In the summer of 1967, I was given my one shot at leadership ashore while at the US Naval Academy. As a Midshipman Second Class, I was a squad leader in a cohort of other 2/c midshipmen (rising college juniors, for those needing a conversion) going through summer training. At the Naval Academy, the summers before our Third Class and First Class years were devoted to afloat training, the 3/c filling enlisted billets on ships and the 1/c trying junior officer roles. Continue reading
Author Archives: JT Hine
Living abroad is not tourism: III. The Sojourner’s Permit
Trip update: This week’s blog is the trip update. Besides riding between offices, I have packed a suitcase to mail ahead, packed and checked my panniers for the road. By last Thursday, all perishable food and opened containers were gone. With luck, next week I will run one last load of laundry (linens, bedclothes, towels) and sanitize the decks and countertops, defrost the refrigerator (leaving it open), turn off the electricity, water and gas, and lock the door on my way out. Continue reading
Sea Story: my first traffic “accident” (1958)
Last time (23 April), I wrote that Mom bought us bicycles for our birthdays in August of 1958. I turned 11 and David 9. We had moved to a comfortable, ground-floor flat on the Via Aurelia, in the Madonna di Riposo neighbourhood, located at the top of the hill near where three broad, dual-carriageway avenues Via Gregorio VII, Via Baldo degli Ubaldi and the Circonvallazione Cornelia met and intersected the Via Aurelia. Continue reading
Living abroad is not tourism: II. Establishing residence
Trip update: Last weekend, I rode North along the coast to Terracina. My objective was to take the ancient Via Appia from Terracina into the Aurunci mountains past Fondi and Itri and back to Formia, about 70 km round trip. I had never ridden that section of the Via Appia, because I was always taking the coast road (the Via Flacca). Continue reading
Sea Story: the little tram conductor (1957)
It was a very different time and a very different place.
The Marshall Plan was still helping to rebuild the countries of Western Europe devastated by World War II. My first memories of Rome as a nine-year-old boy were of broad boulevards with almost no automobiles. Those who did not take public transit rode bicycles, and the well-off had mopeds, which were just bicycles with a friction motor on the front wheel. Continue reading
Living abroad is not tourism: I. Getting permission to stay.
Trip update: On Saturday and Sunday, I took long rides into the Aurunci Mountains, which plunge into the Gulf of Gaeta. During World War II, these hills were the western end of the Gunther Line; the Sangro Valley, where I was last fall and winter, was the other end. Entire towns vanished into rubble and thousands of soldiers and civilians perished on that line during the last eight months of the war. When I lived here in the early 1970s, many square miles of the hills still contained minefields waiting to be cleared. Continue reading
Sea story: scooping the spy satellites (1972)
Gaeta, Italy. Most mornings when the US Sixth Fleet flagship is in home port, I coast down the steep hill from our apartment building on the very top of the Monte Elena. I stop my bicycle at the kiosk in the town square, and buy the daily papers from Naples, Milan, Paris and Rome. Then I ride to the ship.
The first thing I do in my office is read the papers and type up a short précis about what the press in Italy and France has to say today. I send copies to the Chief of Staff and to the Intelligence Officer (N-2). It’s just a little thing I do, since I am reading the papers anyway, and the Admiral and his staff find the summaries interesting.
One afternoon, the N-2 stopped by my office with a wry smile on his face. I looked up from my work, but it would have been awkward to try to stand up for him in my cramped space.
“Can I help you, Captain?” I asked.
“London called on the secure phone this morning,” he said. “London” meant CINCUSNAVEUR, the Commander, US Naval Forces Europe. “Washington wants to know why we keep reporting so much activity in Libya when we don’t have any people on the ground.” It had been a while since Col. Qaddafi had evicted all Americans from the country. Obviously N-2 was forwarding my little reports up the chain of command.
“Is it something in my daily summaries?” I asked, worried that I had crossed some unwritten boundary in the shady world of intelligence collection.
“I explained what you do. They were just surprised that we had such high-quality information before the regular intelligence agencies. It all gets confirmed or at least corroborated by satellite, and I think it’s driving JCS and NSA nuts.”
“But Libya is local news in Naples,” I said. “There are thousands of Italian engineers working there, not to mention the Italian reporters who follow what is happening with them. Their families mostly live in Naples, and they read Il Mattino.”
The N-2 smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. “Just keep the translations coming, Jonathan.”
