A younger veteran whom I mentored calls me “Madam Geezer.” It’s meant affectionately, recognizing my “old salt” perspective. It also acknowledges that I have lots of sea stories, many starting “Back in my day…” or “Back when I was in the fleet…”

In the mid-1970s, coming home from a family gathering in Brooklyn, I saw a destroyer sailing into New York harbor. It was a clear, crisp fall day; the water was like glass. The ship was steaming at speed with a large white bow wave and the national ensign stiff in the breeze. I turned to my dad and said, “I want to be part of that.”

From that moment on, I wanted to become a naval officer. I wanted to serve and be part of something bigger than myself. When the time came for college, I had only one school in mind: the Naval Academy. (My “safety” sc

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