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Around 1000, however, the phone rang again; finally, the Navy was on the line. “Mrs. Staheli?” a polite young officer asked. “Yes, this is she,” replied my mother, her heart pounding in her chest, wondering what he was going to say next. Positive in his demeanor that delivery of this good news would surely find a happy family member on the other end, he confidently told her, “Yes, ma'am, I just wanted to inform you that your son, Kirk Staheli is not on the USS
Cole
.” My mother was aghast. Of course he is, she thought, and in a very polite but firm tone, she replied, “Young man, my son is Kirk
Staheli
Lippold, and he is on the
Cole
. He's the commanding officer. Please call me back when you have your facts straight.” And with that, she hung up on him. She stared at the phone for a moment, dismayed and wondering how many other families would have to go through a similar form of bureaucratic torture because the Navy was so ill prepared to carry out such a simple task in reaction to this disaster. Sadly, it would be the only call she received from anyone in the Navy throughout the entire event.

Thankfully, my father's experience was slightly more positive. His wife, Kathy, had a son in the Navy, Don Nutting. That morning, Don called to tell them to turn on the news, where they learned that
Cole
had been attacked. Shortly afterwards, Nicole also called them to confirm that the ship had been attacked, but that I was at least alive and making voice reports off the ship. Shortly after that, a Navy admiral called to give them an updated status report on the ship. Over the next several days, my father would get periodic updates, which he shared with my mother. In many ways, it was still disconcerting to learn in my short visit home that the Navy appeared to be struggling to keep the families informed about what was going on, even with a crisis of this proportion. What would the Navy do if the nation went to war and other ships came under attack? Despite their reputed and best-stated intentions to always look out for the families back home, clearly there was work to be done to live up to that standard.

A few days later, it was back to the grind at the USS
Cole
offices. A number of the crew had drifted back to Norfolk from convalescent leave early and checked in with Denise. Many of them had found that the experience had changed them in ways they were only beginning to understand; they felt as if no one could quite relate to or comprehend what they had been through. Their shipmates understood what their family and friends could not, and they sensed a certain comfort in being together.

When the crew arrived back in Norfolk there was still a great deal of concern about their psychological well-being. Dr. John Kennedy, who had flown back with us along with Chaplain Thornton, briefed the head of the Portsmouth Naval Hospital psychiatric intervention team and brought him up to date on our status and those crew members he felt would need additional support and counseling. At first, the Portsmouth team wanted to come over to the detachment offices, schedule debriefing sessions with each of the crew members, and create a new intervention plan for us. But after talking it over with Chris and the Master Chief, we all agreed it was an overreaction. Instead, we proposed there be no scheduled appointments, and team members would visit every day and just hang out with the crew. Within days after the crew's arrival as a group, the team found relatively
few who needed any additional intervention. It was important to continue to destigmatize the post-traumatic stress interventions, since John and the original team had done a great job in Aden. The crew's mental well-being showed in their resilient behavior.

The nation continued to pour out its support. Many people, entertainers, and businesses across the country donated funds for the families who had lost loved ones in the attack. To organize and deal with this influx of charity, the Navy-Marine Corps Relief Society agreed to become the collection manager and trusted agent to oversee the fund. Two entertainers held benefit concerts for the crew and families to help raise money for it. In December, Faith Hill and Tim McGraw held a concert that raised a stunning $375,000, and in January, the crew was treated to the rocker whose “American Bad Ass” they had chosen as their departure song—Kid Rock, who held a concert in Norfolk that raised over $75,000. Prior to the concert, Kid Rock paid a visit to the detachment offices, signed autographs, and visited with the crew for a few hours. It was the highlight of their month.

The fund expected to collect a total of $1,000,000 by the cutoff date of March 15, 2001. Three main groups were ultimately designated as recipients. In the first category, surviving children, spouses, and parents or guardians, with most of the money designated for the children. As an additional benefit, the Navy/Marine Corps Relief Society agreed to pay for any child's college education at any institution in the United States, from a community college to an Ivy League university. It was an amazing gift.

In the second category, funds would be used to design and construct a permanent USS
Cole
Memorial. Initially, the Navy planned to build it in a public place, but persistent public relations concerns about the Navy's responsibility in allowing the attack to happen relegated its location to a secluded area on the Norfolk Naval Station.

In the third category, funds went to the Veterans of Foreign Wars and the White House Commission on Remembrance for each organization to ensure that over the next twenty-one years (reminiscent of a twenty-one-gun salute) an arrangement of flowers would be placed at the gravesite of each of the fallen sailors.
¹

As the middle of December approached, so did the return of the
Cole
itself to the United States. Based on weather and M/V
Blue Marlin
's transit speed, the ship's scheduled arrival date was finally set for December 13. That morning, the sky was overcast as the chilled, humid mist of winter air drifted across Pascagoula Bay. M/V
Blue Marlin
with
Cole
riding on top was expected to arrive around ten o'clock that morning as crowds from the local area gathered on a nearby public beach to watch. Slowly, the outline of M/V
Blue Marlin
with
Cole
docked in the center and cocked off to one side came into view, and several tugs chugged out of the harbor to meet the ship and guide it into port. M/V
Blue Marlin
turned and made her way toward the pier where the vessel would remain for the next eleven days. At the offices of Ingalls Shipbuilding, everyone stood quietly looking out the window at
Cole
, a proud but battered and beaten ship. A gray tarp covered the large hole in the port side. Hardly anyone spoke. Seventeen sailors had died in the explosion that had caused that damage.