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Trip update: Sunday I arose refreshed, had breakfast, and locked up the flat. I walked 800 m to the Formia train station, pushing the big four-wheeled suitcase that I bought in Miami last November. It’s my only piece of “normal” luggage. At 1122, the Intercity 590 took me to Bologna is a little under five hours.
It was an overcast day, but warm. The brilliant spring-time green around the Bisenzio River between Prato and Bologna completely hid the fact that a miserable winter with snow and flooding had plagued this beautiful valley since Cheryl and I had ridden this way last summer.
Monday, I took a painful, one-hour bus ride to the Bologna Book Fair. I could have walked it faster, but the crush of passengers kept me from even getting off. The traffic moved at a snail’s pace to the Fair. After taking the bus back in the evening,
I immediately rented a city bike near the train station. Getting around was much easier after that, because Bologna is a flat city, with many bike lanes and bike paths.
The Bologna Book Fair overloaded my senses. I had wanted to visit the largest children literature event on the planet for more than 30 years, but I had not been in Italy in April until now. I only expected to walk around and check things out, because I was a “newbie,” but on the first day I met two self-publishers and found myself discussing an exciting translation/adaptation project with a publisher about a brand new non-fiction book.
My friend and colleague Denise Muir arrived on the second day. It was her fourth Bologna Book Fair, so she was able to answer some questions. We shared a few of the many sessions.
The Fair wrapped up on Thursday afternoon. Friday, I took the Frecciarossa train to Rome, where Nando Marcucci had my sport coat and two pairs of trousers ready for me. I have had suits made for me, but they were extensively modified garments that had already been cut out. These were made from the cloth that Cheryl and I selected last September. The afternoon train brought me back to Formia. Today I am out riding, trying to recover from the relative physical inactivity of the last week.
L
itfire, a self-publishing firm in Atlanta, Georgia, passed out free bags at the Book Fair, with a saying that I found particularly fitting. Here is another one of my million.
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I hope to be rolling north in three weeks. Next week, I would like to examine whether I am really living on the road, and how my original plan has morphed over the last two and a half years. Some of you have been following me for all or most of that time. What is your impression?
Smooth roads and tailwinds,
Jonathan.
Looking ahead: Intercontinental 2016
Trip update: Saturday before the Great Vigil of Easter, I rode out to the Castelli Romani in the Alban Hills. Basically, I got on the Via Appia two blocks from the hostel and rode south for two hours.
I passed the aqueduct of Acqua Felice, where the earth has risen so much since ancient times, that people have turned the tops of the arches into storage cages. The ancient road led me gently up to the Regional Park of the Castelli Romani, where I had a splendid view of the Agro Pontino (the Pontine Plain).
It was known as the Pontine Marshes, an inhabitable, malarial swamp, until Mussolini had them drained. The air was clear, thanks to there being no industry or traffic belching fumes on the holiday weekend. I could see the Tyrrhenian Sea 40 km away. Continue reading
Sea Story: Latin interpreter (1962)
We had been living in Rome for three years when the brand new Pope, John XXIII, stunned his own cardinals and advisers by announcing that he would convene an Ecumenical Council. No one really understood how historic it would be, on so many levels. Three years later, in October 1962,
more than 2,000 Bishops and major prelates converged on the Eternal City to answer his call. It was the first time that an Ecumenical Council included outside observers (17 denominations of Eastern Orthodox and Protestants). In my opinion, it was the first true Ecumenical Council since the Council of Trent in 1563, because Vatican Council I only had a minority of bishops (Italians and some French) in attendance by the time that Garibaldi crashed through the Porta Pia on 20 September 1870 and scattered the assembly. Most of the cardinals and bishops were still on their way. (“Ecumenical” means everyone.)
Rome was crazy with colorful clergy of all types wandering around. The American delegation was struggling. To their great surprise, there were no interpreting services at the Council, because every priest was expected to be fluent in Latin.
This was not a dead language for me and my classmates taking Latin IV at school. We were using it every day, interpreting for delegates or just helping with conversation practice after serving Mass each morning.
Mom and I operated the sauna and steam bath concession in the basement of the Cavalieri Hilton Hotel, which had just opened. As the first five-star, American-style hotel in Rome, the American prelates favored the Cavalieri Hilton, and many came down to our establishment to get over the stress of the day. The joke ran around the hotel, that our cool-down pool was full of holy water from the constant immersion of bishops and cardinals.
