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Quiet Hero - Jeff Edwards
February 28, 2005
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Nearly three weeks ago, I sat down
to write a column about
Black History Month. As an old
retired seadog, it seemed fitting for me to concentrate on
the history of African Americans in the United States
Navy. I felt pretty confident in my overall knowledge of
the subject, but I checked out a stack of books from the
Public Library and did a little digging just to make sure
I had my ducks all lined up properly.
As usual, the research paid off. There was a lot
that I didn't know about the history of African Americans
in the Navy, and now I'm smart enough to realize there's a
lot more that I still don't know. But I accumulated
more than enough information to write a column on the
subject, and I managed to rough out an outline in a couple
of days. From there, it should have been just a matter of
elaborating and wordsmithing: a few hours work, and my
column would have been ready for prime time.
Three weeks later, Black History Month 2005 has wound to a
close, and I am just finishing my column. I didn't get
lazy, and I didn't lose interest. I could plead the
pressures of schedule, as the last few weeks truly have
been crazy. But it wasn't lack of time that put the brakes
on my column. Something happened to me. I discovered
Lanier Phillips.
For those of you who already know about Lanier, I'm not
claiming that I saw him first, merely that I've only just
learned of his existence. If you haven't yet heard of Mr.
Phillips, don't be discouraged. His name isn't a household
word yet, although it probably should be.
I came across Lanier's name in the course of my research.
As a Sonar Technician myself, I wanted to find out about
the first African American Sonar Technician in the U.S.
Navy. His name, I learned, was Lanier Phillips. (For those
who are gearing up to send me emails about Norberto
Collado, allow me to point out that Mr. Collado is Cuban,
not American. Although he received some training from U.S.
Officers, he served aboard Cuban ships, in the navy of his
own country. From what I've learned of him, Norberto
Collado has an interesting story of his own. But that's
for another day, and - more than likely - another
columnist.)
I found a few articles on Lanier Phillips, but nothing
with any real depth. Then I learned that he lives in
Washington, D.C., and - with a few judicious emails - I
managed to wrangle a telephone interview. Before I even
picked up the phone, I typed up an entire list of
cross-referenced questions, sharpened my pencil, and
surrounded myself with notes and references about the
man's life. I was prepared for the sort of professional
no-nonsense interview made famous by the big-named
journalists. When the call went through, I even remembered
to ask his permission to record our conversation, in case
my notes failed to capture something important.
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Retired Navy Petty Officer Lanier Phillips |
Then
Lanier began to speak, and my pretense of professionalism
went out the window. I was enthralled. I wasn't struck
dumb, mind you. I got in more than my share of talking.
But the man is a wonderful storyteller and he has such an
incredible story to tell.
Lanier was born in Lithonia, Georgia, in 1923. In the
early decades of the twentieth century, De Kalb County was
Ku Klux Klan country, and the Klan ruled Lanier's home
town. There was only one school for black children, and in
1929, the Klan burned it down. Like every other African
American in Lithonia, Lanier lived in constant fear. He
dreamed of a different and better life, but what else was
there?
In October of 1941, at the age of eighteen, Lanier joined
the Navy. As he puts it, "I didn't want to be a
sharecropper and the Navy was the only other choice I
could see." |
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In 1941 the only rating open
to African American Sailors was Messman, sometimes called
Steward's Mate. Messmen cleaned, served, shined the shoes
of the officers, and generally performed tasks that were
considered too menial for white Sailors. The Navy was
still strictly segregated. Blacks and whites had separate
berthing compartments, separate heads (bathroom
facilities); they even ate separately. White enlisted
Sailors took their meals on the mess decks. White Officers
ate in the wardroom. Black Sailors had to eat standing up
in the Messman's pantry.
In the Navy, Lanier found himself facing a different breed
of discrimination. "It wasn't quite like jumping from the
frying pan into the fire," he told me with a chuckle. "It
was more like jumping from the frying pan into the
kettle. It wasn't quite so hot, but it was
pretty close."
The Navy didn't go in for whippings or burning crosses, so
it was better than the Klan. But not a lot better.
It wasn't really safer either. In the Navy, the Klan
couldn't grab a man out of his own house in the dark of
night, the way they could back in De Kalb County. But, as
Lanier would be quick to remind you, Nazi U-boats were
already torpedoing ships off the East Coast of the United
States. American Sailors were fighting and dying in the
Atlantic long before war was declared in December
of '41. |
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