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Community The Patron The crew of Station Ocean City, Md., was assembled on the messdeck busy with the details of passing the watch. It was 1999 and BM1 Chris Karpf was a seaman apprentice fresh from boot camp then. An elderly man entered the room, his shoes shuffled across the shiny black and white checkered floor towards them. Karpf was amazed when quarters was immediately stopped just to pour the stranger a cup of coffee. Meet grandpa Max. He wore no rank but he was clearly the patriarch of this bunch. Many weekends during the summer Solomon makes the 400-mile drive from Pittsburgh to Ocean City, Md., where you’ll find the 75-year-old firecracker talking shop with the crew at the station or next door on his balcony watching over them. On this particular day, though, he’s at a hospital in Pittsburgh. His presence is felt at the station nonetheless. BMCM Don Carter, the officer in charge here, leans forward in his chair, bristling with enthusiasm as he describes the relationship between Solomon and his crew. “He’s heavily involved in the morale of the crew and being a part of the station,” he said. Solomon, working through the Coast Guard Foundation, had helped many of the crew attend a course to receive their commercial captain’s licenses, Carter explains. An auxiliarist and a director at the foundation, Solomon has spent many years helping Coast Guardsmen with challenges large and small. It’s apparent his relationship with this group is special. “Did you see the flatscreen on the messdeck?” asks Carter. It was a gift to the crew from Solomon. To understand his connection to this place you have to go back almost 100 years. A clue hangs on the wall of the messdeck. Carter points to a small sketch of a railroad station in a simple wooden frame dated 1914. He explains how the property where the station sits originally belonged to the railroads. Photo il lustratio n by PA 2 Dan B ender, C G Maga zine Happy Captains Members of the crew were able to take a course to gain civilian captain’s licenses through a program started by Solomon. Photo courtesy of Dave Blosveren. Solomon, who had worked for the railroads his whole life, had helped transfer the property to the Coast Guard. Other subtle traces of Solomon’s influence are scattered about the station. Almost all of the photos on the walls were donated by him. In the foyer, a motor life boat model bears his name across the back of the coxswain’s chair in tribute. Another mark isn’t so subtle. On the nights when Solomon is in town and his blinds are open, a huge Coast Guard stripe that Solomon had painted on his living room wall stretches from floor to ceiling and can be seen from just about anywhere in the station and, probably, anywhere in town. In the same way his giant stripe serves as an unofficial beacon to the station, Solomon is its unofficial ambassador to the community. “He bridges the public relationship,” said Carter. As Carter describes the man it’s not difficult to imagine Solomon boasting to all of his friends about the feats of his Coast Guard shipmates. Carter leans back in his chair and touches his fingertips together forming a triangle. His eyes look slightly up and left in the general direction of Solomon’s empty condo as if he could see it through the walls. His smile widens. “You’ll never see him without his Coast Guard watch, a Coast Guard tie, lapel pin,” said Carter. He goes on to list more of Solomon’s contributions, like hosting morale events or simply lending an ear, but his tone abruptly turns solemn. “He goes nonstop,” said Carter who suddenly remembers why Solomon hasn’t been around lately. Earlier that summer the newly commissioned CGC Berthoff visited Baltimore where Solomon had hosted a party in honor of the cutter and its crew. Solomon had even brought his 14-year-old grandson to see the regal ship. It was surely an exciting night for the man who so deeply loved the Coast Guard. But in a tragic turn of events, late that night Solomon suffered a stroke while driving home to Ocean City with his wife Judy and ran into a telephone pole. She was relatively unharmed but he was badly hurt. Carter and his crew stepped into action. For the next three weeks, until Solomon was well enough to be transported to a Pittsburgh hospital, he and his crew looked after his wife and pitched in however they could. SN Avrie Isaac and SN Heather Miner volunteered to drive her to and from the hospital, often helping her with housework too. They had never met her before the accident. Carter’s mood is noticeably brighter later when he walks to check on Solomon’s condo. It’s impossible to miss. Outside a Coast Guard doormat sits beneath a large Coast Guard emblem on the door. Inside, the large stripe on the living room wall was only the tip of the iceberg. There was Coast Guard everything: books, photos, rugs, pillows, pens, candies, coins, models, magnets—everything. Most telling of all was Solomon’s closet. Neatly arranged were the Coast Guard ties Carter mentioned earlier along with almost identical sets of trousers and shirts. Back at the station, Karpf, who has known Solomon longer than anyone else here, has a simple explanation for the contents of the closet. “It’s his uniform.” Fifteen Captains You’ll never see him with out his Coast Guard watch, a Coast Guard tie, a Coast Guard lapel pin. Max’s View BMCM Don Carter looks out onto the station from Solomon’s condo balcony. The stripe on the wall behind him stretches from the floor to the ceiling. Photo by PA2 Dan Bender Grandpa Max By PA2 Dan Bender, CG Magazine 22 Coast Guard — Issue 4, 2008 23 uscg.mil/mag
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