He Saved My Life
He’s
been dead a while, 14 years or so. I never met him, but he gave me a life that
extended four or 5 times beyond what it would have been. Because of him I lived
to have children, to experience many joys and some sorrows. His beautiful eyes
meet mine, across the years, in his military photo probably taken before I was
born. He was a handsome guy, and he was married to beautiful darkhaired woman
whose eyes seem to sparkle with wit. Her name was Olga. His, Vasilli Arhipov.
He rose to the rank of vice admiral in the Soviet Navy.
In
1961, when I was an awkward 14 year old, navigating life on an air force base
in the middle of the Mohave Desert, he stopped a mutiny and prevented a nuclear
accident that would have rivaled Chernobyl.
But
it was the next year that he really saved my life.
October
1962. I was still on the desert, now barely 15. I was concerned about poetry,
my white cat, and a guy named Jimmy. I was also fond of my tortoises, my Dutch
rabbit named Happy, and, to a degree, of my annoying younger brothers. My
parents didn’t talk much about the news. I was learning a little Spanish and
practicing a speech (on nonconformity) for the Lion’s Club contest.
But
in those late October weeks something shifted. My classmates practiced running
home at the sound of sirens. My mother, in the calmest possible way, told me
that there might be…did she say war? Did she mention bombs? I don’t remember,
only her description of how, perhaps, we would live underground for a while. We
would share things. Food might be canned and boring, but I should eat and be
thankful. We would try to stay together.
I
practiced the run from the school, over the cinderblock wall that bordered our
yard. My mother said if we missed each other I should find the buses. They
would be taking us to the borax mines. Officer’s families, like ours, would
have preference.
My
best friend was a sergeant’s daughter. Could she come home with me? No, she
would want to stay with her family, said my mother, when the sirens came.
I
never thought to ask about my cat or my rabbit. I wouldn’t have liked that
answer either.
Looking
back I marvel at my mother’s calm during those weeks. I also marvel at my 15
year old mind, which didn’t seem to be picking up anything about the Cuban
missile crisis but instead focused on whether or not a certain sandy haired guy
really liked me. He was the son of the general, and so would be with us in the
caves. I imagined the fun we could have.
Paul,
ten years older, tells me that during these weeks he worried a lot. Chain
smoking in Los Angeles.
Forgetting to eat. Sure the end of the world was at hand.
But
on October 27, 1962, the fine eyed Vassili Arhipov, in one moment, in one
simple refusal, saved my life. And Paul’s. And yours as well.
The
already acclaimed naval hero was on board a submarine in Cuban waters. In the
world people were waiting and watching a terrible game of brinkmanship and
bravado as the US
and Soviets seemed determined to tumble over into war.
And
Vasilli’s ship was buffeted by depth charges. The crew, his commanding officer,
everyone..they thought this was it. And they readied their response—nuclear
torpedoes.
But
there was a failsafe, much like that in our missile silos. The launch took
three officers. Two were ready to go for it. Indeed, they may have been eager.
Vassili
said no.
He
said they should wait to hear from Moscow.
And he continued saying no, standing his ground, refusing to launch.
And..the
crisis passed. The world teetered at the brink of doom and was pulled back, by
one simple act. By one man.
And
my life went on. Thanks, Vassili. It has been a good thing. And..I will always
take hope in this, that one person, against the reasoned beliefs of all those
around..could say no. Or sometime, in another circumstance, say yes. Or dance.
Or question. Or celebrate.
The
point is…they matter, those moments. You matter, with your heart and your soul
and your will. You never know when your small act may save the world. Take joy
from that. I do.
(the photo of Vassili and his wife Olga I found here: http://www.kpbs.org/news/2012/oct/19/secrets-dead-man-who-saved-world/) and I hope it is okay to use..
3 Comments:
Beautiful writing, and true... the true and the beautiful marry here.
Oh, Nikita, No
(In honor of the 1962 Cuban missiles)
That I should stand thus
like a rock in a strong wind -
I'm stung by blasted
and slow abrading
winds whispering my true name -
pay me for my loss.
They say I must punch
that black button under all.
I will not, will not!
Not until God's voice
utters beneath this damn fog
the great unending
grief that will surely
come to us all, all on pain
of our living death.
wonderful poem, christopher, thank you.
I too was deeply moved by the story of this unsung hero when i heard it. You have told it so beautifully and meaningfully here Kathy. How all the living future came to hinge on a single moment, a single syllable by one good man. Who could ever believe such a moment were possible. Who could ever thank him enough.
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