Stephen Morrison’s final year at the Naval Academy proved to be relatively uneventful. After he was released from the hospital, he reported for his summer cruise and, upon returning to Annapolis in the fall, he noticed that life had definitely improved. Although still in Coventry, most of his classmates were actually more respectful and, even to a small degree, friendlier toward him. From his first day back, he noticed that the anonymous notes with the religious epithets had ceased. He also learned that his boxing match with Russell had become something of a legend at the Naval Academy. His classmates would frequently refer to it as if it were a pivotal event in the school’s history.
One thing that hadn’t changed was the academic competition between him and Jared Russell. Both young men were vying for the top spot in the class. As they entered the final weeks of their last semester, it still wasn’t clear who would emerge as the class valedictorian. Morrison remained a loner, while the ever-popular Russell continued to cultivate a following among his classmates and among the faculty. It was obvious to all that Russell was considered by the faculty to be the student with the greatest potential for a brilliant naval career.
Russell had remained much more engaged in extracurricular activities, unlike the shunned Morrison. Ironically, one of the extracurricular tasks given by Captain Phythian to Russell because of the Morrison beating incident proved to be the instrument of ultimate vengeance for the young man from Minnesota. A faculty decision in Spring 1892 led to the creation of a yearbook to be issued for each Naval Academy graduating class. The first class to have a yearbook, named The Lucky Bag, would be the class of 1893. Captain Phythian decided that the editor of the first yearbook would be Jared Russell.
In June 1893, all of the cadets could feel the excitement in the air. Not only had President Grover Cleveland been invited as the commencement speaker, but equally as titillating for all of the First Class Cadets remained the question surrounding the top two graduates. Who would emerge as first in the class? The academic grade point averages of Russell and Morrison remained so close that the superintendent decided to delay the announcement until the top two graduates actually received their diplomas. The night before the commencement ceremony, the families of the graduates arrived in Annapolis. Stephen spent the night with Mary Morrison and Joseph at the hotel. The only disappointment for the family this day would be that former Congressman Caleb Morrison had been judged too frail to travel by his doctors in New York.
The following morning, the cadets reported to the administration building to pick up their copies of The Lucky Bag. Eagerly anticipating its release, the class had been assured by the editor, Jared Russell, that it would be a monumental and unforgettable tribute to their years at the academy. Like his classmates, Morrison could not wait to pick up his copy and share it with his family. Everyone lined up in alphabetical order and entered the building one at a time to sign for and receive their yearbook. After being given his copy, Morrison strolled out to the quadrangle, sat alone, and began leafing through the pages.
The shock of what he saw in the book stunned him. He quickly thumbed through all of the pages to make certain he hadn’t missed anything or misinterpreted what he had seen. But he had not been mistaken. It was all there in black and white. Each page of the yearbook featured two graduates per page, but on the page with Morrison’s picture, his was the only picture and the back of the page was blank. His page was not numbered, but the pages preceding and following his page were consecutively numbered. To complete the insult, his page was perforated near the binding to allow for easy removal, the only such page in the entire yearbook.
Underneath his photograph was his biography, but it was not the one he had written for the yearbook. Instead it read, “Born in the town of Hebrewville, on the fifteenth day of June, 1870, in Tsarist Russia, thrown out of Russia due to incompatibility; educated in the Son of Abraham Academy; expert in history and self-advancement; destined for a short-term tenure in the United States Navy before returning to Russia where he belongs.” Morrison flushed with anger as he stood up. His family waited for him to return so that they could see his yearbook. He turned slowly toward the pathway near him to begin the walk back to the hotel. As he reached the corner of the quadrangle, he walked by a trash can. Without breaking his stride, he dropped his copy of The Lucky Bag into the trash.
Later that morning, Captain Phythian perused his copy of the yearbook. When he came to Stephen Morrison’s page, he froze. Trembling with anger, he ordered his yeoman to bring Jared Russell to his office immediately. Minutes later, Cadet Russell stood in front of his desk. Barely able to control his anger, Phythian blurted out “What the hell is this?” as he pointed to Morrison’s page.
“Well, sir,” began Russell very methodically, “I did follow your orders as I understood them. If you recall, you told me that if there were any other incidences of violence or harassment against Cadet Morrison, I’d be in trouble. As you plainly observed, no one laid a hand on him this past year. I followed your orders to the letter.
“Also, sir, you were the one who assigned me to be the editor of The Lucky Bag. I thought that it would be a gentlemanly way to end our stay at Annapolis with a little good-natured fun and satire. If anyone is offended by my humor, as you can see, they can easily remove that page and it will be as if it never existed.”
Phythian managed not to raise his voice as he ordered Russell to, “Sit down and shut up!” The young man sat down with just a hint of a smile on his lips. “Listen to me, Cadet Russell. I’ve told you before that you have a brilliant career ahead of you because you are a leader and you’re very smart. Well, you’re a little too smart and a little too cute for your own good. The graduation ceremony starts in just over an hour, and you’ll be graduated. Your timing is very clever.” He reached into his desk drawer and removed a folder. Opening it up, he removed what appeared to be a certificate. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.
“No, sir,” replied Russell, eyeing the ornate certificate with raised engraving.
“It’s a certificate that we were going to inaugurate with your class for the graduating cadet who is considered to be the most likely to achieve the rank of admiral. This is to be presented at the graduation. This certificate has your name on it Cadet Russell.” With that, he stood up and ripped the certificate to shreds. “Now, get the hell out of here!” he shouted.
