80/80 CLASS NEWS
’80
Life Membership: 96% Donor Participation: 23.79% Pres: Tim Kobosko Sec’y: CAPT Joseph A. Grace Jr., USNR 15 Allard Blvd., New Orleans, LA 70119 p: 504-915-6711; e: joe.grace@1980.usna.com Website: www.USNA1980.org
Greetings Classmates, The New Year is upon us, Navy just won their Bowl Game, LSU is looking to wrap up a National Championship (GEAUX TIGERS), the Saints are still in the Super Bowl hunt…. it’s been a good year so far! By the time that this is in print we will be able to correct or validate any of the statements above! I hope that 2020 is a fantastic year for the Class of 1980. We have our 40th Reunion in September (11,12,13) and it marks a year of retirements, new beginnings and transition for many. The fact that we’re in the Dark Ages just adds to the excitement of prediction! I have been sending details out on the reunion via email. If you are not receiving them please log into www.usna.com and update your profile, email and personal i nformation. Remember, to attend Saturday’s tailgater and events – YOU MUST BUY A GAME TICKET! More to follow. Also, at the end of the year we said goodbye to Charlie Meyers. Pete Stanford, my old roommate sent in a clipping following the Army Navy game where Eddie Meyers broke the rushing record that was just eclipsed by Perry this year. Same score – think Charlie is watching…You bet! Good to think of you Bogard.
CLASS SECRETARY COLUMN DEADLINES Send to: classnews@usna.com
ISSUE: Jan-Feb ’20 March ’20 April-May ’20 June ’20 July-Aug ’20 September ’20 October ’20 Nov-Dec ’20
DUE DATE: Nov 25, 2019 Dec 26, 2019 Feb 24, 2020 Mar 23, 2020 May 26, 2020 Jun 22, 2020 Jul 27, 2020 Sep 21, 2020
82 SHIPMATE • MARCH 2020
Here are a few small updates that have come in over the past month: Paul Thrasher pwthrasher @gmail.com is still the Senior Plans Advisor at USCYBERCOM and is looking at retirement next year. He has been “Finding fulfillment serving as one of the lay pastors in two churches that just merged in Crownsville, outside Annapolis, enjoying grandkids and following where God leads.” Ron Thompson, ron.thompson @ge.com , reports that he and Susie are planning on attending Navy Notre Dame in Ireland this year. They are busy putting in a pool in their backyard, retiring from GE effective 1 JUN 2020, and planning on staying in Greenville, SC. Larry “LR” Smith, larrysmith@larrysmith.cc, one of our Glee Club marauders, reports that after 43 years and 9 months of Federal Service, he is retiring. He is moving back to Pensacola, FL to enjoy his family life as Grandfather of two boys. He said “I was fortunate to begin my career with the Navy, then work for the Federal Courts. It’s been a privilege to finish my journey as an Army engineer.” Good luck LR! Tom Yates tmyates8@verizon.net wrote in with a memory about our Classmate, Dave Witt who was killed in an
automobile accident on his way home to New Jersey youngster year. Tom said, “Dave was an extremely popular and well-liked member of our 30th Company and Class. We lost a true leader with his passing.” The forty-second anniversary of his death was October 22nd. It’s so important to keep their memories alive! Tom is retiring from Delta Air Lines after 32 years, 8 months and 10 days (but who’s counting). He is planning on staying in his “beloved and dysfunctional” California. As he says – “they can’t ruin the weather or the ocean (too much)!” Conrad Smith, conrad_smith @mac.com, spent the holidays in Baja with all the kids. Pete Kilger, peter.kilger@gmail.com, from the 33rd Herd, just announced that his oldest daughter is expecting – that will make 20 grandchildren…anyone else close? BT Smith, MD, brainonfire@gmail.com checked in for only the second time in 39 years and sent in a big fish tale that certainly is one worth sharing entitled WHAT HAPPENS IN CABO… M This should start with a quote provided by Gerard Coleman: The Fisherman’s Prayer: Lord, let me catch a fish so big that I don’t have to lie. On to the story. Dale asks me if I want to join him in Cabo San Lucas for a few days in August. I agree. Then, he asks me if I want to go fishing. Hesitate, but agree anyway. Then, he tells me we’re trying for tuna, which means we have to go further out. The distance from shore is not the problem. I begin to have visions of one of those 60-knot albacore that tear fishermen out of their chair. The visions go downhill from there. Anyway. Get to Cabo, get to the boat, boat is kind of beat up. We go out about five miles, bait the hooks, set up about six rod and reel combos, and begin trolling. In what seems like only a minute, one of the reels begins to sing. Okay, ‘scream” would a better word. I figure, “What the hell, let me get a fish and get this over with.” I jump into the chair like a man on a mission. Thus, it begins, my fight with something from the Jurassic period,
something that clearly chooses to avoid observation. Never does it do one of those thrashing angry leaps into the air. Manage to get it within twenty yards of the boat numerous times, almost visible. And every time it gets to the point of almost visible, it dives straight down, sounding, taking up to 200 yards of line in a single run. Of course, it just had to hit on the crappiest rod and reel combo we have, one which looks about as old as me. I mean, Dale. As old as Dale! The 60 pound test line has so many nicks and cuts I am afraid it’s going to snap any moment. “Get this over with …” Yeah, I said that. The boat is bouncing about two or three feet in the chop where the Sea of Cortez meets the Pacific Ocean. The waves seem to be meeting from three different directions. Take a few of these waves in my face, dry out, burn, take a few more waves, inhale some diesel smoke. For some reason, my breakfast stays where I put it. For the first two hours, I attempt to reason with the fish: “Just come to the surface, let us take your picture, and we’ll get that hook out of your mouth.” She (as it more than appropriately turns out later) is having none of that shit. Somewhere around the three-hour point, my attitude shifts. This fish needs to pay. For being a glutton and grabbing onto our measly bait. For failure to obey a direct order and come to the boat. At the five-hour point, some tendons and ligaments are saying things I really don’t want to hear (only four shoulder surgeries, the last one for replacement). As much as I hate it, there is no other choice but to … Call in the Marines: “Dale, I think I’m at my limit here. Your turn!” I expect him to just reach down and haul it in, but whatever is on the end of that line has another two hours of fight left! Brice does five hours, Dale does two. He wants to give me the credit, but … I know that the Marine Corps has saved the day. And the Fish!