Jamal's Last Day

Jamal took the last framed photograph off the wall and placed it next to the cardboard box on his desk. He looked at it closely, not knowing why he’d left that one until last.

He stepped back from the desk and the pile of mementos, looked around the bare walls of the office, and sighed softly.

Charlie stuck his head into the office, coffee cup in hand. “How’s it going, Master Chief?”

“Just finishing packing the last couple of boxes. You can send the working party in and have them cart all of it out to my car once I’m done.”

“Roger that, Master Chief.”

“Knock it off, Charlie. You don’t have to call me Master Chief when it’s just the two of us.”

Charlie laughed softly. “I know, Jamal. But since it’s your last day, I figured I’d give you the courtesy.”

Jamal sat down behind his desk. At least it was still his desk until 1400, when his retirement ceremony was scheduled to be completed. Then it would be someone else’s desk.

For the moment, he just sat there, memories beginning to flash through his mind as he looked at the photograph on top of the pile.

Charlie eased into the room, his knees popping as he sat in the low vinyl chair across from the desk. He set his mug down on the bare wood, the ceramic making a sharp clack.

“You okay, man? You look a million miles away.”

“Yeah. Just memories. Hard to believe it’s been thirty years since I stepped off the bus at Great Lakes.”

“Goes by quick, don’t it?”

“It does. I never thought I’d make Chief, let alone Master Chief, then all the way up to Fleet Master Chief.”

“You put in the time and the effort, Jamal,” Charlie said softly. “Nobody knows what the Navy will throw at you. You met the challenge, and here you are.”

“It wasn’t always like that, Charlie,” Jamal mused. “I still had some growing up to do, even when I was a first class and on my first ship. Thank God I had a Chief who put in the time and effort to square me away and help me become a leader and mentor.”

“Who was that?”

“Chief Kenz, aboard the USS Retriever, a rescue and salvage ship out of Pearl Harbor. He retired a few years ago as a warrant officer.”

Jamal paused, remembering. “There was a real hard-charger aboard back then too. Kid named Rico Hunter. He got out and runs an oil company, last I heard.”

“Was he one of your mentees?”

Jamal snorted. “Total opposite. He and I went head-to-head, and I lost. He didn’t gloat, though. He helped me up and kept helping me until the day I transferred. I used to think about what he did, and it helped shape who I became later. Chief Kenz gets most of the credit, though. He RSVP’d for the retirement, so I’ll introduce you to him.”

“I’d like to meet him, even if he is a quitter,” Charlie joked.

Jamal laughed. “Yeah, I used to give everyone who left the Chief’s Mess to accept a warrant officer or Limited Duty Officer commission a ton of grief. All in good fun, though.”

“Always,” Charlie said with a laugh.

Jamal picked up the photograph and passed it across the desk to Charlie.

“Old ship. What class?”

“Bolster-class rescue and salvage ship. Built at the tail end of the war and finally decommissioned in 1996. Fifty years of service.”

Jamal rummaged through another box and pulled out a photo album, flipping through the pages until he found the one he wanted.

“Here’s a picture of all of us on the fantail during a promotion ceremony,” Jamal said, pointing to each face in the photograph. “Chief Kenz, me, RM1 Hunter, then Crandle, Roberts, and Conner.”

Charlie stared at the photograph, then looked up at Jamal, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Lord almighty, you were all young and skinny, weren’t you? Look at that waistline.”

Jamal laughed. “Yeah, I was a real gym rat back in those days.”

Charlie grinned. “I remember when I didn’t have to lean so far over to see my feet.”

“Blame Carol’s cooking for that,” Jamal ribbed.

“Hey, she’s just keeping me plump so other women know I’m taken,” Charlie shot back, completely unbothered.

The laughter subsided, leaving the room quiet again.

Jamal reached into the box and pulled out a heavy, carved wooden command plaque with a tarnished brass crest. He ran his thumb over the engraved letters.

“This is where I was stationed when I put on the hat. When I made Chief. I was scared to death when the skipper told me I was taking over as the Leading Chief for the whole division.”

Charlie leaned forward to look at the crest. “I remember that base. It’s a housing development now, isn’t it?”

Jamal nodded, his eyes darkening slightly. “Yeah. I think about half the commands and stations I served at have been bulldozed or turned into museums by now.”

“Same for me,” Charlie said softly, his humor vanishing. “Only one of my old ships is still cutting water. All the others are razor blades or artificial reefs by now.”

