“You have to meet John Lehman,” Mrs. Maher told me. I believed it. I had to meet him.
John Lehman: the 65th secretary of the navy, or “SECNAV,” I would later learn to abbreviate. John Lehman: LaSalle College High School, class of 1960.
Admittedly, I had not heard of John Lehman before. This was before the alumni hall of fame banners adorned the light posts in our parking lot. He was to be the guest alumni speaker at the fall senior academic convocation. If I too were to become SECNAV, or SECNAV-adjacent—my destiny—I had to meet him. He could pass the torch on to me, LaSalle, class of 2000.
Boys will be boys, but LaSalle boys will be gentlemen. So went the phrase, delivered mostly tongue-in-cheek I had thought. I graduated before it would be posted in large print, above the crucifix, near the flag, at the front of every classroom, apparently not tongue-in-cheek. I imagine it was part in response to our rival St. Joe’s Prep, a Jesuit school, and their Men for others.
Well, John Lehman ‘60 was An Officer and a Gentleman. I don’t think St. Joe’s could boast of a former SECNAV.
Sean didn’t want to meet John Lehman, or even hear him speak. Sean didn’t think I needed to meet or hear from him either. He refused to be impressed. But for all I was concerned, Sean could just keep his thoughts to himself and go back to writing letters to prisoners in Myanmar, or somewhere, for his little Amnesty club. Did he even make the cut for this week’s convocation? If so, would he even come? Why did he care that I cared about Lehman?
John Lehman would know my name. Not Andrew Blank’s or Ryan Fagan’s or Chris Dougherty’s. Certainly not Sean’s. He would know mine, that is, if he didn’t already know it, from the scuttlebutt from earlier convocations, where I had a track record of cleaning up the awards. Perhaps John Lehman had heard about me—future officer and a gentleman—from Brother Rene’s report in The Belcroft or maybe our newspaper, The Wisterian, delivered to his door I presumed, alongside the Wall Street Journal and The New York Times. I was Annapolis-bound or Notre Dame-ROTC-bound, to be decided. Naval-officer-bound regardless, and thus greatness- and leadership-bound--a National Merit Scholar no less--following in the wake of John F. Lehman.
The evening called for blue blazers and khaki pants--standard attire for a LaSalle function. I stayed at school between classes and the event and finished most of my homework in the library. Sean had made the cut and stayed after school, but he didn’t complete homework in the library. He was not Annapolis-, Notre Dame-, or SECNAV-bound.
I was not on the hook for any speeches that evening. They didn’t need me, this time. I had given one at the National Honor Society induction a month prior, on service. Thank you for your service.
There was a smaller music ensemble for the intimate setting--not the full band but nevertheless the full honors. Honor. Mr. C struck up the opening fanfare, and we seated ourselves alphabetically. Parents and faculty sat in the back.
Brother Rene, Mr. Diehl, Mrs. Maher, Dr. D’Angelo, and finally John F. Lehman strode across the stage. Father Janton was there too, already seated. Janton then led the invocation for our convocation, and the band played the anthem for our nation, for us all. Brother Rene, president, delivered his poetic and philosophical welcoming remarks. About two-thirds of the room understood what he was saying--we regular Belcroft readers. The other third pretended to. Mr. Diehl, principal, gave his more concise contribution. Then, John Lehman, 65th Secretary of the Navy and first-cousin-once-removed to Princess Grace, took to the podium.
Lehman started with a few anecdotes from his days at 8605 Cheltenham Avenue. He used an allegory from his rowing days on the Schuylkill as a leadership lesson. He praised our teachers for instilling in us faith and leadership. I recall also his emphasis on our need to remain vigilant as a country, and how we could be and would be a part of that, especially us LaSalle boys. Gentlemen. Especially the ones committed enough to our studies to be at this convocation. The adults in the room. Therefore, maybe even Sean, if he was paying attention, could be part of this project for a new American century that was about to launch.
Lehman didn’t go after the Clinton administration explicitly. But diagonally, he knocked the unfortunate ship reductions and the overall lessened military readiness since the fall of the Berlin Wall and the end of history. Eternal vigilance is the price of freedom. Diagonally, he might have been suggesting more ships. Freedom isn’t free. Peace through strength. There were some slant hits at overall ‘90s social indulgence and ‘90s adolescent ignorance. We weren’t grateful or aware enough of the sacrifices he and previous generations--the greatest generations--had made. We needed to remember our LaSallian values and virtues. He did not deliver direct hits at Heather Locklear, 2Pac, or MTV, but they were implied. And when I thought about particular classmates who couldn’t even put in the time to get second honors and be there to hear this man, I agreed: “We were an indulgent people living in indulgent times, not vigilant and not grateful.” After some final invocations to leadership, John Lehman sat down to applause. On behalf of a grateful nation. I didn’t see whether Sean was clapping. Probably not. Ungrateful.
