The skipper of my minesweeper, MSO 489, on which I was a lowly enlisted radioman, was a Lt. Cmdr. fighter pilot who had rotated out of aviation to be a line officer, presumably to round out his portfolio and climb the naval officer career ladder some more. In his aviator glasses he looked like General MacArthur. He had a game knee and it gave him some trouble on the pitch, roll, and yaw of that little round-bottomed wooden hulled (spruce) ship. I've tried to track him down on Google to see if he made it into the admiralty, but have never turned him up. The Executive Officer on the ship was a home-boy to me, from my town, but never made any conversation with me, and I didn't presume. He died in his fifties, obit in the local papers. He'd been on river patrol boat duty before he was on my ship. I think he retired as a Lt. Cmdr., so he didn't climb the ladder so much. He was a big, quiet guy, smart but not sociable. Later, on a different job, I actually spoke briefly with Admiral Elmo Zumwalt, the Chief of Naval Operations when I was in the Navy; I was in a biomedical research group and he was involved and interested in the health effects of Agent Orange. He'd lost a son to those effects.