Jamal turned the plaque over in his hands.

“I remember when I reported to my first destroyer as the Radio Chief. I had this young kid from New York working for me. I swear it was like looking into a mirror.”

“Problem child?”

“The dictionary definition of a problem child.” Jamal groaned. “It took me a year to get him squared away. I almost gave up a couple of times, but then I’d hear Chief Kenz in my head, and I’d keep working with him until he finally saw the light. Went on to be a great sailor. I saw his name on the Senior Chief promotion list a couple of years ago.”

Jamal set the plaque down and rummaged through the box again. After a moment, he pulled out an envelope, its edges softened from years of handling.

“I got this years ago, after I left my first Command Master Chief billet.”

Charlie leaned forward. “What’d it say?”

Jamal unfolded the letter and began to read aloud.

“Master Chief, you probably don’t remember me. My name is Sara Kowalski, and I was in Deck Division when you were the CMC. I remember coming to your office after we’d been out to sea for a month, crying my eyes out. You didn’t yell at me or tell me I was being stupid or anything like that. You just sat there and listened to me, then gave me some advice I never forgot. You said, ‘You’re a sailor now. You can achieve anything you want to do if you’re willing to work hard and put in the effort it’s going to take to reach that goal. Never let anyone tell you that you can’t do something just because you’re a girl.’ Well, I just graduated from college and am now an Ensign. Thank you, Master Chief.”

Charlie smiled. “Sounds like she remembered you.”

Jamal didn’t answer.

He carefully folded the letter along its old creases and slipped it back into the envelope.

After a moment, he looked around the empty office.

“Not sure what tomorrow’s going to look like, though.”

Charlie reached for his coffee cup on the corner of Jamal’s desk. “Want some advice from an old retired Senior Chief who’s already walked this plank?”

Jamal looked up. “Sure.”

“The first six months are going to be the roughest. Looking in the closet, seeing your uniforms hanging there, knowing you’re never going to put them on again as an active-duty sailor. Getting that retired ID card. Watching the Navy go on without you. It doesn’t miss a beat.” Charlie paused. “Those feelings... they’re the worst.”

He held up his hand.

“But after a while, it starts to hurt a little less. One morning you realize you don’t automatically reach for the uniform anymore.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Every single day. The pride of service, the sense of belonging, the camaraderie of a good Chief’s Mess, getting underway, pulling into a liberty port. Those are the good memories.”

Charlie stopped for a moment, then placed his cup back down onto Jamal's desk. “You know the bad parts as well. Missing important milestones with the family, months out to sea, the extended deployments, the way the Navy takes everything you have because of the ‘needs of the service.’ Those memories tend to bleach out over time. The good ones are what stay behind.”

Jamal nodded. “You miss out on a lot of things when you choose this life. Today, I’m Fleet Master Chief Looms. People stand up when I walk into the room. Tomorrow?” He gave a humorless little chuckle. “Tomorrow I’m just another old guy shopping at the commissary on a Tuesday morning, blocking the aisle with my cart. People start to forget who you were and what you did real fast.”

“You’ll remember, Jamal. What you don’t know is how many sailors you influenced over the years. You remember the problem children, but what about all the others you led, trained, and mentored? The ones who weren’t problem children?” Charlie nodded toward the envelope on the desk. “You may not remember all of them, but I guarantee they remember you.”

Jamal looked at the letter.

Charlie paused, then grinned. “Just promise me you won’t be one of those guys who lives at the Chief’s Club telling old sea stories everybody’s heard at least a hundred times.”

Jamal looked at the empty walls, then back at his friend, the weight in his chest lifting just enough for him to breathe.

He smiled. “I promise.”

“Well, you’d better change into your whites. I hear it’s bad manners to be late to your own retirement ceremony.”

Jamal snorted. “What, you think they’d start without me?”

Charlie stood and reached for his coffee cup. “Stranger things have been known to happen. I’ll see you out there.”

Jamal watched him leave.

For another moment, he sat alone behind the desk that would belong to someone else before the afternoon was over.

Then he picked up the album and stared at the faded photograph of the Retriever sailors.

Chief Kenz. Rico. Crandle. Roberts. Conner.

All of them young. All of them frozen in a moment that had seemed ordinary at the time.

Jamal smiled faintly and placed the album carefully into the last box. He set Sara's letter beside it, then folded the cardboard flaps closed.

He looked around the empty office one last time.

Thirty years packed surprisingly well.

Jamal picked up the box and headed for the door.