They called the names for second and then first honors. (For the record, I earned first.) Then they gave out three special “book awards,” and because I was special--All gave some, some gave all--I received one: a vintage dictionary and thesaurus. I shook Doc D and Mrs. Maher’s hands. The Lehman handshake would have to wait. Father Janton then gave the benediction. He closed with the standard “Saint Jean Baptiste de la Salle…” and we responded, “Pray for us.” “Live Jesus in our hearts,” and we, “Forever.” Mr. C and the band struck up the alma mater:
“Hail, La Salle, we praise thee,
Honor and tribute true,
Great and bright your splendor,
Banner of gold and blue.
Loyal sons we’ll ever be,
High we’ll hold your memory,
Hail, La Salle, our Alma Mater,
Hail, all, hail!!”
Gold and blue. Honor. Loyal sons. All these would work for LaSalle, for the Naval Academy, or for Notre Dame.
“Four years together by the Bay,
Where Severn joins the tide,
Then by the Service called away,
We’re scattered far and wide;
But still when two or three shall meet,
And old tales be retold
From low to highest in the Fleet,
We’ll pledge the Blue and Gold.”
“Notre Dame, our mother
Tender Strong and True
Proudly in the heavens gleams thy gold and blue,
Glory's mantle cloaks thee
Golden is thy fame,
And our hearts forever,
Love thee, Notre Dame.”
Did John Lehman notice that I received one of the three book awards that evening? Mine was the College of the Holy Cross Book Award, signed/dedicated by Mr. Chris Matthews, another storied LaSalle alum (and alum of Holy Cross—both LaSallian and Jesuit educated!) Matthews wasn’t there that night, but he had given the keynote at the father-son dinner our sophomore year. He told tales from his days writing speeches for Jimmy Carter and as chief of staff for Tip O’Neill. At the time of the banquet and for many years after, he hosted MSNBC’s Hardball. The day after that banquet, I recall, Pete had noted how Matthews talked too fast and talked about himself the whole time. But, Pete could keep his review to himself. “Matthews, Lehman--they were teaching us how to be LaSalle men. Not boys, Pete (and Sean). Keep up!” Matthews would get his own banner, in the future, near Lehman’s banner, visible before going down 1st Lt. Travis Manion/“If Not Me Then Who?” Way, all between the grand “Enter to Learn” and “Leave to Serve” signs on the way in and out.
Enter to Learn. Leave to Serve. Ex Scientia Tridens. Vita, Dulcedo, Spes. Ave Crux, Spes Unica. Honor, Courage, Commitment.
By the cake and cookies, I chatted with Sean and Matt. I didn’t pay close attention to what they were saying, as I was keeping an eye on John Lehman, for a window to make my first networking move on my path to SECNAV and beyond. I don’t recall whether we called it “networking” yet, there as a high schooler in the 1990s, but that’s what it was. This was necessarily before the alumni business networking events in my future, where I could later hone the technique. This one, though, I’d have to go in cold.
But for all my enthusiasm the previous ten days, I didn’t know what John Lehman and I would talk about?
I didn’t even have the nautical experience of rowing on the Schuylkill to begin with like he did. Could I overcome that deficit? I had attended “summer seminar” at the academy a couple months prior, but Lehman wasn’t an academy guy, so would he be impressed by that?
I certainly would not ask what it was like to be on Kissinger’s staff. Nor would I ask about contras in Nicaragua. Or was it contras in Iran? Or the weapons given to Iraq to fight Iran. Nor would I ask about El Salvador and the US bullets hailed down—all Hail—at the El Mozote massacre. And how it was necessary to destroy the town to save it. Not the School of the Americas, Honduras, Guatemala, nor Rios Montt. Battalion 316, Grenada, Panama, nor all the hearts and minds we won over. I wouldn’t ask about Angola, South Africa, Botha, or de Klerk. I couldn’t ask him about IMF structural adjustment programs, the USS Stark, or the USS Vincennes. Definitely not about funding the mujahideen in Afghanistan or assisting with Pakistan’s nuclear program, although the former hadn’t fully come back to bite us yet, there in 1999. So, maybe Afghanistan was a possibility for discussion.
But I wouldn’t ask him about these things because I didn’t know about these things. I only knew about his leadership and his service.
And to be fair, these were events and developments he as the SECNAV was not directly in charge of. He wasn’t cabinet level. This was before he would be considered as a potential cabinet member for a potential John McCain administration. That other maverick and statesman.
Also, we wouldn’t have much time to talk about all or any of that.
