Now, after thirty one years, we repeat that celebration of honor and love for his son, a second Rear Admiral Emory Day Stanley, Supply Corps, United States Navy.

Reading the record, one might be tempted to compare either of these remarkable men against the other, but that would be a shallow mistake to be sure.

Each lived almost the same number of years; each fathered three children; each was a successful pioneer, innovator, and leader withing the same profession.

But, there were entirely different men, and I, for one, am happy that this was so. With my father, they formed a triumverate of guidance for my own imperfect life, each contributing a unique set of strengths, and all united in their obvious dedication to family, country, God, and personal rectitude. They set awesome examples of high standards, hard to emulate, impossible to ignore.

Soon after I was born, my mother invited midshipman Em Stanley, Junior, to inspect his nephew. He expressed outright chagrin, and was thereafter diligent in his efforts to correct the noted deficiencies. As I developed the capacity for it, we began to exchange letters. Mine, invariably, were returned, covered with editorial corrections in red. From some instinct, I did not resent this, but worked harder each time to reduce the red ink. Eventually, I was successful, and my letters stayed where I sent them, for I had learned the use of my native tongue.

Writing was important to Uncle Em, but it was just one of his many tools. Others included a sharp eye, and a keen sense for what is correct. A colleague once told me of being inspected by Commander Stanley, who snapped abruptly, "Who Died?", his arm and his eyes raised accusingly toward the National Ensign, not quite two blocked at it's pole.

At dinner with Uncle Emory, wearing his coat and tie - having neglected to bring my own - I wiped some ice cream off my lips, then laid my napkin on the table. In mid-sentence with someone else, his head spun toward me with the challenge, "Are you leaving us now?". "No, Sir." I replied. "Then place your napkin back in your lap until you do." Some years later, my son returned from the same table. Expressing pleasure with the experience he looked at me quizzically and said, "But what's this thing about Uncle Emory and napkins?"

Being punctilious and propriety never prevented Uncle Emory, at meal time, from inviting just about anyone's attention to a far off point of interest while his fork darted shamelessly toward the tastiest morsel on his victim's plate

In uniform, he always would be smartly turned out, but with the points of a handkerchief prodding his service ribbons - the sort of subtle rebelliousness that marked an inventive and adventurous mind ranging widely over numberless subjects and ideas. One Christmas, he picked up a child's Etch-A-Sketch - the first he'd ever seen, and asked me what it was. I showed him how it worked, and within moments, without losing track of the conversation around him, he had created an accurate outline map of the United States.

Uncle Em glorified in overcoming social injustice. At one time, when in command, he learned that Navy policy did not condone marriages between male and female officers, intentionally stationing such husbands and wives far apart from each other.

While touring me around the facility, his proudest boast was that he had managed to overturn this policy on behalf of an officer couple then serving under him. Can you imagine what that did for their productivity for the Navy and for their loyalty to him?

On another occasion, concerned that a retired family retainer was living in public housing, he sought out relatives nearby and paid to add a wing to their house so that they could take her in. No one who worked for him ever suffered his neglect.

If serious about what counts, Uncle Em was quite ready to have fun with everything else. Behind his eyes lay a self-confident, Churchillian impishness, ever alert for opportunities to inject humor. Mary Frances wrote me that soon after her parents bought their first sailboar "Poppop" - as he was known to grandchildren - came to visit.

His dramatic emergence from the aircraft, in full yachting rig, piping a boatswain's call, delighted the entire terminal. He was being his normal, irrepressibly, indefatigably, ebullient self.

A sign at the gate calls Arlington Cemetery our Nation's Most Sacred Ground. It is the point of final rest for our leaders and heroes. It is a fitting place to pay our last respects to this man who served his country so well, and who loomed as such a vital influence in our lives. We salute Em Stanley, but not in farewell. His character is a part of each one here. He lives on, within us, evermore!