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Sad news as the last Submarine Medal of Honor Winner is near the end. I just finished Carl LaVo's book on Fluckey, "The Galloping Ghost". It is superb, and stands as a bookend to Fluckey's own, "Thunder Below". Read the last line of this review about his proudest achievement. That says it all about the man.
Annapolis' 'Lucky Fluckey,' a World War II legend, is in final stages of Alzheimer's
By EARL KELLY, Staff Writer
Retired Rear Adm. Eugene B. Fluckey, who entered the Hospice of the Chesapeake on Saturday in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's' disease, is the subject of a new book titled "The Galloping Ghost."
"Let's gallop," the redheaded, freckle-faced commander would tell his crew when it was time to get his submarine moving.
And the Japanese called him "the ghost," because they didn't know where he came from or where he went.
The holder of four Navy Crosses and the Medal of Honor, Adm. Fluckey, 93, an Annapolis resident, is the most decorated living American, according to his biographer, Pennsylvania journalist Carl LaVo. Of special interest locally, Adm. Fluckey raised money from private contributors in the 1950s to build Navy-Marine Corps Memorial Stadium.
"He is the last of the great ones," Mr. LaVo said yesterday. When asked what made Adm. Fluckey so great, Mr. LaVo said "tenaciousness." "He would always research a problem, and when he set a course, he stuck to it," he said.
This passion for creativity could get annoying, and Mr. LaVo wrote of one point in Adm. Fluckey's career]Unsinkable[/b]
A 1935 Naval Academy graduate nicknamed "Lucky Fluckey," Adm. Fluckey commanded the USS Barb, whose battle flag was the caricature of a one-eyed mackerel throwing firecrackers. He won his crew's respect by knowing their jobs as well as they did, whether it was winding the armature in a motor or repairing a leak, according to Mr. LaVo.
Also, he knew that little things could mean a lot.
Adm. Fluckey would go against Navy regulations to smuggle cases of beer aboard, often stacking the showers full. Cold beers were the commander's way of rewarding the crew for enduring difficult circumstances, as when Japanese ships circled overhead, ready to make the kill. On at least one such occasion, as the enemy hovered, Adm. Fluckey got on the intercom and told the crew to start putting beer in the cooler. The message was simple]Beating obstacles[/b]
Finding solutions for difficult problems has always been Adm. Fluckey's forte.
Severe nearsightedness overtook him while he was a midshipman at the Naval Academy, a malady that forced a lot of would-be officers out of the military in the 1930s.
Midshipman Fluckey set about studying optics and anatomy, and, with a doctor's assistance, designed eyeglasses that would help him improve his eyesight. At night, while his roommate read his homework to him, Midshipman Fluckey exercised his eyes, until he passed the eye examination with flying colors.
When Adm. Fluckey married Marjorie Gould, who suffered from diabetes, he studied her reactions to certain foods and devised a diet that let her live a full life with the deadly disease, according to Mrs. Bove, the couple's only child.
After World War II, Adm. Fluckey, while assigned to head the Electrical Engineering Department at the academy, was tasked with raising money to build a stadium the armed forces could be proud of.
He raised more than $2 million for Navy-Marine Corps Memorial Stadium.
Adm. Fluckey thought it a waste of money to hire professional fundraisers, so he and others took it upon themselves to do the job. The result was that 98 cents out of every dollar raised went directly to construction.
In 2003, the Naval Academy Alumni Association named Adm. Fluckey one of its Distinguished Graduates. And one of the things he was most proud of, according to his family and Mr. LaVo: No one on his crew was ever awarded a Purple Heart.
Annapolis' 'Lucky Fluckey,' a World War II legend, is in final stages of Alzheimer's
By EARL KELLY, Staff Writer
Retired Rear Adm. Eugene B. Fluckey, who entered the Hospice of the Chesapeake on Saturday in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's' disease, is the subject of a new book titled "The Galloping Ghost."
"Let's gallop," the redheaded, freckle-faced commander would tell his crew when it was time to get his submarine moving.
And the Japanese called him "the ghost," because they didn't know where he came from or where he went.
The holder of four Navy Crosses and the Medal of Honor, Adm. Fluckey, 93, an Annapolis resident, is the most decorated living American, according to his biographer, Pennsylvania journalist Carl LaVo. Of special interest locally, Adm. Fluckey raised money from private contributors in the 1950s to build Navy-Marine Corps Memorial Stadium.
"He is the last of the great ones," Mr. LaVo said yesterday. When asked what made Adm. Fluckey so great, Mr. LaVo said "tenaciousness." "He would always research a problem, and when he set a course, he stuck to it," he said.
This passion for creativity could get annoying, and Mr. LaVo wrote of one point in Adm. Fluckey's career]Unsinkable[/b]
A 1935 Naval Academy graduate nicknamed "Lucky Fluckey," Adm. Fluckey commanded the USS Barb, whose battle flag was the caricature of a one-eyed mackerel throwing firecrackers. He won his crew's respect by knowing their jobs as well as they did, whether it was winding the armature in a motor or repairing a leak, according to Mr. LaVo.
Also, he knew that little things could mean a lot.
Adm. Fluckey would go against Navy regulations to smuggle cases of beer aboard, often stacking the showers full. Cold beers were the commander's way of rewarding the crew for enduring difficult circumstances, as when Japanese ships circled overhead, ready to make the kill. On at least one such occasion, as the enemy hovered, Adm. Fluckey got on the intercom and told the crew to start putting beer in the cooler. The message was simple]Beating obstacles[/b]
Finding solutions for difficult problems has always been Adm. Fluckey's forte.
Severe nearsightedness overtook him while he was a midshipman at the Naval Academy, a malady that forced a lot of would-be officers out of the military in the 1930s.
Midshipman Fluckey set about studying optics and anatomy, and, with a doctor's assistance, designed eyeglasses that would help him improve his eyesight. At night, while his roommate read his homework to him, Midshipman Fluckey exercised his eyes, until he passed the eye examination with flying colors.
When Adm. Fluckey married Marjorie Gould, who suffered from diabetes, he studied her reactions to certain foods and devised a diet that let her live a full life with the deadly disease, according to Mrs. Bove, the couple's only child.
After World War II, Adm. Fluckey, while assigned to head the Electrical Engineering Department at the academy, was tasked with raising money to build a stadium the armed forces could be proud of.
He raised more than $2 million for Navy-Marine Corps Memorial Stadium.
Adm. Fluckey thought it a waste of money to hire professional fundraisers, so he and others took it upon themselves to do the job. The result was that 98 cents out of every dollar raised went directly to construction.
In 2003, the Naval Academy Alumni Association named Adm. Fluckey one of its Distinguished Graduates. And one of the things he was most proud of, according to his family and Mr. LaVo: No one on his crew was ever awarded a Purple Heart.