* * *
The sun shone brightly, adding to the splendor of the important day in Annapolis. President Cleveland had been speaking for about twenty minutes when his speech drew to a close. “And so,” he concluded, “I will end my remarks and wish all of the graduates of the Class of 1893 fair winds and following seas!” Thunderous applause erupted and the president received a standing ovation from the audience.
Captain Phythian rose and shook the president’s hand as he escorted him back to his seat. He returned to the podium and announced, “We will now call the graduates up individually to receive their diplomas. Guests, proud parents, when these fine young men return to their seats, they will no longer be Naval Cadets. They will be Passed Midshipmen, awaiting their orders to their first ships, the initial step on their paths to long and proud naval careers. I will now start calling the cadets up to receive their diplomas in the reverse order of their class rank.”
He called up the class anchorman, the graduate who finished last in the class academically. Many good-natured catcalls arose from the graduating class as he walked up to the stage to receive his diploma. Captain Phythian continued calling up the fifty members of the graduating class, and the process went very smoothly. Finally, only two graduates remained: Jared Russell and Stephen Morrison. The rest of the student body and faculty sat on the edge of their seats with anticipation. Among both groups, betting pools had emerged so that everyone could wager on who would be the top graduate. Now the moment had arrived.
“Ladies and gentleman, I now call up the number two graduate in the Class of 1893. He is the winner of the bronze telescope for excellence in navigation. It is my pleasure to call up … Naval Cadet First Class Stephen Morrison!” As Morrison rose, walked up the steps, and crossed the stage to receive his diploma, Mary and Joseph Morrison applauded enthusiastically. They were joined by several other graduates. Captain Phythian shook Morrison’s hand as he gave him his telescope and diploma and whispered, “Well done, Stephen.”
Facing the audience again, Captain Phythian announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, I present the top graduate in the class, winner of the trophy for seamanship, Naval Cadet First Class Jared Russell!” As Russell strode up the stage, thunderous applause broke out among the graduates, guests, and faculty. Shaking hands with Captain Phythian, who gave him the trophy cup and his diploma without saying a word, Russell stopped and faced the audience and held the cup up over his head, like a conquering hero. The crowd roared its approval, and as Russell walked by Morrison on his way back to his seat, he winked at him and smiled.
* * *
The two rivals would never meet again. Upon graduation, Morrison received orders to the Atlanta, and Russell received orders to the Boston. Both were part of the U. S. Navy’s ABCD fleet, since the four ships were named Atlanta, Boston, Chicago, and Dolphin. Although these ships were the navy’s first steel warships, they were a curious combination of old sailing ships and the first steel warships of the day. In addition to steel hulls, each had two large masts forward and aft for the canvas sails that they sometimes used for propulsion.
Both men excelled at their assignments. For Morrison, being at sea was exhilarating. It was the ultimate fulfillment of his boyhood dreams. He knew that United States Navy was to be his life’s work. He quickly gained a reputation in the wardroom as a serious and highly competent young officer. The enlisted men under his authority held him in high regard. Although he was very demanding, he was also very fair. During his first sea tour, it became obvious he had tremendous potential.
Russell, too, excelled aboard the Boston. His dominating personality clearly marked him as a leader, and he showed no lack of self-confidence. In his interview with the commanding officer shortly after reporting aboard, he was asked what his career goals were. He replied without hesitation, “To be the senior admiral in the United States Navy, sir.” Russell joined the ship in San Francisco shortly after its return from the Hawaiian Islands, where it had participated in the overthrow of the Kingdom of Hawaii.
The ship remained in overhaul at the Mare Island Navy Yard at that point. The athletic Russell decided that he would begin each morning with an invigorating, brief swim in the cold waters of San Francisco Bay. In no time at all, his charismatic leadership resulted in what became known as “Russell’s Polar Bears,” a group of twenty officers and men who would also take part in this daily ritual. Russell led this daily swim until the following spring when, one morning, he announced that he would skip the swim. He felt unusually tired and wanted to rest.
A few days later, he developed stabbing pains in his legs and lower back. He reported to sick bay, and the ship’s doctor diagnosed lumbago and prescribed heat and gentle massage to the muscles. The following day, Russell attempted to swim again, but could only last a minute before he came out. By that night, he became nauseated and began to shiver. The next morning, he reported again to sick bay and complained of weakness and diffuse muscle aches. He was febrile, and the doctor recorded a temperature of one hundred and two degrees. He also complained of having difficulty swallowing. The doctor ordered him to lie down on one of the exam tables. He had to help the young officer get up on the table, lifting his legs, because they had become so weak. Jared Russell never walked again.
The doctor arranged for Russell’s transfer to the base dispensary and called in a specialist in infectious diseases. By this time, Russell had begun to have difficulty breathing. The specialist did a detailed physical examination of the young man and then went out to the waiting room where the commanding officer and the executive officer of the Boston waited. They stood as the doctor entered the room, but they could see by the stern look on the doctor’s face that the news would be grim.
“Gentlemen, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. After examining Mr. Russell, I’m pretty certain of his diagnosis.” The doctor paused for a moment before he cleared his throat and continued. “I’m afraid he has poliomyelitis. I’m truly sorry. There’s nothing that anyone can do for him.”
The next morning, Passed Midshipman Jared Russell died. He was twenty-three years old.