I spent part of my early childhood on Columbia Avenue — number 132 to be specific. From all I remember about my time there, it was fairly idyllic. My dad was a Navy Chief with the squadrons, my mother was always there for us kids and I had a band of friends that came and went like everything military.

It was the time of the original Star Wars, where everything from my pajamas to the Dixie Cup dispenser in the kitchen were emblazoned with images of X-wing fighters and R2-D2. It’s a magical thing to be young. The sun will never glow brighter, the fresh cut grass will never smell sweeter and the world was full of possibilities and imagination.

It’s a fleeting moment we’ll never get back and maybe that’s why one memory — a dark and horrible memory for someone so young— still tugs at the corners of my mind even now in middle age like something unseen tugging at your blanket in the dead of the night.

It came back with chilling reality not long ago when I was touring the new Naval Museum and Memorial Gardens at the old base chapel with the Director, John Briley. We stepped into the gardens and I saw plaques all around. I immediately began to search. It was here — it had to be here and if it wasn’t then maybe I could let the memory go — maybe I could chalk the whole thing up to a child’s imagination. I told John what I was looking for and at first glance, we didn’t locate the plaque and I felt a touch of relief like a cold hand leaving my shoulder.

Then we found it.

Covered in dead leaves was a seven-year old’s memory. A bronze plaque on the ground listed the names of 13 souls from Patrol Squadron 11 that went down in a P-3 Orion on Dec. 11, 1977 in the Canary Islands. A stone settled in the pit of my stomach as my eyes moved over the names. I didn’t know them — I didn’t need to because even at seven, I could feel the collective shock that consumed Navy housing. I remember whispers about “the car” being on our street — the car that would carry a Navy Chief and Chaplain to confirm to families that this indeed will be the worst day of their lives. The car stopped next door to a friend’s house and we were all gathered in his backyard uncharacteristically quiet for a bunch of first graders.

The silence broke when one of my friends dared me to look in the window of the home where we had seen “the car.” There was nothing malicious or even mischievous about the dare. We were all in the presence of something we had never witnessed and felt a need to connect with it — to somehow try to make sense of it. I don’t recall answering. I just found myself crossing the yard toward a window on the side of the house. The houses had wood shingle siding back then and this house had the misfortune of being a pale, unattractive shade of green — the color I imagined my face was turning as I approached the house.

Reaching the house, I extended my arm and touched the rough, green shingles. I felt disconnected; a million miles from my friends and being crushed by the weight of what was inside. I couldn’t get myself to complete the task — not because it was disrespectful, not because I might get caught. For reasons I could not have articulated back then, I was terrified of what might look back should I peer into the glass. I was afraid it might attach itself to me and the next car may be stopping at my house.

My family wasn’t really religious. We didn’t go to church — the reason I was given by my mother was due to the near-animalistic behaviors me and my sisters displayed at any solemn occasion. I didn’t know how to pray but after several fitful hours rolling in my bed that night, I made a deal with the big man himself. I said that I would pray every night if he kept my father safe while he was deployed — a promise I kept beyond his retirement and into my 30s. So, for those who suffered loss those many years ago let’s remember Lt. James Ingles, Lt. Kirk Williams, Lt. John Williamson, Lt. j.g. Francis McKeone, Lt. j.g. Michael Rowe, Chief Wayne Westland, Petty Officer Fred Woodall, Petty Officer Marvin Brown, Petty Officer Claude Cantrell, Petty Officer Wayne Kiess, Petty Officer Gary Nesbitt, Petty Officer Michael James and Petty Officer Bobbie Payne. Fair winds and following seas, gentlemen.

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Douglas McIntire is a staff writer at The Times Record and can be reached at [email protected].