(The following is an excerpt from a speech my father wrote about leadership some years before he retired. The events he describes took place aboard the John W. Thomason.)

"One day my ship was anchored off the west coast of North Korea. Our mission was to provide gun fire support to a group of US and South Korean Marines who had captured a small island. Our job was to dissuade, by our presence, any thought the North Koreans might have of recapturing the island.

I had the morning watch on a gorgeous summer day, in charge of the whole ship, when in mid-morning , a Royal Navy cruiser, HMS Birmingham, came into view, crept into our bay and came to anchor several miles away. Appropriate greetings were exchanged and our Captain was invited to lunch aboard Birmingham. We organized a boat crew, put our whaleboat in the water, and off he went- not unmindful, I am sure, of the warm reception and a cool glass of something which awaited him. As you know, our Navy is dry and the Royal Navy is not.

Anyway, after the boat had gotten nearly to the cruiser we received a call on our radio from the Marines, requesting that we fire a few 5" shells at something they thought to be suspicious and so we busied ourselves getting the guns aimed at the target, all that sort of that thing.

The Executive Officer, who had been left in charge when the Captain departed, was in a tizzy. He had our signalman send word of our imminent combat to the Captain in his boat, and we all watched eagerly to see what would happen.

Here was the Captain- miles away- faced with the fact that his ship was about to start shooting in anger at targets on a hostile shore, half a world away from home. What would he do? What could he do?

On the bridge we all watched his boat, expecting to see it turn around and speed back. We expected, based on our prior experience, to receive a message from him saying "Wait for me." It would not have been out of character.

What happened?

The course of the boat never varied, but held steady as an arrow for the Birmingham. By now the gun battery reported ready to fire. Tension mounted. Back came the message from the Captain:

"Do well."

Believe me, it took a few moments to comprehend that message. Within a few seconds we opened fire, did what was wanted, trained in and secured our guns, and resumed just watching. It was a great anti-climax.

The Captain returned about 3 o'clock after a delightful lunch with our allies and complimented one and all on doing such a splendid job. He had had a fine time and had enjoyed seeing his ship perform well.

Not long afterwards I had become the Chief Engineer of that ship, and we were fresh from an overhaul at Mare Island, steaming through the night bound for San Diego. It was our first time underway in months and my first time underway as Chief Engineer, responsible for the 60,000 horsepower main engines and all the details like electricity, fresh water, the gyro compasses and so forth. Late that evening I had a serious wrestling match with myself. Should I stay up all night and worry about what might happen or go to bed and get a good night's sleep? Frankly, I was new, nervous, and unsure of myself. But I knew our men, had helped train them in casualty procedures- what to do when trouble strikes- and had confidence in them. I went to bed- and woke the next morning to calm seas, lots of blue sky overhead and a smoothly running propulsion plant.

I wish I could tell you that I had told my watchstanders that night to do well, but I can't because I didn't. I did not consciously connect the two incidents until years later when I realized that I had learned the miracle of trust and confidence in one's subordinates from those who had displayed trust and confidence in me."