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Contributed by John Ripley 2007-02-17

Portland — When I first stepped aboard Winston S. Churchill, she had yet to officially be christened a Navy ship.

She was then owned by BIW, covered in tarps, patches of battleship gray. Galley chairs were still encased in plastic. Her complement was but a few dozen at most.

As a Naval Reserve Public Affairs Officer, I fell in love with this ship immediately. I already could see the sleek lines, could feel the speed, could heard the stories that would echo within her p-ways. My unit, a New England based public affairs group, was charged with telling her story.

During the next several months, as she sat impatiently on the Kennebec, the ship filled out. New crew members - plankowners in the Navy vernacular - showed up with orders in hand. Sophisticated weapons systems and ice cream machines found their homes. After several months, she was ready - sea trials, the christening in Norfolk, shock trials, a maiden voyage.

My unit, along with DDG 81's first commanding officer, CDR Mike Franken, spent considerable time planning a circumnavigation of the United King. Winston, we said, was coming home.

There was much to brag about: we had a Royal Navy officer aboard, the Chief's Mess was crafted to look like a British pub, we had the newest and most advanced weapons in the Navy, and on and on. Plus, she was just damn gorgeous.

I flew ahead to London and Portsmouth with a team to work the advance planning. Churchill would be the hit of the International Festival of the Sea, and her arrival was much anticipated. I was out on a small boat with British media when, in the horizon, I could see the unmistakable silhouette of 81. To me, it was like having a childhood friend become a movie star. I saw her cruising in, the crew manning the rails in their whites, and I thought back to when she was still at BIW, seemingly a bit modest in her pre-completion days.

Later, I worked with Churchill on a number of projects and, as the United States headed toward war in March 2003, I was contacted by her CO, CDR Holly Graf. Could I come help them? I couldn't be told via email or phone where they were, and it took some string-pulling at the Pentagon, but within days I was en route. Commerical flight to Rome, then to Sicily, then a 5-hour military flight to Cyprus, and then a helo ride home to 81. The sea and sky blended well that day, and I didn't see the landing deck until we hovered just over her. We were now in the Eastern Med, off the coast of Turkey and Syria.

I had known many of the crew members before, and befriended several, so it was nice to see old friends. They had, indeed, melded into a crew.

Anyone who serves in the military will tell you this is undoubtedly the most memorable part: comaraderie. I met friends for life on that ship. I found out a shipmate and I went to high school together, 20 years before, in Florida. I was on 81 half a world away from Maine, and yet found several sailors from home.

In late March, I once again got to watch 81 at work when we fired a barrage of Tomahawk missiles into Iraq. I had several thoughts after that event, but my mind also went from watching this ship be built, to performing flawlessly in combat. What a long, strange road, and all that.

I left the Churchill in April, and was with her briefly again in Boston that summer. I kept in touch with shipmates, and I gathered memories - yes, of steel and weapons, and salt spray, but mostly of people. Characters all, and all with character. A Navy ship is a somewhat disparate collection of lives and stories, and I was extremely proud to have added mine to her p-ways.