Father’s Day

Father’s day has come and gone this year and I enjoyed the gifts and attention I got from my kids and wife. And as in years past, I spent some of the day thinking of my own father. Art Moreau has been dead for nearly 21 years, a victim of a Type-A personality, a fondness for steak and martinis, and a genetic predisposition for heart trouble. When he died he was an Admiral in the US Navy, a strategic planner and a man devoted to his country, his wife and his family.

I was in college when he had a massive heart attack that left him unable to complete his tour of duty in Naples, Italy. He could not accept the fact that the heart attack sidelined him and refused to completely acknowledge it until a second heart attack followed the first by several weeks, finishing the job.

His was a storied career that included planning the invasion of Grenada in 1983. He was home early the evening before the invasion having dinner in front of the television when he suddenly rose, indicating that he had to go to bed early as he was expecting something “interesting” at work the following morning. I remember asking what it was, what could be so interesting to drive my father to bed early? He told me that he’d be at work early and that I should watch the news. The following day I learned of the invasion from Dan Rather. Dad didn’t come home for several days, sleeping in the office because that’s where he was needed.

He planned the interception of the Achille Lauro highjackers in 1985 after terrorists killed a wheelchair-bound American tourist and threw his body overboard. The terrorists negotiated safe passage aboard an airliner bound for Egypt in exchange for leaving the ocean liner. The airliner was brought down by US Navy fighters in Sigonella, Sicily, a NATO base.

When he died he was Commander in Chief of Allied Forces in Southern Europe (CINC AFSouth) as well as Commander in Chief of the US Navy in Europe (CINC USNAV EUR) and next in line to be the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He worked with General Colin Powell and had some part in the Iran-Contra scandal. He is the man who coined the phrase “Star Wars” to describe President Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative.

Above and beyond all of this, he was my father; a man who set the bar high, but who did not miss an opportunity for fun. He taught me how to hot-wire a tractor. He taught me to treat women with respect and dignity. He taught me how to water-ski and to snorkel. We took scuba lessons together when I was 12 so that we could dive on an old Spanish Galleon in the harbor in Subic Bay. He encouraged me to join the Boy Scouts although I didn’t get very far. We camped and we hiked.

He encouraged my brothers and sisters and me to be athletic. My brothers and I all ran track and cross-country. My brother Steve went on to captain the Naval Academy Crew team. Dad’s theory on sports was that kids who came home tired were less likely to get into trouble. It was a faulty theory, one that we disproved time and time again.

He was a sailor and swore like one, knowing exactly what word to use for maximum impact – not for shock but to drive the point home. It’s a talent that I picked up and use to this day. One should have a vast tapestry of swear words at hand to choose from and not rely on a single word; that’s just lazy. Shortly after I started writing in earnest, it occurred to me that my ability to turn a phrase is something that I picked up from him.

Perhaps the best thing he ever taught me was “RFQ2.” Read the fucking question twice. Sort of like “Measure Twice, Cut Once” but better. RFQ2 got me through many an exam in high school, college and grad school.

On this Father’s Day 2007, to my father Admiral Art Moreau: I think of you every day and I miss you still.

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