Greek and Roman times, athletes ran for an earthly crown. These
fine men were content to wear a laurel of leaves around their foreheads, and
felt proud to do so.
Carl Brashear is
among the most extraordinary men of our generation, though not one in a
thousand has heard his name, or knows anything about him.
Carl’s father was a
black dirt farmer, in the first half of the 20th century, and
struggled throughout his life to just “make ends meet” and feed his children.
He was determined that his son would not follow in his footsteps.
“The Old Man” urged
Carl to “push the envelope” in terms of doing whatever it took to work the
system, (though segregation stymied so many heroic efforts to break out of the
same old way of doing things.) We see the old man with tears in his eyes, as he
says: “Carl, don’t end up like me, and don’t you ever look back.” As a result,
young Brashear decided to make a career in the U.S. Navy, though he knew the
challenges would be extreme.
At that time, though
President Truman had generally outlawed military segregation, most blacks
served as cooks, valets and in other menial positions within the uniformed
services. True to form, young Carl was assigned as a cook on a particular naval
ship.
If we are to believe
the movie version of his life, he decided to go swimming with the white sailors
one sunny day. It seems that whites and blacks were given liberty to swim in
the waters surrounding their ship, but on different
days of the week. While Carl served time in the brig for that “high jinx,” he
didn’t escape the notice of his Captain. Ultimately, “Cookie,” as some called
him, was assigned as a Navy rescue swimmer. He was on his way!
It was in that role
that he was first exposed to underwater diving, and all that the profession
could offer him. Most of us have seen films of sponge divers wearing those
bulky diving suits, topped off with the heavy copper helmet. This was exactly
the type of diving paraphernalia that so appealed to Carl.
Underwater repair was a dangerous profession and was heretofore
limited to white applicants. That was about to change. Carl was still pressing
the envelope.
Needless to say, he
was extremely unpopular, and many white divers refused to “bunk” with him. His
senior enlisted trainer was bigoted and did whatever he could to “send him down
the proverbial road.” Training was extraordinarily difficult in any case, and
many men “washed out” before finishing the course.
Brashear failed a few
written exams, having only completed seventh grade. Many trips to a local black
library allowed him access to resources and study time, and he managed to just
keep up. But keep up he did.
The crucial day dawned, and every candidate
was required to assemble a valve combination in murky underwater conditions.
The “powers that be” were determined to deny Carl his just reward, and
our hero was aware of that decision going into that last test. But Brashear was
more determined than they to thwart their plans against him.
Several divers were
lowered into the cold muddy waters, as air pumps labored to supply their lungs
with life-giving oxygen. As each man reached the sea bottom, tool bags were
also lowered; bags containing every essential nut, bolt, valve and tool
required to complete the final training task.
Carl waited several
minutes for his bag, and when it came, it came in pieces. His senior trainer
had slit Brashear’s bag, which allowed the dozens of parts and tools to drop
like rain around him. Obviously, Carl was horrified, and prone to “chuck it all.”
But he remembered his father’s admonition, and began work.
Most of the diver
trainees finished in two or three hours, and signaled to be pulled up. One by
one they came to the surface, their work preceding them on separate ropes. One
by one the valve assemblies were inspected and approved, and the divers were
congratulated for their efforts. Carl was still deep beneath the surface
tightening bolts, and searching the muddy bottom for his next piece.
Eight, Nine, Ten Hours
ticked by, and Carl continued. The numbing cold of the ocean strained his
ability to stay there. His hands shook almost uncontrollably. His words were
slurred, as he communicated with those on the barge above. The senior trainer
urged him to come up. “You know you’re doomed to fail, Carl. Give it up!” But
our hero wouldn’t give it up.
After an interminable amount of time, the trainee signaled to be
pulled up. His work proceeded him. Complete and perfect; not a part missing.
Carl had pulled off an almost impossible task. The Navy Diver Trainee was
promoted to Navy Diver! Somehow, some way, he had conquered and won! His racist
Commander almost “blew a gasket!”
Pt. 2
Carl Brashear would
go on to win many medals, and much acclaim among his peers and superiors.
However, on one particular mission, his foot was mangled, and had to be amputated.
At this point, things looked very doubtful for The Navy Diver. Though he was
determined to advance to the title and rank of Master Diver, and eventually
earn a navy retirement, fate seemed to have finally conspired against him.
But not if Carl had
anything to do with it! He applied for a wavier to automatic dismissal and
medical retirement. While the odds were stacked against him, the still young
and strong man pushed the envelope one more time. He was fitted with an
artificial leg, and began to jog and do various strength exercises.
The crucial day
dawned, and a military court was assembled to decide Brashear’s fate. Testimony
was taken, and reporters strained to capture every word. Our Young Black
Patriarch, the first of his kind, was still pressing the system.
Suddenly the court
doors were flung open, and a “new and improved” diving suit was wheeled into
the large chamber. Three hundreds pounds of canvass, and brass hung suspended
from a diving stand.
The military judge made
himself clear. “Chief Brashear, you will outfit yourself and will demonstrate
your capability to walk twelve steps in this diving suit.” While nothing was
promised, it was generally understood that this was Carl’s Test of All Tests.
Everything depended on this crucial moment in his life.
The veteran diver
outfitted himself, complete with the heavy metal helmet, and stood up. The
weight of the suit beckoned him to sit back down. But he would not yield
to the temptation. The slick linoleum tiles made his task the more difficult.
He pressed on.
One step, two steps,
and three and four. Sweat dripped profusely down his face. His back and upper
body began to sag. He found himself bending forward with the massive weight of
the diving outfit. One more step, and another. The judge, jury and spectators
found themselves silently cheering him on. Carl paused a few times, and felt he
could not go on, only to remember again, his father’s admonition.
The artificial limb
hindered him, and Carl began to question the sanity of this almost futile
attempt to remain in the service. But just like Sir Edmund Hillary, the
conqueror of Mount Everest… “When he had gone as far as he could possibly go,
he took one more step!”
The movie depicted
that same racist non-commissioned officer in a new role. For here, in court, he
urged Carl forward. Standing at the front of the room, he ordered him to take
those last few steps.
Step Eleven and Step
Twelve, and Chief Brashear “toed the line,” and the courtroom cheered it’s
encouragement and relief.
Carl Brashear was
retained in the United States Navy, and served his country for several more
years, before receiving a full and honorable retirement from his beloved service.
He was the pace setter; the first of his kind. Master Diver Brashear was the
first black to earn the title of Navy Diver. He was the first of his race to
achieve Master Diver status. He was the first amputee approved to remain in the
U.S. Navy. Carl was perfectly content to SWIM against the tide.
We settle for far too
little. “Can’t” is too easy to verbalize and achieve. There aren’t enough Carl
Brashears in our culture. We don’t press the envelope enough. We are content
with the mediocre.
Master Diver
Brashear’s exploits remind me of Paul’s poignant words:
“I beat my body into submission… that I might win Christ. I PRESS
towards the prize. And
while I have not yet attained, and though I’m
not all that I will be, I
push forward, not content to just wile away my
time or just get by.” (Phil. 3:8, MPV)
by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 37. Copyright pending
If you wish to copy, share or 'save' please include the credit line, above
by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 37. Copyright pending
If you wish to copy, share or 'save' please include the credit line, above
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