The Basement Files: Diaries of war

A Banner Day

First off, none of us considers himself a hero. Nothing of the sort. If we managed to accomplish something remarkable against impossible odds...well, sir, it's just because we were trained by the finest officers in the best damn navy in the world. And this is our story.

My name is Paul Whetsel and I'm a seaman-second class aboard the aircraft carrier USS Lincoln. I work on the flight deck in what we call fire control. It's a dangerous job, but I love it. It was April 28, 2003, and we were three days out of San Diego when word was passed that President Bush would be landing on our ship.

Well, we were plenty excited, let me tell you. But our excitement soon gave way to concern when we heard that the president's advance team hadn't had time to set up a proper photo op. The rumor on the ship was that they were gonna photograph the president--our president, mind you--with no regard for a beautiful, stirring background that might lend itself to campaign contribution brochures. Let me set you straight about something...my president isn't gonna be photographed against a bland apolitical backdrop. Not on my watch, Mister.

Well, me and my buddies decided right then and there to do something about it. You think you know what's inside a guy when you work with him every day over a 10-month deployment. But until you go through hell with a guy, you don't know nothing about him. And until we started plotting, I had no idea my best friend on board, Ensign Steve deMarco, had been a set designer in Hollywood. Now he tells me.

Steve said if he were staging it, he'd put the president on the forward deck, before a half-circle of officers in their working khakis. That way, Steve explained, the president's regal blue suit would really stand out against the drab, tan foreground. Man, I didn't even know you could think of stuff like that. Steve said he'd shoot the president from below, with the carrier's island structure just over Bush's right shoulder. According to Steve, the image was instantly readable symbolism for strength and leadership.

Steve said he'd even color-coordinate the crew. He'd put enlisted guys in their dress whites on the top railing of the conning tower, the deck below crowded with guys in their blue-on-blue working utilities. According to Steve, the color gradient would force the eye upward, toward his crowning achievement: a 30-foot banner that would read "Mission Accomplished." Steve said if it was framed just right, the shot would set records for campaign donations. I gotta tell ya, some of these queer guys are amazing.

Me and my buddies drew straws to see who would present the idea to Cmdr. Kelly. You guessed it. I lost.

Rear Admiral John Kelly is just the kind of leader you want at sea: strong but fair. I told him what me and the guys were cooking up and he listened patiently.

"I like your initiative, Seamen Whetsel," Kelly said. "I do. It shows spunk. But I can't allow it."

"Well, sir," I sputtered, "it's just that it'd mean so much to the fellas."

"Dammit, don't you think I know that?" Kelly said. "I'd do anything to make this crew happy. But it's a naked, partisan political ploy and I can't allow it on the taxpayers' dime."

I knew he was right, but, golly, it just felt wrong. If any president deserved a fancy banner that he knew absolutely nothing about beforehand, by God it was this one. But I just snapped off a smart salute and went back to my quarters to break the news to some heartbroken sailors. A lot of guys would have said that's that. A lot of guys would have just quit. But it ain't in us, and I'll always wonder if Cmdr. Kelly knew that when he turned us down.

Still, we were pretty desperate. On a hunch, I called Karl Rove, the president's chief political strategist. I guess it showed some disrespect for the chain of command, but I had to try. But once I got a hold of Mr. Rove, he wasn't one bit more encouraging.

"We're touched by your support," Rove said, "but this president doesn't go for that kind of showboating. We'll stage a tailhook landing in an S-3B Viking and then the president will strut around the deck in a flight suit, but there won't be any grandstanding. I hope I've made myself clear on that point."

Well, he certainly had. Gosh, all we wanted to do was support the president, but our every effort was thwarted by his rigorous honor and decorum. So how did we fool the best minds in Washington, silk-screen a giant banner and then force the president to be photographed in front of it? That I can't tell you, but I will share one last anecdote.

About an hour before the president arrived, Rove landed with his advance team. He'd no sooner stepped from his plane than he spotted the banner and furrowed his brow. "Now, goddammit," Rove shouted, "I expressly forbade any background that might portray the president in a flattering light. Now I want the responsible party to step forward."

Well, I might have disobeyed a command, but I wasn't about to make the whole crew pay for it. I stepped forward and said, "I'm afraid I did it, sir."

I won't kid you, the way Karl Rove was scowling at me, I was terrified. But all the sudden that scowl melted into the softest smile I've ever seen and Mr. Rove said, "Come here, you son of a bitch. I could just about kiss you."