Several months ago, I wrote a column about Lanier Phillips, the first African American Sonar Technician in the U.S. Navy. In the process of doing my research, I had the opportunity to do a phone interview with Lanier. When Lanier enlisted in 1941, the Navy was still segregated by race. The only rating open to African American Sailors was Messman or Steward's Mate.

Lanier set his sights on becoming a technician. That decision put him squarely at odds with Navy policy, and the climate of race relations at that point in history. Despite a seemingly endless stream of obstacles and the threats of his fellow Sailors, he achieved his goal and in the process opened the door for every minority Sailor that came after him.

Lanier and I have stayed in contact since the interview. We're both old retired Sonar Technicians and share a love of the sea and our country. We've talked on the phone many times, and exchanged a few favorite books and videos, but we didn't get an opportunity to meet in person until he flew out to San Diego for the 2005 reunion of Units K-West and B-East.

I'd never heard of K-West and B-East until the night I interviewed Lanier. In the mid-20th Century, African-American Sailors and Sailors of Asian-Pacific Island heritage received their training at Navy Mess Attendant School (KV-16), in Norfolk, Virginia. From 1933 to 1942, the Sailors attending the school were housed in barracks designated as Units K-West and B-East. In 1942, Navy Mess Attendant School moved to Unit 'X,' located in Bainbridge, Maryland. By that time, the Navy had dropped the formal race restriction policy and re-opened all ratings to all qualified personnel. In theory, the door of opportunity had been thrown open for Sailors of every race. In reality, very little had changed. A policy roadblock had been removed, but the institutional racism at the heart of Navy culture hadn't budged an inch.

Fast-forward forty years. The Navy I joined in 1981 was a lot different than the one Lanier Phillips had joined almost exactly four decades earlier. My very first work center supervisor was an African-American Sonar Technician with one of the sharpest tactical and technical minds I've ever encountered. He ruled the dozen or so men in our work center with the proverbial iron hand. When he gave orders, people jumped, partly because he was in charge, but mostly because he was smarter than the rest of us and we knew it. I don't believe any of us ever thought it was strange to be working for a black man. I know I certainly didn't. He was senior, he was experienced, and it seemed like the natural order of things. It wasn't until I started talking to Lanier that I began to gain any real appreciation for how different the so-called 'natural order' had been a few decades before.

When I heard that Lanier was planning to come to San Diego for the reunion of K-West and B-East, I made plans to meet him. I knew he'd be busy with the reunion, but I was fairly sure that I could tear him away from his old shipmates long enough to sit down for a cup of coffee and a chat. At the very least, I would get a chance to see him face to face, and shake his hand. As it turned out, I didn't have to resort to any drastic measures. Although we had never been members of the Mess Attendant rating, my wife and I received invitations to the reunion.

Lanier was scheduled to be the keynote speaker, and we heard rumors that I might be asked to speak as well. Just to be safe, I organized a few ideas that I could whip into a short speech without too much work. I was planning to talk about Lanier. How could I go wrong? He's a fascinating man, and his life experiences are the stuff of legend. I couldn't ask for a better topic.

Part way through dinner, Lanier reminded me that I was expected to say a few words. I nodded, and told him I was prepared. And I was, or so I thought. But then something happened. I began listening to some of the conversations from the surrounding tables. I didn't really intend to eavesdrop, but storytelling is part of the reunion experience, and old Sailors can tell some pretty wild stories.

At first I was only half-listening. It's pretty difficult not to give Lanier Phillips your undivided attention. But I had never heard stories like these before: tales of the old segregated Navy, from men who had served from the wrong side of the color barrier. Or rather, I had heard such stories, but only from Lanier.

As I listened to story after story of racism and degradation, I was surprised by how little anger came through in the voices of those men. I was angry just listening to much of it. The men of K-West and B-East had lived those stories, but their predominant emotion seemed to be pride. They were proud of their strength and endurance. They were proud of their service, given in time of war to a country that showed little or no appreciation. They were proud of their sacrifices, and of the blood they had shed in defense of freedoms that they had rarely been allowed to taste. And I believe that each of those men was proud of the role he had played in transforming the culture of a military, and an entire nation.

When I was called to the podium to speak, I had no idea what to say. I was surrounded by dozens of men who had overcome challenges beyond the scope of my experience and imagination. I had come to meet and honor a remarkable man. But I was sitting in a room full of remarkable men. I was so utterly humbled that I almost couldn't speak.

Looking back, I don't really recall what I said. I remember making a joke about being underdressed, but beyond that, I have no idea what words came out of my mouth. I'm not at all certain that I brought anything of value to the men and families of K-West and B-East. All I know for certain is that I came away a little wiser.

As a career Sailor and a lover of military lore, I should have known all about Units K-West and B-East, but I can't recall seeing them mentioned in any history book. Members of the Steward/Mess Attendant rating fought in virtually every major naval engagement of World War II. More than 1,100 Messmen were killed, and thousands more were wounded in the line of duty. Only Doris (Dorie) Miller, Leonard Harmon, and William Pinckney made it into the pages of history. The others have either been ignored or overlooked by most naval historians. Consequently, the contributions of the Stewards and Messmen are neither as well known nor as well documented as they should be.

Retired Navy Chief Hospital Corpsman Richard E. Miller is working to change that. His book, 'The Messman Chronicles: African Americans in the U.S. Navy, 1932-1943,' is an excellent first step in preserving the extraordinary accomplishments of a group of men who responded to discrimination with heroism. I met Richard at the reunion that night. Although he himself is an African-American Sailor, I could see that he was also awed by the collective experiences of the men in that room.

An old maxim tells us that we cannot know where we are going if we don't know where we've been. After crossing paths with the alumni of K-West and B-East, I'd like to offer a slight twist to that thought: We cannot know who we are until we understand who we were.