The military's job is killing people and destroying property on a mass scale, and when it isn't actually doing that, or training you for it, it's not a bad place to be. They do take good care of their own.

I went aboard my ship in late 1967, and at a time when there were still cross-burnings and segregated drinking fountains in my state, I found I was soon under the direct command of Master Chief Douglas, the biggest, ugliest and meanest black man I had ever seen. He owed a lot more to Idi Amin than to Denzel Washington.

But not only was he a supernaturally competent seaman, but a gifted leader; he was incredibly fair with all his subordinates, black or white. The ship's crew reflected societal demographics at the time, about 80-20. The all-white officers had a deep respect for this man who could make them look good.

Douglas whipped up a batch of scurvy reservist boots into shape and began conducting all-hands evolutions like refueling at sea in a full gale with only two weeks of training and drills to get us ready. Try to imagine putting up circus tent, then taking it down, in a thunderstorm.

Although I had been brought up at home with a thorough contempt for Southern racism, I had never actually experienced living and working with blacks before. It was an eye opener. And I knew it was going to work back home too, no matter what they said. And "they" kept on telling us it wasn't.