Did Mrs. Maher know about those events, when she hinted--or maybe I’m wishing she hinted--that I could follow in his footsteps?
I definitely couldn’t ask him about General Dynamics and Northrup (later Northrup Grumman), or Ball Corporation. These were names I didn’t know yet. I knew Abington Corporation. Ok, I knew Abington Hospital. Did Brother Rene or Mr. Diehl know anything about all this consulting? I wanted to be an expert, too, to whom others could consult. Maybe I would ask him about the John F. Lehman Company (FLCO), the private equity firm he founded. I knew about “equity,’ from junior year Christian Morality class: in other words, “fairness,” thank you Brother Jim. So, I assumed private equity just meant fairness in one’s private life. Conscience formation, in other words. I could get behind private equity and other LaSallian values--shareholder value--and virtues.
“FLCO's investment strategy is designed to leverage the firm's deep sector and operational expertise to help acquired companies unlock value and achieve their full potential.”
Mission Microwave. Atlas Air WorldWide. Trillium. CTS Engines. Global Marine Group. NorthStar. API Technologies. IMIA. Defense Venture Group.
“Our extensive network of unique relationships and industry expertise has enabled the firm to successfully navigate our core markets, which are large, complex and continue to grow over time.”
No, I couldn’t ask him about these grand ideas, as I wasn’t sure what they meant. I still don’t. I could really use Lehman as my navigator. Furthermore, this was before private equity firms came to own massive segments of the rental-housing market and massive segments of the healthcare market, especially nursing homes, extracting--unlocking value--from renters, from patients, from the aging.
In due time, if the spirit led me, I might leverage deep expertise myself. Lord, help me unlock the value from my depths and reach my full potential, just like Northrup Grumman has unlocked incredible value and reached full potential this past year--a banner year! And so, a banner for Northrup Grumman, too, why not, for the parking lot at 8605. Saint John, baptize me, Lehman--pray for us!
But I digress. For the time being, on that night, John Lehman and I would probably stick to talking about leadership. Not yet brinkmanship or marksmanship. Just leadership. So many ships. As SECNAV, John Lehman had pushed for a 600-ship navy. If you build it, they will come. Come and take it.
As for ships, we didn’t know then that there would be a ship named after him. That night in 1999 was before the word about the USS John F. Lehman (DDG 137) was spoken. (As of this writing, in 2024, it still is before she is incarnated and commissioned.)
And speaking of all the ships, that night was also three and a half years before the USS Cowpens (CG 63) fired 37 missiles at Baghdad during the shock and awe phase of Operation Iraqi Freedom, aka OIF (née Operation Iraqi Liberation, aka OIL), which was three and a half years before I got to the Cowpens myself, at tip of the spear, in 2006. The Thundering Herd. The Mighty Moo. Victoria Libertatis Vindex.
That evening at LaSalle was all before the Project for a New American Century, of which Lehman was a part, preempted war in Iraq to uncover the unknown knowns, to be greeted as liberators—they hate our freedoms—in case the smoking gun is a mushroom cloud, to rid the world of the axis of evil and--a throwback--to make the world safe for democracy.
“This is Terry, one of our top students. He won a book award this evening,” Brother Bill helped make the introduction, after I made my move from parade-rest. “He’s planning to go into the navy, too. Maybe Annapolis.”
“Nice to meet you, young man.”
“Yes, nice to meet you, sir.” I said, lump in my throat. “I’m thinking I want to go surface or submarines.” I have not yet begun to fight. I had twenty seconds, tops, before it would get really awkward. The auditorium was thinning out.
“Well, you know I was a naval flight officer for many years. It’s a very good and honorable career. We need men like you. I wish you great luck.” Or something like that, I don’t remember. “Men like you” might be my wishful memory. Men for others. But, I shook his hand firmly. His grip was strong as expected. A handshake that had helped crushed the Soviets. Oh captain my captain. I didn’t get a business card, and this was before LinkedIn. But later on, I could always look him up--or look up to him--on his banner. That encounter—more than Father Janton’s blessing—was what I needed. Damn the torpedoes (and Sean.)
I went back to bantering with the boys--one of life’s simple joys is playing with the boys (gentlemen), after all--and finished my yellowcake. I think it was yellowcake. Does it matter? We’ve all forgotten anyway.
We were gently pushed out and I headed home. Anchors aweigh… onward to victory…in the strongest, most lethal fighting force in the world…with liberty and justice for all…making deserts bloom…in lands without peoples for peoples without lands…up where we belong—you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall—where the eagles cry on a mountain high, far from the world below, up where the clear winds blow…my manifest destiny …too big to fail…from sea to shining sea.
Take my breath away.
Mission accomplished.
Live Jesus in our hearts, forever.
