Kamsamnida, Ms. Cho!

Shortly after we learned that Chinahe, ROK would be the site of our weekend layover at the midpoint of our current exercise, I realized that I was one of the few staff members who had actually been to this port before. I fondly recalled my prior visits to the small U.S. Navy base that adjoins the much larger ROK Navy Base. I was commanding officer of the Naval Hospital in Yokosuka, to which belongs the very small Branch Health Clinic on board Commander, Fleet Activities Chinhae. I visited this site three times during my CO tour. Each visit was pleasant, but from a gastronomic perspective, the initial visit remains memorable as my first experience with genunine Korean barbecue.


Given that several of my shipmates and I had some occasions to celebrate, such as birthdays, a promotion, and imminent departure, I thought it might be fun to step out of my habitual introvert mode to organize a group sortie to that very same restaurant. Of course, I had no idea of the name of the restaurant, much less its location, how to make reservations, get there, order, etc. Three years ago I was the visitng VIP, so my hosts took care of all those arrangements and all I had to do was show up with suitable appetite. (Never a problem for me.)


My friend and colleague Gilda C. often describes a phenomenon of "learned helplessness." She describes how officers (most especially the gentlemen variety) who previously were quite adept at caring for themselves become increasingly ineffective and dependent as they rise through the ranks to positions of higher stature. I have no basis on which to refute her opinion.


Having only recently transitioned from VIP to staff officer, my recovery from learned helplessness remains mired in the denial phase, so I immediately seized on a solution to the "how do I do this?" dilemma. I could simply contact the Chinhae branch clinic manager, Ms. Cho, who manages these occasions for visiting COs, and ask for the contact information on that restaurant. However, I had no idea how to contact Ms. Cho. So I e-mailed Miki-san, my former secretary at the Yokosuka Naval Hospital asking for Ms. Cho's e-mail address. In typical Japanese helpfulness, Miki-san not only gave me the e-mail address, but also copied Ms. Cho so she could expect to hear from me. I wonder in retrospect if this was some sort of secretarial code for "Warning, Warning." These two ladies clearly have experience in caring for helpless senior naval officers.


So I e-mailed Ms. Cho, asking specifically for the contact information of that restaurant, and for some advice on how to make reservations for a group. She immediately replied that the prior restaurant is now closed. She could help us with another restaurant, but asked for essential information first, such as how many people, and "Do you mind sitting on floor"?


So as the ship docked in Chinhae Friday afternoon I called Ms. Cho to get the restaurant contact information, hoping that she might bewilling to call and make the reservations on our behalf. (My Hangul is even more limited that my Japanese. I know only "Kamsamnida", which means "Thank you", and "Katchi kapshida", which means "We go forward together." The latter is a motto for the USN/ROKN alliance.)


Experienced as she is in assisting helpless naval officers, Ms. Cho was very kind and patient with me as I fumbled through a series of missteps and reattacks throughout the next two days. I had first asked her to make a reservation for Friday night. I totally forgot that one of the honorees, our Catholic chaplain who was just promoted to Captain, could hardly participate in Korean beef barbecue on a Friday in Lent. And, since he mentioned it, neither could I. So I called her back and reworked the plans for Saturday night instead, for a party of 8. I also invited her to join us, recalling that she had attended the prototype dinner back in 2007. She readily accepted, which pleased me that a) I would be able to treat her to dinner, a small price for her assistance; and b) we wouldn't have to figure out the ordering and paying in an establishment where the staff probably speak little or no English.


Fast forward to the actual event, which occurred after three more phone calls to Ms. Cho as various other shipmates begged to be included in the soiree. (Apparently our event became the highlight of the Mess for that evening, surpassing even the opportunity to dine with Flags and wannabes at the U.S. base.) Precisely on schedule at 1800 (6 p.m.) Ms. Cho and Chief Gerardo showed up on our ship's pier in two vans, and whisked 12 American naval officers away to a very delightful and delicious evening of Korean cuisine, floor seating and all. Ms. Cho handled all the ordering, taught us all the finer points of cooking and eating, and made sure we always had an ample supply of beef and other ingredients until all had eaten their fill. With gratitude and pleasure we split among ourselves the cost of hers and the Chief's meals.


But she was still not done showing us unexpected kindness. Noting how much we enjoyed the Korean coffee at the end of the meal, on the way back to the ship she stopped at a grocery store so we could buy some of that coffee to take back with us. (Like instant coffee, it comes in individual packets, so we just add a little hot water to enjoy it in the comfort of our own staterooms. I bought two boxes of 24 packets each, regular and mocha. Cost about 6 bucks.


My shipmates and I are very grateful to Ms. Cho, and to Chief Gerardo, for their kindness and thoughtfulness in helping a group of sailors enjoy a rare night out in the midst of a heavy working port visit. So sometime this week they will receive in the mail a thank you card signed by all their helpless diners, along with an assortment of 7th Fleet coins, pins, and other mementoes that we never thought to bring with us last evening.

I think one does not ever fully recover from learned helplessness.

Now where did I put those little coffee packets?