JFK, 50 Years Later, The Southern Connection

All the channels were re-counting the terrible last hours and days of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy’s assassination fifty years ago. I asked Don if he remembered where he was when JFK died. He looked at me like I was nuts.
Although I wasn't quite five years old, I remember watching it unfold on a black and white TV in a Chicago brownstone. My mother and a neighbor were crying, I really didn't know what was going on, but I cried too. I felt much better later that night, because Little Joe on Bonanza didn't seem to be too upset about it.
I am sure everyone can recite JFK's " Ask not ...." speech phrase. Even though he had many brilliant speeches, I have always been moved more that his actions were a reflection of his works. i.e., his steadfast leadership during the Cuban Missile Crisis. I had read historical accounts of the 14 day nail biter, but Don's emphatic word verbatim recall of every single documentary he has watched on the subject have ~learned~ me the most.
The crisis was a 14 day nuclear dare — standoff near Cuba with Russia that could have obliterated the entire eastern seaboard. Kennedy, although missiles in place and targets in sight, remained coolheaded even when an American U-2 plane was shot down. The world breathed a huge sigh of relief when negotiations between America and Moscow were reached.
The standoff formally ended at 6:45 pm EST on November 20, 1962. The tense negotiations between the United States and the Soviet Union pointed out the necessity of a quick, clear and direct communication between Washington and Moscow. As a result, a direct telephone link between the leaders of the two countries was established. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuban_missile_crisis
My friend and I, a navy vet,  were messaging back and forth late in the evening, recounting our memories of JFK, his death and legacy. She told me "Long ago and far away, when I was a senior in high school in Bergenfield, NJ--just across the Hudson River from Manhattan, the Cuban missile crisis was happening.  So many of my classmates were scared that the missiles would hit New York City, and possibly us as well. I thought the world of John Kennedy, and had complete faith in him--he was one of those presidents that you could say the man made the presidency, rather than the presidency made the man."
In response I tapped out this story;
 "I went to Patriots Point in Charleston this past summer to do a story on the USS-Yorktown.  For reasons I told her, but didn't type out here, the story fell through.
As I normally do when rejected (before toddy time) I searched for food. I stepped into line at the snack bar. They have meals on the Yorktown, but I needed a quick fix. An old guy stood behind me in prideful vet regalia.
I turned and told him that they served  meals in the mess hall on the Yorktown. He smiled and told that he had seen enough mess halls to last a lifetime.
We got to talking about my failed story somehow and he said  "I have one for you. Short and sweet. I was stationed on (??????) naval ship near the Bay of Pigs during Cuban Missile Crisis. It was a very stressful time for us,  we were grateful to leave. When it was over we high tailed it back to the US and ported at (??????)”
I am juggling a hot dog, guzzler, notebook and pocketbook now as he eases up to the window to place his order. Ketchup is threatening to drip from the end of my unnaturally swollen steamed frank, but he has my attention so I lean on the snack bar and wait for him to continue.
"Well, we had leave and my buddies got drunk in Washington, DC and didn't want to go with me early on a Sunday morning to find a church. So, I went by myself.
I climbed the steps of an Irish Catholic church. No one was there, it was very early but the doors were open and candles gleaming. When I walked in, a tall gentleman got up off his knees slowly and turned to leave. I walked up the (?????) altar to light a candle. As we started to pass each other,  he stuck out his hand. It was JFK! He thanked me for all I've done for my country and I thanked him for all that he does and we parted. I told my buddies when I got back to the ship when they finally woke up, damn drunks never believed it."
The vet and I talked for a few minutes while I woofed down the dog and I thanked him for the story and his service and we went our separate ways.
So, I click send and the message goes to NC to my friend. I piddled around the house the next morning, kicking myself for not writing down the facts — Church? Ship? Port name? to write his story up when I hear the beep that a message came in on my computer.
My friend responds, "Never trust an old sailor"