"Heroes" and highlights -- the dramatic aspects of an event -- are all that modern media can usually convey.  Which is unfortunate, really;  because most dramatic successes in real life are the consequence of much undramatic effort.  Crawford and Thorin would not have become "big stars" in this show, had it not been for the stellar performance of a sizable "supporting cast", many of them unknown as well as unseen.

To begin with, the record-setting, deck-handling proficiency of our crew was not due solely to our own efforts.  A call to flight quarters involved many ship's company sailors.  The big rifles of the after turret didn't swing aside by themselves, rails didn't lower themselves, or other afterdeck equipage clear itself out of our way.  Rochester men did those things, so efficiently it all just  seemed to happen.  Not once were we delayed in either launch or operations by deficiency in ship's company performance.

CAPT Smith awarding medal to Chief Thorin for earlier mission

This is not to say things weren't done well on other ships, including aboard Toledo.  But the Rochester sailors consistently did them better.  They were enjoined in support of our operations because Rochester's command gave our mission high priority. CAPT Smith's contribution to the rescue of John Abbott went beyond just that character of his command.  His order for Collett to follow us into shallowing waters was vital to Abbott's survival.  His instructions to Collett's skipper to direct his men to cut Abbott free when he arrived may have saved only a few more seconds.  But ever second was important for Abbott.

How many of Collett's crew should be regarded as "supporting cast" is impossible even to guess.  The point is that had any of those men involved, aboard either Rochester or Collett, failed or been markedly deficient in their tasks, that spectacular pickup (for which Crawford and I would be acclaimed), and all the effort that had gone into enabling ourselves to do it would have been for naught.  It would have been all too similar to the rather bad joke about a surgical team claiming their operation was a great success, even though their patient did not survive it.

By the Grace of God and with the help of more than a few mortals, our operation -- Crawford's and mine -- was, in fact, a great success.  But out of all those men -- known and unknown, seen and unseen -- who contributed to that success, how does one pick the heroes?

The answer is that "one" can't, really; and needn't even try.  Circumstances select heroes in real life -- providing that there are some good men on hand to select from.  So the best assurance there'll be one at hand when needed is to be surrounded by dependable men who neither think of themselves as heroes nor aspire to be so regarded.

Fortunately for John Abbott, there was such a man at hand when he needed some heroic help.  It was not an aspirant "hero" who hooked him onto the hoist.  Ernie didn't go into that frigid water after a medal.  He went to help a fellow man in distress.

Success or failure of heroic effort will always entail some measure of chance and risk.  Forethought, training and proper equipage will improve the odds.  That is well demonstrated by comparison of Crawford's success with Chester Todd's unsuccessful attempt in similar situation 14 months previously.  Todd was no less capable or determined than Crawford, but he was grossly ill-equipped.  Had he been equipped with the simple, special sling which he and I subsequently devised -- the very same which Crawford used on Abbott -- Todd probably could have hooked that man on despite the several other serious handicaps.

Rescues similar to the one which Crawford made have since become almost commonplace.  That does not lessen one iota the heroic character of his action.  Neither is that diminished by the fact that he was well-equipped and had some special training.  There were several serious uncertainties confronting him, which no longer exist because he eliminated them.  In the face of those uncertainties, he put his own life on the line for just the possibility of saving another.  That's heroism, in the real sense of the word.

As for the rest of us -- I'll credit myself with having done something a bit outstanding with respect to the "state of the art" of helicoptering at that time.  That's proficiency, not heroism.  The same is seen in the work of Collett's Chief Pharmacist Mate, without which Crawford's efforts and my own would have been in vain.

Among those various others who contributed in ways large or small, there's not likely a one who regards himself as a "hero" for having done it.  Just good sailors, dependable men doing their jobs, with some extra care and effort because they knew another man's life hung in the balance.

What manner of recognition do such men deserve or need?  They will have a considerable portion of it within themselves; the warm feeling of having helped someone in need.  Perhaps the most accurate manner of recognition and commendation ever devised is the Navy's traditional "Well done". 

When sincerely given for a truly good performance, it touches everyone who contributed even in a small way to the mission's success, yet excludes anyone who knows he should have helped but didn't. Ernie Crawford, some months later, was awarded the Navy Cross for his action.  No doubt he cherishes that fully deserved award; perhaps more for the memories it stirs than for the medal itself.  Yet from his reaction when it was presented, he still may cherish even more the award I gave him in Rochester's sick bay that very afternoon -- the certain news that the man he'd gone in after was fully conscious and appeared on the road to full recovery.

But Ernie missed the honors bestowed on the rest of us later that afternoon.  (The "rest of us" means all hands aboard Rochester and Collett.)  An announcement from the bridge invited all hands not on duty to go topside to witness something special.  After forming up for return to their carriers, the entire strike force of Task Force 77 did an impromptu fly-by to let us know their feelings about our performance.  Sixty or more planes returning from combat strikes were strung out in small formations.  As they passed starboard of the two ships, in unison all dipped a wing in salute.

In my view, the Blue Angels, at their very best, could not exceed that for performance.  And a boatload of medals could never match it for honors.

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