Faith of My Fathers: A Family Memoir

Faith of My Fathers: A Family Memoir

Faith of My Fathers: A Family Memoir

Faith of My Fathers: A Family Memoir

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Overview

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • Senator John McCain’s deeply moving memoir is the story of three generations of warriors and the ways that sons are shaped and enriched by their fathers.

John McCain’s grandfather, a four-star admiral and one of the navy’s greatest commanders, led the strongest aircraft carrier force of the Third Fleet during World War II. McCain’s father, also a four-star admiral, served as commander of all U.S. forces in the Pacific during the Vietnam War.

It was in Vietnam that John McCain III faced the most difficult challenge of his life. A naval aviator, he was shot down over Hanoi in 1967. Recognized as the son of a top commander, McCain was tortured and imprisoned for five and a half years. Despite this, he refused Vietnamese offers of an early release. What McCain learned from his grandfather and father enabled him to survive those hard years.

A testament to the power of human endurance, Faith of My Fathers is the story of three men who fought for their country with courage and emerged with their honor intact.

Praise for Faith of My Fathers

“A thoughtful first-person take on survival, both physical and psychological . . . hard to top and impossible to read without being moved.”USA Today
 
“A candid, moving, and entertaining memoir . . . impressive and inspiring, the story of a man touched and molded by fire who loved and served his country in a time of great trouble, suffering, and challenge.”Kirkus Reviews
 
“A serious, utterly gripping account of faith, fathers, and the military.”Publishers Weekly (starred review)
 
Faith of My Fathers may also appeal to those who flocked to Saving Private Ryan and kept Brokaw's The Greatest Generation near the top of the bestseller lists.”Library Journal
 
Faith of My Fathers is the powerful story of a war hero. In it we learn much of what matters most. As prisoner (and later Senator) McCain instructs us: Glory is not an end in itself, but rather a reward for valor and faith. And the greatest freedom and human fulfillment comes from engaging in a noble enterprise larger than oneself. Faith of My Fathers teaches deep truths that are valid in any age but that warrant special attention in our own.”—William J. Bennett

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780375504587
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 03/07/2000
Sold by: Random House
Format: eBook
Pages: 368
Sales rank: 247,413
File size: 2 MB

About the Author

About The Author
Senator John McCain entered the Naval Academy in June of 1954 and served in the United States Navy until 1981. He was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives from Arizona in 1982 and to the Senate in 1986. The Republican Party’s nominee for president in the 2008 election, McCain was also the author of Faith of My Fathers, Worth the Fighting For, Why Courage Matters, Character Is Destiny, Hard Call, Thirteen Soldiers, and The Restless Wave. John McCain died in 2018.

Mark Salter is the author, with John McCain, of several books, including Faith of My Fathers and The Restless Wave. He served on Senator McCain’s staff for almost twenty years.

Read an Excerpt

Fifth from the Bottom

I am sure my disdainful contemporaries and disapproving instructors believed I would become a thoroughly disreputable upperclassman were I somehow to escape expulsion during my plebe year. Most of the time, my behavior only confirmed their low regard for me. For a moment, though, I came close to confounding their expectations. That moment began when I boarded the USS Hunt to begin my first-class cruise to Rio de Janeiro in June of 1957.

The Hunt was an old destroyer. It had seen better days. It seemed to me a barely floating rust bucket that should have been scrapped years before, unfit even for mothballing. But I was ignorant, a sailor's son though I was, and I overlooked the old ship's grace and sea-worthiness. I assumed the Hunt was suitable only for the mean task of giving lowly midshipmen a rustic experience of life at sea. I was wrong.

We lived in cramped quarters in the aft of the ship. We kept the hatch open to cool our quarters with the breeze blowing off the Chesapeake Bay. Once the Hunt left the bay and entered the Atlantic, the seas grew heavier and seawater washed in through the hatch. We lived in the pooled water for several days. The rough seas sent a good number of us running for the lee side to vomit. We had restricted water hours on the cruise, which meant there was only enough water to allow us to drink from the ship's water fountains during a three-hour period every day. We took saltwater showers.

We spent a third of the cruise in the engineering plant, a grim place that seemed, to the untrained eye, a disgrace. The boilers blew scorching hot air on us while we spent long hours in misery learning the mysteries of the ship's mechanics. That the ship sailed at all seemed to us a great testament to the mechanic's mates' mastery of improvisation. It was a hell of a vessel to go to sea in for the first time.

We spent another third of the cruise learning ship's navigation, and the last third on the bridge learning how to command a ship at sea.

