In 2000, I was blessed to spend the entire summer at The Naval Education and Training Center (NETC) in Newport, Rhode Island. Our barracks were right on the water (funny how often this happens in Navy life) and most days I would take a slow jog around parts of the base. My favorite path took me past a couple of decommissioned ships, an aircraft carrier and a battleship. Since most of my runs were in the dark of the early morning or after nightfall, I wasn’t able to read the names of the vessels.
It wasn’t until I was able to run by these two ships in the daylight that I read the names. The Battleship was the USS Iowa, and the Carrier was the USS Forrestal. This totally changed my relationship with these two vessels I had run by a dozen times without noticing.
Both ships carry with them horrible stories of loss. In 1989 the Iowa was the site of the largest ever peacetime Naval disaster in US history. When turret #2 exploded, 47 sailors were killed. 47. Think about that. 47 sets of parents notified that their child was no longer going to call home or visit. And this during peace-time.
The Forrestal was in operation in the Gulf of Tonkin in 1967 when a chain of horrible events led to fires that raged for hours. An electrical surge caused a rocket to launch from a plane on the deck. That rocket tore a hole in the fuel tank of another aircraft. The resulting fire spread to explode a pile of freshly delivered 1,000 lbs bombs on the deck In the end 161 sailors were injured, and 134 perished.
I could never run by those floating monuments to pain and suffering again without thinking about the fires that once raged within. My relationship was changed because I learned the names of the vessels. I was filled with a mixture of sadness for the losses and gratitude for the service of those brave sailors every single time I would see them – once I learned the names.
This got me thinking about my own relationships. How much would our relationships change with the people around us if we simply stopped to learn names? That guy you see at the supermarket every week, get his name. The mom that picks up her kid from school at the same time you do, you know, the one you smile at when you comment on the weather? Get her name.
Names matter. And more than that, knowing names leads us to know a person. I guarantee you, if you ask someone to share their name, a conversation will almost always follow. You will get to know the fires that have raged within, and maybe share some of your own. But whatever the stories are, you will never be able to encounter that person again without thinking more deeply about them as a whole person. Knowing a name leads us to know a person. Knowing a person leads us to a deeper sense of knowing their story. Knowing a person’s story fundamentally changes the way we see them and can lead us to a deeper sense of respect for them.
In our culture where communication is so terse, so chained to devices, so utilitarian, simply stopping to learn a name can be a counter-cultural revolution.
There are fires within that we’ll never see unless we say something like, “Hi, I’m Matt, what’s your name?”