Carl

     In 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 20^th 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. This 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 preceded 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! Some how, some way, he had conquered and won! His racist Commander almost "blew a gasket!"

 

     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 waiver 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 hundred 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 its 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 Brashear’s 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 "Unconventional Devotions" Copyright 2005

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