The skipper was Lieutenant Commander Eugene Ferrell. He seemed to accord the Hunt affection far out of proportion to her virtues. More surprisingly, he seemed to have some affection for me. He expressed it in eccentric ways, but I sensed his respect for me was greater than I had lately been accustomed to receiving from officers. I appreciated it, and I liked him a lot.

I spent much of the cruise on the bridge, where the skipper would order me to take the conn. There is a real mental challenge to running a ship of that size, and I had little practical experience in the job. But I truly enjoyed it. I made more than a few mistakes, and every time I screwed up, the skipper would explode, letting loose an impressive blast of profane derision.

"Dammit, McCain, you useless bastard. Give up the conn right now. Get the hell off my bridge. I mean it, goddammit. I won't have a worthless s.o.b. at the helm of my ship. You've really screwed up this time, McCain. Get the hell out of here!"

As I began to skulk off the bridge, he would call me back. "Hold on a second. Come on back here, mister. Get over here and take the conn." And then he would begin, more calmly, to explain what I had done wrong and how the task was done properly. We would go along pleasantly until I committed my next unpardonable error, when he would unleash another string of salty oaths in despair over my unfitness for the service, only to beckon me back for a last chance to prove myself worthy of his fine ship.

It was a wonderful time. I enjoyed the whole experience. As I detected in Ferrell's outbursts his sense that I showed some promise, I worked hard not to disappoint him, and I learned the job passably well. I was rarely off his bridge for much of the cruise. No other midshipman on the Hunt was so privileged.

Inspired by the experience, I began to consider becoming an officer in the surface Navy, with the goal of someday commanding a destroyer, instead of following my grandfather into naval aviation. I told Ferrell of my intentions, and he seemed pleased. Fine gentleman that he is, he never rebuked me after I abandoned my briefly held aspirations for a destroyer command and returned to my original plan to become an aviator. Many years later, he wrote me, and recalled a chance encounter we had sometime in the early sixties. "I was surprised but pleased to see that you were wearing two stripes and a pair of gold wings. Your grandfather would have been very proud of you."

Years later, while serving as a flight instructor in Meridian, Mississippi, I realized that I had adopted, unintentionally, Lieutenant Commander Ferrell's idiosyncratic instruction technique. I took pride in the fact.

When a Navy ship at sea needs to refuel or take on supplies and mail, it must come alongside and tie up to a refueling or replenishing ship while both vessels are under way. The maneuver is difficult to execute even in the calmest seas. Most skippers attempt it cautiously, bringing their ship alongside the approaching vessel very slowly.

But the most experienced ship handlers are bolder, and pride themselves on their more daring form. They come alongside at two-thirds or full speed, much faster than the other ship. At precisely the right moment they throw the engines in reverse, and then ahead again at one-third speed. It's a spectacular thing to see when it's done right. An approximate image of the maneuver is a car traveling at sixty miles an hour as it approaches a parallel parking space; the driver slams on the brakes and pulls cleanly, without an inch to spare, into the spot.

Eugene Ferrell was a gifted ship handler, and he never considered coming alongside another ship in any other fashion, unless, of course, a green midshipman had the conn. I had watched him perform the task several times, and had admired his serene composure as he confidently gave the orders that brought the rushing Hunt abruptly but gracefully into place, moving at exactly the same speed as her sister ship. A seaman would fire a gun that shot a line to our bow. Soon the two ships, several lines now holding them in harness, would sail the ocean together for a time, never touching, but in perfect unison. It was a grand sight to behold.

One beautiful afternoon, the flagship of the destroyer division to which the Hunt was attached, flying the ensign of the commanding admiral, approached us for the purpose of replenishing the Hunt's depleted stores. Lieutenant Commander Ferrell gave me the conn, and without a trace of apprehension, bade me bring her alongside the admiral's flagship.

Ferrell told me to bring her up slowly, but offered no rebuke when I gave the order "All engines ahead two-thirds." At precisely the right moment, I ordered, "All engines back full." A few moments later, again well timed, I ordered, "All engines ahead one-third." Thrillingly and to my great relief, the Hunt slipped into place so gracefully that any observer would have thought the skipper himself, master ship handler that he was, had the conn.

Ferrell was proud of me, and I was much indebted to him. He had given me his trust, and I had had the good fortune to avoid letting him down. After the two ships were tied up, he sent a message to the admiral. "Midshipman McCain has the conn." The impressed admiral sent a message to the Superintendent of the Naval Academy, informing him of my accomplishment.