A few minutes later I walked down to stand on the pier as the mooring lines were doubled to secure M/V
Blue Marlin
as a brow was lowered into place. As the temporary commanding officer, Commander Rich Abresch had taken good care of the ship and the caretaker crew. They had accomplished a lot during the past six and a half weeks. Damage assessments were mostly complete and the ship was almost ready to enter the shipyard for repairs. We shook hands as he handed me the paperwork to execute the change of command. Without fanfare, pomp, or circumstance, I was back in command of USS
Cole
.

Earlier that morning, I had met with a team of investigators from the FBI. Supervisory Special Agent Don Sachtleben was again in charge of the group, with some old team members from our days in Aden, as well as some new faces, including the agent who would eventually inherit the USS
Cole
case for the FBI's Explosives Lab, Special Agent Mark Whitworth. Don explained that during the transit, the caretaker crew found several items of interest for the criminal investigation.

They had also found additional remains of crew members.

Before leaving Aden, I had briefed key people in my chain of command, including members of the Fifth Fleet command, Joint Task Force
Determined Response, and Naval Surface Force, Atlantic Fleet, of the strong possibility that this might happen. It was going to be very tough on the families, but the nature of the explosion and the twisted and mangled metal of the destroyed galley and main engine room 1 made it almost inevitable. After speaking with Don about what the caretaker crew had found, plus the additional evidence that was exposed as the shipyard workers began to cut away metal, I left the ship to make a call and confirm to the Navy what had been found and the status of this new crew recovery effort.

When I reached Admiral Foley's chief of staff, he was initially dumbstruck by the news, and instead of reacting calmly, filled the line with invective and anger. Obviously, he had either not been briefed or had forgotten this information. The questions poured forth in a stream of criticism. “How could this happen?” “Why didn't you tell us about this?” “You told us that everyone had been recovered and now this?” “What are we supposed to do now?”

All I could do was stand there and listen to him rail on. Finally, I had had enough. Pointedly, I told him that, in fact, I had informed the chain of command of the strong possibility that additional remains would be found during the transit and subsequent deconstruction period. Faced once again with yet another officer who just did not get what had happened to the ship and crew, I was in no mood to be yelled at by an uninformed senior officer.

As respectfully as possible, I told him the FBI would handle the remains with the greatest care and dignity. They had already assumed custody of the remains until forensic analysis and identification could be completed. A key point many people still did not understand was that pieces of the bombers had also been found during the recovery process and the last thing anyone wanted was their loved ones commingled with those murderous terrorists.

Given this reaction by my chain of command, I had to assume it also represented the views of the Navy's senior leadership. I thought it was time to put forward a bold proposal: I wanted to visit the families of the seventeen
sailors killed in the attack. Several days later, while still at the shipyard in Pascagoula, I broached it with Admiral Foley's staff. Following the release of the command investigation report to the public, I would personally contact each of the families of the seventeen sailors killed in the attack and if they were willing to host me, visit each of them in person.

I viewed this as a paramount duty as commanding officer of USS
Cole
when it was attacked. Those sailors had died on my watch, and their families deserved the right to sit down with me and ask the hard questions: Why was USS
Cole
in Aden in the first place? Why didn't the Navy refuel the ship at sea or at another port? Why didn't you follow all of the security measures you said you were going to follow? These families had the right to hear answers directly from me, not just read about my decisions and those in my chain of command in some antiseptic, detached investigation that could not begin to address the depths of grief and anger they felt over the loss of their loved ones. It was absolutely the right thing to do.

The Navy, however, thought otherwise. No, absolutely not, was the answer from Admiral Foley's staff. It was inappropriate for a commanding officer to contact the families. The Navy, through the Casualty Assistance Calls Officer assigned to each family, would handle any questions of this nature that might arise after release of the command investigation report. It was the wrong answer and I was not about to let it go. Given the recent “revelation” about recovered remains on the ship, it was best to just let the issue die down for a few days and to approach it again during my next visit to Norfolk. I was not about to give this up.

The ship, meanwhile, was ready to be floated off M/V
Blue Marlin
. A Naval Academy classmate, Commander Stephen Metz, was assigned to the Navy's Supervisor of Shipbuilding Conversion and Repair, Pascagoula, at Ingalls Shipbuilding, as the Destroyer Project Officer for the Aegis destroyers being built there. Exceptionally capable, he had been tapped to oversee the reconstruction of
Cole
and was personally involved in every aspect of its planned repair. While in transit to the shipyard, he had been provided with very accurate measurements of the size of the blast hole and the extent of damage radiating away from it, and had overseen the
construction of a large, forty-ton, two-section, sixty-by-eighty-foot reinforced patch to weld to the side of the ship and cover the hole. It took days of welding and adjusting, but by December 23, the patch was securely in place.

The Navy, in coordination with Ingalls Shipbuilding, had dredged out the center of the harbor area just off the basin where new ships were constructed and launched.
Cole
needed a launching in reverse. Early on the morning of Christmas Eve, M/V
Blue Marlin
gracefully maneuvered away from the pier and firmly anchored herself over the middle of the dredged area. The water depth gave the ship the room to ballast down and allow
Cole
to gently refloat off the docking blocks and support beams that had held her in place during the long transit back to the United States. Throughout the entire process, teams of shipyard workers patrolled the engine rooms and spaces below the waterline to ensure the ship remained watertight and its structural integrity held fast.

Once
Cole
was floating on her own above the keel blocks, M/V
Blue Marlin
took in the lines holding her in position and, seconds later, several tugs attached lines to the ship and gently towed her across the basin back to a pier where she would stay for the next eight days. The remainder of the year would be spent making preparations for the weapons offload at the Pascagoula Naval Station and transition to the Ingalls Shipbuilding reconstruction area. It was almost 2100 before the evolution was complete, but USS
Cole
was back afloat again.