What’s with the Penis Bone of a Walrus?

It is still 1965. This is not a war zone.

It is a survival zone – physically and psychologically. Lose respect for the elements here, and they will devour you in seconds. Take the young airman who jumped off the end of the pier into ice-filled North Star Bay. He was drunk. He was going to swim home to his mother. This was in June. The ice was just starting to break up. Fortunately, my security police guard pulled him out. He was taken to the base hospital, recovered, and flown out the next day.

Or take the macho colonel trying to impress a sexy gal from the USO show. They were in the Non-Commissioned Officers Club. She told him he could not empty the club in five minutes. He insisted he could. So, he grabbed the emergency red phone and declared a real Broken Arrow – a military code for a nuclear weapons incident.

The disaster control officer was right across the hall from my room. We connected immediately. We were well-trained in how to verify events like this. We went straight to the club and found the drunk colonel. He told us what he did. I put him under arrest on the spot. He was flown out the next morning and relieved of duty.

Then there was the Army major. We worked closely together, coordinating things between the Air Force and the Army. We got along well. But sometimes he would get drunk and drive around in his jeep. One time, he drove to Dundas Village, a small settlement off limits to military personnel, and started yelling at someone. I took two of my troops. It took all three of us to get handcuffs on him. I arrested him and put him in jail. The next morning, he apologized. I never had any more trouble with him.

I could tell more stories. But you get the idea. 1965 was not a boring year for me.

The most heartwarming story was about my friendship with the manager of the Danish Radar Station in Dundas Village. His name was Erik. We met at a staff meeting. He asked me what I did for exercise. I told him all about handball. He asked if I could show him. Maybe teach him how to play. I played handball almost every day. Erik started joining me twice a week. He was a fast learner and a good athlete. Eventually, he gave me a real game. We played together for about nine months of my twelve months at Thule.

At Christmas, Erik invited me to spend the day with him and his family. I was honored. I met his wife and three children for the first time. His wife was an Inuit woman from the east coast of Greenland. The children were wonderfully well-behaved. They were all friendly and fun. We decorated the Christmas tree together. The dinner was delicious. The company was even better. It was one of the finest times I ever had with a family. I almost felt adopted.

About three weeks later, I was leaving Greenland. On my departure day, Erik and his family came to say goodbye. I did not expect that. I was deeply touched. Then they gave me three gifts.

First gift: A one-hour 8-millimeter movie of their family and life in Greenland.

Second gift: A rolled-up photograph of a dogsled being driven. It was large but easy to carry. In Greenland, sled dogs are spread out from left to right; it helps them balance better on ice. In Alaska, dogs run in a straight line. That photo still hangs in our family room today.

Third gift: Erik told me this one is only given when there are deep respect and friendship. It is quite rare. It was about a foot and a half of beautiful, pure ivory. I said, “Wow.” I could not believe my eyes – let alone my ears.

Then Erik told me what it was. “It is the penis bone of a walrus,” he said. “We prize this very much. We want you to have it.”

My eyes watered up. I gave them all a big hug. I have treasured this gift for the rest of my life. Not because of the ivory. But because of the love and friendship it represents. That photo still hangs in our family room. Even at age 89, I consider this one of the great highlights of my life. Human bonding at its finest.

I will stop telling stories about Greenland for now. But next time, I will share why I ended up there in the first place. The word was that only screwups get sent to Thule. There is a great leadership lesson in how I “screwed up.”

Stay tuned.

— Vern Hayden, CFP®