Many years later I learned that Ferrell had been a student and admirer of my father's. Perhaps that explains his kindness toward me. Whatever the reason for the care he took with me, I was grateful for it. His confidence in me gave me more confidence in myself, and greater assurance that I belonged at sea than I had ever experienced in the rigid, disapproving world of the Academy. Eugene Ferrell was the man who taught me the craft of my father and grandfather. He gave me cause to love the work that they had loved. Debts such as that you incur for life. I sailed for Rio de Janeiro a more contented young man than I had ever been before.

Liberty in Rio. My imagination could not have embellished the good time we made of our nine days in port, indulging in the vices sailors are infamous for, as if we had been at sea for months instead of weeks. After some excessive drinking, nightclubbing, and little or no sleep, I had exhausted my appetite for the joys of liberty and intended to return to ship. Chuck Larson persuaded me to accompany him to a party at a grand house on Sugarloaf Mountain. There I met and began a romance with a Brazilian fashion model, and gloried in the envy of my friends.

We danced on the terrace overlooking the bay until one o'clock in the morning, when I felt her cheek was moist.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"I'll never see you again," she replied.
I told her that we would remain in town for eight more days, and that I would gladly spend as much time in her company as she would grant me. But she rebutted my every assurance with "No, I can never see you again."
"Are you engaged?"
"No."
"Look, I'm going to be down at the gate of the shipyard at 
one o'clock tomorrow afternoon. I'll be there, and I want you to be 
there, too."
She said nothing in reply, and an hour later she left the party with her aunt, who served as her constant companion and chaperone.

The next afternoon, I left the ship at about twelve-thirty and waited for her at the place I had designated. An hour passed, and she had not arrived. Another hour and still she had not appeared. An hour after that, I forlornly prepared to abandon all hope. Just as I was preparing to return to the ship in a state of deep despondency, she pulled up in a Mercedes with gull-wing doors. She honked the horn, and I jumped in, ecstatic.

What People are Saying About This

William J. Bennett

Faith of My Fathers is the gripping story of a war hero. In it we learn much of what matters most. As prisoner (and later Senator) McCain instructs us: Glory is not an end in itself, but rather a reward for valor and faith. And the greatest freedom and human fulfillment comes from engaging in a noble enterprise, larger than oneself. Faith of My Fathers teaches deep truths that are valid in any age--but truths that warrant special attention in our own.

Reading Group Guide

Introduction

John McCain is one of the most admired leaders in the United States government, but his deeply-felt memoir is not a political one and ends before his election to Congress. With candor and ennobling power, McCain tells a story that, in the words of Newsweek, "makes the other presidential candidates look like pygmies."

John McCain learned about life and honor from his grandfather and father, both four-star admirals in the U.S. Navy. This is a memoir about their lives, their heroism, and the ways that sons are enriched and shaped by fathers. McCain's grandfather was one of the navy's greatest commanders, and led the strongest aircraft carrier force of the Third Fleet in key battles during World War II. McCain's father followed a similar path, equally distinguished by heroic service in the navy, as a submarine commander during World War II. He, too, rose to the rank of four-star general, making the McCains the first family in American history to achieve that distinction.

John McCain faced the most difficult challenge of his life in Vietnam. A naval aviator, he was shot down over Hanoi in 1967 and was seriously injured. When Vietnamese military officers realized he was the son of a top commander, they offered McCain early release in an effort to embarrass the United States. Acting from a sense of honor taught to him by his father and the U.S. Naval Academy, McCain refused the offer. He was tortured, held in solitary confinement, and imprisoned for five and a half years.

Faith of My Fathers is about what McCain learned from his grandfather and father, and how their example enabled him to survive those hard years. It is a story of three imperfect men who faced adversity and emerged with their honor intact. Ultimately, Faith of My Fathers shows us, with great feeling and appreciation, what fathers give to their sons, and what endures.

Questions for Discussion

  1. John McCain and John Sidney McCain lived much of their childhoods without their fathers. However, even with this absence, their fathers became a major force and influence in their every day lives. How did this come to be?

  2. According to McCain, an officer's honor is greatly defined by his obligation to the enlisted men he commands. How did this relationship between the officers and enlisted men influence the type of military career McCain, his father, and his grandfather had?

  3. McCain writes that he "wince[s]" at the racist overtones of his grandfather's comments on the Japanese during WWII, but believes that they only stem from a need to hate your enemy. Are you able to understand or distinguish a difference between racism and war-time hatred? How have these differences in sentiment and connotation affected society during WWII, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, and now the war in Iraq?

