This is the statement of Charlie (C.J.) Hill made at the event--many thanks to Ed Riley for his assistance:
First, let me say that I am deeply honored to be here for the raising of the merchant marine flag and recognition of the centuries of service to our country by merchant mariners.
The very existence of the Merchant Marine and the 6 state and one federal maritime academies has been one of the best kept secrets which the display of this flag will help dispel.
I am a 1965 graduate of the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy, also known as Kings Point
And my family has a long history with the Academy.
My great uncle worked there during World War II and my grandparents ran the Petty Officer’s club after the war.
One of my sons, Morgan, is a 2000 Kings Point graduate.
And his twin sister, Kristen (who is here), married a 1998 graduate, Derrick Kirsch.
I also have a cousin, Bruce Hackett, who is a 1967 graduate of SUNY Maritime College.
Then there is the black sheep of the family, my other son, Trevor, who is a 1997 West Point graduate and currently a Green Beret Colonel—and spoke here on Memorial Day 30 years ago while a Cadet.
But my family’s history with the Merchant Marine goes back further.
My grandmother’s brother was a ship’s captain just at the end of the age of sail and spent his life at sea.
And my father worked at Todd Shipyards during World War II—even doing repairs on a ship that I wound up sailing on over 20 years later.
So, I couldn’t be more pleased and proud to see the merchant marine flag take its place along with the flags of the other services to honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice.
It was a hard-earned flag.
250,000 merchant mariners served in World War II
9,500 did not return, the highest death rate of any of the services.
142 of them were Cadets from Kings Point who were killed when sent in harm’s way as part of their training before graduating; which gives Kings Point the honor as the only Federal Academy of the five to fly a battle flag in its colors formation.
There is a memorial at Kings Point in front of the alter in the chapel which contains a book which lists all the 9,500 names plus the names of those killed in World War I; and every day a page in the book is turned so all are remembered.
And carved in marble around the base of the monument are the words: “Tell America we died for her and that we rest content”.
To honor them I would like to recite the words of what is referred to as the Navy hymn.
The music is haunting but the words have deep meaning:
"Eternal Father, strong to save, whose arm has bound the restless wave. Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep, its own appointed limits keep. So here us when we cry to thee for those in peril on the sea.”
Anyone who has spent any time at sea is likely to have been in that peril at some time; as the sea can be a very dangerous place; as this village so painfully knows.
For me that peril came while I was still a Cadet in early 1963 during my year of required training on actual commercial vessels.
Returning from Europe on board the SS American Forester, while asleep in the upper bunk, I was awakened on my way down from the overhead, hearing a tremendous indescribable cracking noise, while a surge of water knocked open our room’s door and came rushing in.
It wasn’t difficult to conclude that what we were experiencing was a horrific storm which, according to the mate on the bridge, hit us with 150 mile-per-hour winds and 100-foot waves.
The indescribable noise was the splitting of plating down the port side of the hull just in front of the midship’s house.
The mate managed to turn the ship around so we were running with the waves rather than crashing into and over them.
Had he not done so the ship probably would have broken in half when it plowed into the next mountainous wave.
However, running with the waves had its own risks as the waves lifted up the stern, pinning the bow into a brick-wall of water with the consequent risk of capsizing.
I can still remember looking up at those waves as they towered above us, the bow jamming into them and the ship almost coming to a shuddering stop. Perhaps terror would be a better description than peril.
The storm pushed us back to Europe at a speed of 23 knots on a ship whose maximum speed was only 16—with the ship rolling 45 degrees to each side, convincing us with each roll that the ship was about to capsize.
We finally made it back to New York in 18 days instead of the normal 8 or 9.
Only because of the incredible seamanship of the mates and engineers on board that ship am I here today. They are indeed worthy of this flag.
My own service as a ship’s engineer was less dramatic.
Throughout my senior year at Kings Point, the drums of war were beating in Vietnam; and we all knew that we would be headed to that war zone upon graduation.
And sure enough, three days after graduating in August 1965, I boarded an old Victory ship in Charleston, South Carolina bound for Qui Nhon and Cam Ranh Bay with equipment for the 1st Air Cavalry Division.
After returning from Vietnam and trips to several areas of the world, I then found myself once again assigned to the SS American Forester, with the crack down its hull welded shut.
Was I stretching my luck? Could lightning strike twice?
Yes, indeed—another monster storm in winter north Atlantic.
This time my memory is not so much of the towering waves, but of the ketchup bottle that somehow launched itself against the ceiling of the officers’ mess; and of a wooden chair that raced back and forth in my room, smashing itself into splinters as we once again rolled 45 degrees to each side. But at least the hull held tight this time.
After many other voyages, I had one more trip to Vietnam.
My brother was in Saigon with the Army so, planning to meet up with him, I signed onto the SS Boise Victory, which had been pulled out of mothballs for service to Vietnam. We limped across the Pacific with great difficulty, spending one full day bobbing around without power before going up the Saigon River to deliver military equipment and a deck filled with tanks.
On the way back down the river the ship in front of us was ambushed—an ill-conceived attack as the shore line was quickly blown up by attack helicopters escorting our convoy.
Several days later I received a telegram that I had been accepted to Harvard Business School; and my life at sea would soon be over; but not my love for the sea and merchant marine.
My family has been going to Memorial Day celebrations here for the past 50 years and it always saddened me that there was no recognition for the Merchant Marine. That sadness has now been put away with this flag.
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Photos from the ceremony can be viewed by clicking here.
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