Salute

From The Strand

Salute

My wife, Bernie and I, together with our 85 pound Goldendoodle, Jake, walk The Strand most mornings. I also ride my bike on The Strand when I get one of those self-delusional bursts of short-lived commitment to get disciplined about exercise. I’ve moved my family a lot over the years, and the combination of our sons being adults now, our age, and our giddiness over life in The South Bay, Hermosa Beach has become home – home like no other place has been. It’s not just the familiarity of the place that makes it home. You can get familiar with almost anywhere in relatively short order. It’s not just the weather or proximity to one of the most beautiful stretches of beach we’ve ever seen. It’s not just the ease of getting into other parts of LA, or the fact that our two sons now live here in Los Angeles, vital though that piece is for my wife and me. I think the thing that makes this place home for us now is our decision to make it so. We’ve chosen Hermosa Beach, as much as Hermosa Beach has called us. And I think that decision to make this our home, allows us to see life here through different eyes than we’ve seen other communities. I look for things that help me build that identity of “home.” And The Strand is as good a place as any to catch a glimpse of what makes Hermosa Beach - home.

On one of my solo walks along The Strand last week, early in the morning, with a haze rolling in off the ocean and a piercing stillness that is startling - mostly because it doesn’t cost anything, a jogger is headed towards me, emerging from the haze. As we pass each other, the jogger raises his right arm and salutes with a formality I haven’t seen since the last Navy funeral I conducted when I served as the Rector of an Episcopal Parish in Norfolk, Virginia. This morning’s salute carries with it an authenticity and sobriety that slows the moment to ¼ time, and in that state of raised awareness, my peripheral vision catches view of the recipient of that salute.  It is Gregory Jarvis.

Gregory Jarvis, killed January 28, 1986 aboard the Space Shuttle Challenger, where his role as a member of that crew was as a Payload Specialist, a title that must mean something to other engineers and astronauts, but to someone who only knows designations like Vice President, Bishop, Doctor, Professor, or C.E.O., payload specialist sounds like a fancified title, like, “sanitation engineer,” or “shift supervisor.” It wasn’t. It was, apparently, a role requiring tremendous skill and years of study, together with the obvious depth of courage and imagination required to get into something as dangerous as a Space Shuttle. The fragments of Gregory Jarvis’ remains that were collected from the ocean floor were returned to his family. In Captain Jarvis’ case, his remains were cremated so his ashes could be dispersed in the Pacific Ocean near his beloved home of Hermosa Beach.

The bench just a block past The Pier, where Gregory Jarvis is memorialized may be more familiar to some as the spot where dogs get a drink of water from the fountain that is at the center of that Memorial; by others as a place to stop – before deciding whether or not to continue all the way to Manhattan Beach; but for this jogger, this morning, this place is a place that demands a response – a remembrance – a gesture of appreciation, perhaps awe.

I don’t know if my jogger knew Gregory Jarvis. Maybe he did. After all, Gregory lived here. He played Racquetball and Squash here; he had a family here; he worked nearby in El Segundo for years. So it’s plausible that my jogger knew him, but that’s not important this morning. What’s important is the jogger’s willingness to express something real – something heartfelt – something right and sensible – out in public. What’s important is his willingness to demonstrate regard for the talents and contributions of a brilliant guy dedicated to becoming the best that he could be. What’s important is this man’s decision to salute Gregory Jarvis rather than smiling politely at me – or some other morning walker - for fear of embarrassing himself or the stranger walking past him.

A jogger – just another guy – who isn’t afraid to reveal something authentic about himself, without ulterior motive. His gesture isn’t motivated by wanting to meet someone attractive, sealing a deal, attracting another client, getting good ratings, padding his bank account, getting his kids into the “right” schools, or any of the other things that often seem so crucial to many of us - but rather, just a simple and brief gesture of respect.   

There is reason to hope.