One night as I was closing up, I got a phone call from one of our regular clients, the Auxiliary Bishop of Newburgh, New York. He was a humble man, who did not like being called anything fancier than “Father.”
“Jonathan, could you come up to my room for a while?” he asked. “I have a document that we need help with tonight.” Thanking my lucky stars that I had finished my own homework already that evening, I took the lift up to his suite. He met me with a thick, typewritten manuscript.
“We were just given this today. I think it’s a draft Encyclical [major policy letter from the Pope]. The American delegation has a meeting right after breakfast to prepare our national response to it. But none of us can read it, especially something that thick in one night.”
“I can’t type or write that fast, Father,” I said, hefting the volume in my hands. He sat down at his coffee table, and pulled a large yellow pad of paper towards himself.
“I was wondering if you could read it to me – in English. I will take notes. I am hoping that will give us enough information to put something together in the morning.”
He was asking for a “sight translation,” something that court interpreters often do. Sight translation from Latin? Why not? I opened the manuscript and began to interpret, “Pacem in Terris…” Peace on Earth…
Today, I think that the first crack in the Berlin Wall appeared as I read, walking a circle into the carpet of his room. On Maundy Thursday, 11 April 1963, Pacem in Terris hit the world media, and the Cold War began to come to an end. It was the first encyclical not written to Catholics, but to all people. In it, Pope John blasted both sides of the Cold War, and told them to get on with taking care of their people and start working on nuclear disarmament and non-proliferation.
For more on both the Encyclical and the Council, check out https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pacem_in_terris and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_Vatican_Council
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Trip update: Last weekend for Palm Sunday, I tested going to church on Sunday in Rome. Every time that I have shown up at Saint Paul’s within the Walls (http://www.stpaulsrome.it/), they have welcomed me warmly. Stefano Vasselli, the Music Director, even let me sing in the Choir.
From 1961-1965, I was a member of the International Teen Club, which met in the basement of the church for weekend dances. I was also the DJ and at the end, Vice-President of the Club. The church has since put the space to better use as the Joel Nafuma Refugee Center (http://jnrc.it/), but the Teen Club years lived on in corporate memory. The first Sunday that I showed up last autumn, I felt a little embarrassed by the fame that still attached to my role in the Club.
Making rehearsal at 0930 meant catching the 0822 train to Rome’s Termini station and a brisk walk. We rehearsed a wonderful collection of special music for Holy Week, so I decided to come back for Tenebrae on Wednesday and stay for the Triduum. I was back in Formia in mid-afternoon. I repeated the commuting act the next day, because the sport coat and slacks that Nando Marcucci was making from the fabrics that Cheryl and I bought this summer were ready for a first fitting. After the fitting,
I went back to the Church for the regular Monday rehearsal of the Mozart Requiem, which a local chorus that Stefano directs would perform after Tenebrae on Wednesday. I had sung the Requiem twice before, so Stefano said that I could join them. I was back in Formia by 2330. Tuesday I rode to the Naval Support Detachment laundromat in Gaeta, and worked using their WiFi while the clothes tumbled around.
Wednesday I rode by the ATM in Gaeta, then caught the afternoon train to Rome, with my bicycle. Tenebrae was a moving service, with music by Tallis (Lamentations of Jeremiah). The Requiem performed to a full church, and it went very well. We sang Mozart’s Ave Verum Corpus as an encore. On Thursday, I rode the entire length of the bike path along the Tiber before going to the Church, a 70-km day. The Triduum Liturgy (a single service in three days) began that night with music by Gabrieli, Blow, and Duruflé. It will conclude tonight with the Great Vigil of Easter. Saint Paul’s is a beautiful church. Like Saint Paul’s in Charlottesville, it has great acoustics, and provides a moving environment for special events that include music and ritual.
Next week, I will outline the Intercontinental 2016 tour. I am always looking for new topics to include in the blog. Do you have any questions or suggestions?
Smooth roads and tailwinds.
Jonathan
Bargains around the corner
Trip update: Last weekend I finished moving into the new flat in Formia. Well, not new, considering that the building is several hundred years old, but freshly painted. By mid-week, I had replaced the burned out incandescent lamps in the chandeliers with LEDs and the brilliance lifts my spirits every time that I turn them on. Continue reading




