The Inspection

How about one more story of a time when I had a bad haircut? I’ve had my share of them. I have a good stylist (hate that word!) that cuts my hair these days and she does a great job, so I have all-but-adopted-her into my family. You can do that when you find one that does an almost perfect job; it is allowed in my book. But back to the bad haircut…

My time spent in the military was not all that difficult for me. I was good at taking orders because I always figured that if someone was placed in a position of leadership, then they knew what they were doing. That may sound naïve, but sooner or later we all have to trust somebody. I think it was probably early June in 1987 or so, but the person in charge of our group advised us that our base was going to have a special visit for the upcoming Fourth of July weekend – an Admiral from Washington DC of considerable notoriety. Sea-stories abounded of how ruthless he could be when performing dress inspections. It was said that not only would he spend several minutes meticulously going over each person in formation, but in the past he had gone as far as to remove a credit card from his wallet and slide it under the heel of a sailor to ascertain if his shoes were worn beyond specifications. We were admonished not to waste time polishing our brass belt buckles, but to purchase new ones. And we were also told to buy chlora-fram shoes because no amount of polish would ever be enough to escape the judgment of his keen eye. Our group leader reported that the Base Commander had upped the ante by ordering that anyone who failed the inspection would be required to stay on base and perform work details during the holiday. As you can probably guess, we were dismissed from muster that morning with a sense of impending doom surrounding our thoughts and conversations.

For me, the plan of action was obvious. With the trust of a child, I decided that I was going to do exactly as I had been instructed. I went by the exchange and bought a new brass belt buckle and a belt. I also purchased a pair of the recommended, ultra-shiny shoes. My dress uniform was almost new and had been worn only a few times, so I decided I was covered. But as an extra precaution, I dropped the uniform off by the cleaners and had it professionally-pressed, complete with starched creases at all the right locations on the shirt and pants. I may have spent fifty dollars or so (that was a long time ago!), but I could rest easy in knowing that I was fully prepared.

As the weeks went by, more and more rumors began to surface and each new tale seemed to have the ability to top the last one. I began to worry that maybe my extra preparation would still not be enough, and one of my friends was in the same frame of mind. So the week before the scheduled inspection, we drove over to the Navy base, specifically for the purpose of allowing a barber for ‘the few and the proud’ to cut our hair. Words cannot describe the result of our actions even to this date. Of course we were the objects of derision when we returned to our station, and the butt of not-a-few jokes. Our heads were almost shaved, and I believe that the length of our hair was even shorter than it had been back in boot camp. This was all well and good for my partner – he lived on base. I was still living in my hometown and life there was worlds away from my day-to day activities as a member of the Coast Guard. My family was shocked, and I specifically remember that my younger sister cried. She said she ‘felt sorry for me’. I guess I did look pitiful. By the way, there are no surviving pictures of that time in my life - I've managed to destroy the evidence.

A day or so before the scheduled arrival of the Admiral, several things happened that set the rumor-mills spinning around our base yet again. There was trouble in a small country called Grenada, and a big meeting had been planned in Washington involving all of the higher-up brass and muckity-mucks of the military services. It was rumored that the Admiral was not coming, and instead planned on sending one of his staff members to perform the inspection. We breathed a sigh of relief; except for those of us that had gone the extra mile in preparation. I was despondent, thinking that I had spent money and my time preparing in vain and would also have to live with the haircut for quite a few months. All that morning I accepted good-natured slaps on the back and ribbing from my friends because they ‘did not panic’ as I apparently did.

The morning of the inspection dawned hot and humid, as we made our way into formation on the levee behind the Base Office. Through the towering oak trees we watched the front gate, anticipating the arrival of the Admiral’s poge (desk-jockey) who would shortly arrive and inspect us by proxy. Afterward a bar-b-cue had been planned, and then we were all going to be allowed to leave work early and begin the holiday weekend with our families and friends. Morale was high that morning, and everyone spoke of their plans and what they were going to do for the Fourth. It was shaping up to be a good day.

In front of the base, a motorcade appeared on Urquhart Street, and the formation grew silent as we watched it approach. Security did not detain them as they drove straight through the front gate, and an audible moan emanated from our formation as we noted the Admiral’s flag flying from a limousine. He was here, despite the rumors and reports that he was not coming. Ironically, from where we were located, you could see the store-window of the Base Exchange. And located in that window, within our sight and on display, just happened to be brass belt buckles along with shiny new shoes. A journey of fifty-feet or less could have placed any of us inside the store and at the counter, but it was simply too late to take that walk. The Admiral had arrived, he was here on base, and he meant business.

Out of seventy-six sailors in formation that morning, forty-six were gigged for various uniform infractions. Of those forty-six, twenty-five failed the inspection altogether. I passed and if I remember correctly, he barely spent any time on me at all other than to turn to his note-keeper and state ‘ET Petty Officer Johnson, good job’.

But then again, I was prepared for his visit.

There is another inspection coming up for all of us. I am spending my time getting prepared for it now and I hope you are, too. The One who is coming will be much tougher than a mere Coast Guard Rear Admiral, and His verdict will be final once His judgment has been passed. There will be no pleas for clemency, and no second chances will be awarded at that time. How sad it would be to face that day with a pocket-full of ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’. Are you ready?

“And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heaven fled away; and there was found no place for them. And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened: and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works.” Revelations 20