  4. McCain describes in detail some of the hazing and rigorous structure imposed on the "plebes" at the Academy. How do you feel these practices prepared McCain for combat and later for his experiences as a POW?

  5. McCain writes, "Communicating not only affirmed our humanity. It kept us alive." The prisoners had secret ways of contacting each other and found their only real strength came from each other. What does this say about human resilience? Do you think McCain would have been able to survive the camp had he been alone?

  6. Throughout his story McCain mentions faith and its role in helping him not only survive his time as a POW but also in becoming a man his father and grandfather could be proud of. What different things did he need to have faith in to become the man he is today? When he writes, "... all I had left of my dignity was the faith or my fathers," to whom does "fathers" refer? How was he able to draw on his faith to survive his continual torture?

  7. Towards the end of his story, McCain states that the United States was afflicted with an "identity crisis" after the Vietnam War. However, he goes on to say that "America's period of self-doubt" has ended. Do you agree with this statement? How would you define America's identity now? What do you think the largest factors in creating this identity are?

Interviews

Essay By Author

September 1999

Senator John McCain Remembers a Courageous Comrade

In his poem "The Old Men Admiring Themselves in the Water," Yeats wrote this verse:

I hear the old, old men say
All that's beautiful drifts away
Like the waters.

Although I am, thankfully, not yet stuck with the appellation "old, old man," I grow closer to that rank than to my much-enjoyed and terribly misspent youth, and I take Yeats's point. Like most people, when I reflect back on the adventures, joys, and beauty of youth, I feel a longing for what is past and cannot be restored. But though the pleasures and vanities of youth prove ephemeral, something better can endure and endure until our last moment on earth. And that is the love we give and the honor we earn when, at a moment in our lives, we sacrifice with others for a cause greater than our self-interest.

We cannot always choose the moments. Oftentimes, they arrive unbidden by us. We can choose to let the moments pass, and avoid the difficulties they entail. But the loss we would incur by that choice is much dearer than the tribute we once paid to vanity.

When I was a young man, I thought glory was the highest ambition, and that all glory was self-glory. My parents tried to teach me otherwise, as did the United States Naval Academy. But I didn't understand the lesson until later in life when, as a prisoner of war, I confronted challenges to my self-respect that I never expected to face.

In that confrontation, I discovered that I was dependent on others to a greater extent than I had everrealized, but that neither they nor the cause we served made any claims on my identity. On the contrary, they gave me a larger sense of myself than I had before. I discovered that nothing is more liberating than to fight for a cause larger than yourself, something that encompasses you but is not defined by your existence alone. Many good men, better men than I, taught me that lesson; among them was Mike Christian.

Mike was a Navy bombardier-navigator who had been shot down and captured in Vietnam the same year I had, 1967. He had grown up near Selma, Alabama. His family was poor. He had not worn shoes until he was 13 years old. Character was their wealth, and they raised Mike to be a good, righteous man.

What few packages the Vietnamese allowed us to receive from our families often contained handkerchiefs, scarves, and other clothing items. For some time, Mike had been taking little scraps of red and white cloth, and with a needle fashioned from a splinter of bamboo, he laboriously sewed an American flag onto the inside of his blue prison shirt. Every afternoon, before we ate our soup, we would hang Mike's flag on the wall of our cell and together recite the Pledge of Allegiance. No other event of the day had as much meaning to us.

The guards discovered Mike's flag one afternoon during a routine inspection and confiscated it. They returned that evening and took Mike outside. For our instruction as much as Mike's, they beat him severely, just outside our cell, puncturing his eardrum and breaking several of his ribs. When they had finished, they dragged him bleeding and nearly senseless back into our cell, and we helped him crawl to his place on the concrete platform that served as our bed. After things quieted down, we all lay down to go to sleep. Before drifting off, I happened to look toward a corner of the room, where one of the four naked lightbulbs that were always on in our cell cast a dim light on Mike Christian. He had crawled there quietly when he thought the rest of us were sleeping. With his eyes nearly swollen shut from the beating, he had picked up his needle and thread and begun sewing a new flag.

"All that's beautiful drifts away," except love and honor. And that makes all the difference, all the difference in the world.

—Senator John McCain

Introduction

September 1999

In Faith of My Fathers, former presidential candidate John McCain, whose tumultuous life and successful political career were documented in the bestselling The Nightingale's Song, now tells his own story, with a focus on the men whose guidance, example, and influence have served to help make him the man he is today. Senator McCain composed the following essay exclusively for Barnes & Noble.com; in it he pays tribute to the courage and commitment exhibited by one of his fellow POW's during the Vietnam War.

From the B&N Reads Blog

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