and Port Hueneme, our orders took us all over the world if film and photo documentation were wanted. (In the early ’70s, even Reserve units who traveled in hostile regions had to undergo SERE training).

My best memories were multiple catapults and cable arrests in a T/A-4 off the USS John F. Kennedy (CV-67). My worst memory was of my wingman on that exercise, Cmdr. Greene, being lost in a fireball during a midnight bombing run over North Vietnam just weeks after being hosted at our home for dinner. My oldest son was by this time a junior at Andover.

cavalry attack during the Battle of Five Forks. It was a major Union victory, with the capture of thousands of Confederate troops and severing of Rebel supply lines.

Lee surrendered eight days later.

At Five Forks, Tucker was again shot, wounded in the left leg. While hospitalized, Tucker was promoted to captain. Sent to Boston to recuperate, Capt. Tucker visited his father in Andover in May. He was discharged on June 1, 1865. Tucker headed back to the California goldfields, trying his luck once again. But by 1870 he was married and settled in the Bay Area, employed by the Central Pacific as a crew boss. He joined the GAR (Grand Army of the Republic, the largest and most politically powerful Union veterans organization) and met in reunion with California Battalion friends. Due to ongoing debility caused by his wounds, Tucker received a veteran’s pension.

On balance, Samuel Francis Tucker was fortunate: he survived the nation’s deadliest war. Recent research reveals that, of more than 800 Andover alumni who served in the U.S. military during the Civil War, at least 117 died. We honor their sacrifice.

The documentary films I made in and for the Navy always had walk-through narrator roles by Hollywood friends, patriots all: John Wayne in one, Dick van Dyke in another.

When, in November 1983, an Iranianbacked Hezbollah truck bomb detonated A Life’s Commission continued on page 4

As commander of the Navy’s West Coast Combat Camera Group and the Naval Air Reserve Mobile Photo Unit, Flynn and his team were sent around the world to film and shoot whatever the Navy asked for, including training films.

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A Life’s Commission continued from page 3

the biggest explosion since WWII The Power of a at the U.S. Marine Barracks in Unifying Purpose Beirut, killing 241 Marines and When Desert Storm ramped up, Sailors, I got a call from Bob I requested to be reactivated, Hope, a greater man than anyone but I was in my 60s and the will ever realize, insisting that he Navy declined. My son, who get to Beirut to comfort the surhad served aboard nuclear vivors and response teams. The subs in the Reagan years, also Pentagon gave a green light to the asked to be reactivated. That’s two of us. We choppered in off pretty much how my family the Iwo Jima with a SEAL Team is. At 91, I would still be in the escort, the pilots jinking and juking Navy if I could be. My heart to avoid surface-to-air missiles. At tells me I never left; the rest this, one of the SEALs asked me of me reluctantly concedes to over the rotor noise if Hope was reality’s rebuttal. My youngest scared. I yelled in Hope’s ear, “He son served in the Sunni Triangle wants to know if you’re scared.” in 2005–2006. Believe what Flynn and John Wayne arrive at Naval Air Station Los Alamitos in Southern California Hope said, “Of what?” veteran parents tell you: it’s in 1978. Wayne narrated Flynn’s documentary Years later I learned that one tougher to have your child there about the Seabees (United States Naval of the SEALs was the son of a than to be there yourself.

Construction Battalions).

Sailor who had served in my unit I thank Andover for supyears earlier. Adding to my sense porting all of us in those days. of the Divine Hand that nudges us together in times Dreams and destinies are best fulfilled within a unifyof trial, my son later made acquaintance with the ing purpose. We had that in abundance then. I pray SEAL who was assigned protective sniper over watch for its perpetual renewal. for us when we landed in Beirut.

Harry Flynn graduated from Harvard in 1953. He and his wife, Pam, live in West Toluca Lake, California, and have four sons: Harrison ’75, Paul, Sidney, and Timothy.

From the Editor Happy New Year, AATM family! We normally publish our fall Blue Guidon around Veterans Day, but it took a little extra time to complete our exciting cover story; more on that in a moment.

Your AATM executive committee, in conjunction with the school, hosted another fine Veterans Day gathering in November, this year with guest speaker Ali Ghaffari ’98, LCDR USN (Ret.). There is nothing quite like getting together in person on our glorious campus.

We veterans celebrate freedom and fellowship, and our annual dinner reflects that focus.

Now to our cover story. Our mission was to enlist one of our senior veterans to pen an article. Harry Flynn ’48 kindly obliged, and we humbly think his piece was well worth the wait. My charge to you, readers, is to gather and share more stories from our older alumni veterans (friends, fathers, mothers, classmates). Write them down or record the conversation. There are lessons to be learned from our senior veterans, and their history matters.

Let’s not wait any longer. Now is the time. Go!

—Robert Tuller ’82, P’22, ’23

THE BLUE GUIDON

The Newsletter of Andover and the Military Vol. 10, No. 1 Published biannually by the Office of Academy Resources, Phillips Academy

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EDITOR

Robert Tuller ’82, P’22, ’23

ASSOCIATE EDITOR

George Rider ’51, P’86, GP’22

HISTORIAN

David Chase, Faculty Emeritus

EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE James Donnelly ’82, Chair Robert Tuller ’82, P’22, ’23 Don Way ’63 Kenny Weiner ’96

CURRENTLY SERVING IN THE ACTIVE AND RESERVE FORCES Yong Seong Cho ’21 Alexander Grande ’21 David Graves ’21 Matt Veneri ’21 William McGrath ’21 Zachary Peng ’21 Mackenzie Lucas ’20 Joseph Kacergis ’19 Jack O’Neil ’19 Neil Thorley ’19 Nicholas Isenhower ’18 Joseph Simourian ’18 Larson Tolo ’18 Annette Bell ’16 Benjamin Bolduc ’16 AnnaMaria Dear ’16 Anirudh Murali ’16 Eleanor Blum ’15 Nicholas Forti ’15 Eden Livingston ’15 Marcus Thompson ’15 Renee LaMarche ’14 Thomas Mullen ’14 Alexandra Bell Farr ’13 William O’Donnell ’13 Taylor Perkins ’12 Christopher Kent ’11 Lyra Silverwolf ’11 Adrian Lehnen ’10 Ansley White ’10 Jake Bean ’08 Hanson Causbie ’08 Jess Choi ’08 Lauren Johnson ’07 Anna Nettleship ’07 Helal Syed ’07 Brendan de Brun ’06 Connor Flynn ’06 Jenn Bales ’04 Livy Coe ’04 Steve Draheim ’04 Nick Ksiazek ’03 Cat Reppert ’02 Eric Chase ’01 Gil Barndollar ’00 Charles Fuller ’00 Jarreau Jones ’00 Matthew Sullivan ’00 Hunter Washburn ’00 Grancis Santana ’99 Luis Gonzalez ’97 Michelle Kalas ’97 Rush Taylor ’96 Kenny Weiner ’96 Randy Allen ’95 Rebecca Calder ’94 Ryan Shann ’93 Craig Der Ananian ’91 Eric Hawn ’89 Douglas Creedon ’79

This list, based on data we receive from alumni, may be incomplete. If you know of someone who should be added, please email Mary Corcoran at mcorcoran@andover.edu.