In 1999, while deployed aboard the USS Vella Gulf (CG-72), I found myself part of a quiet but significant shift in military communication. That year marked the early days of the Navy’s transition into digital correspondence, with the introduction of the Information Systems Technician (IT) rating. This new rating was formed by merging legacy communications and data specialties, including Radioman (RM) and Data Processing Technician (DP), and would later expand to include Information Systems Technician Submarines (ITS), reflecting the Navy’s modernization of information and communication systems.
For the first time, Sailors like me had limited access to email as a way to stay connected with home.
But this wasn’t instant communication.
We wrote emails on shared computers, saved them to floppy disks, and physically dropped them off at the IT shop to be transmitted. Messages came and went based on operational tempo. Even then, we were mindful of OPSEC—careful about what we said and how we said it.
What stands out most now, though, is how much those emails still felt like letters.
I have always known I enjoyed communicating through letter writing with family and friends, but I did not realize how prolific I was until I found these messages again years later.
One message I sent to my mother on May 3, 1999 reads exactly as it was written:
What have you been up to? Did Rachela get the card I sent? Did Irma get the shoes I sent? I’m sending you some stuff home. I got a leather jacket and some other stuff. Just store it in a box or a closet. I got you something too. It’s really big so you will know it is yours. It will be the biggest thing I send. I thought you would really like it. How is Teresa doing? Do you have her address? Has my car been maintained? You haven’t been emailing a lot lately. You are slacking. I called you from Turkey but you were not home. We get the newspaper here and I read that the Orioles really suck this year. They are in last place. I have all my finances figured out by the way. We went on tour in Turkey and went to the ancient town of Ephesus, and the last house the Virgin Mary lived in. We also saw a belly dancer. It was cool. Well I gotta go.
Love,
Frances
There’s no editing, no overthinking—just connection. The message moves through everyday life and deployment without separation: family updates, packages, finances, a quick joke about the Orioles, and then a matter-of-fact mention of walking through ancient history.
That was the reality of deployment. One moment you were visiting places like Ephesus, and the next you were thinking about whether your family got a package or if your car back home was being taken care of.
Email didn’t replace traditional communication—it existed alongside it. We still relied heavily on handwritten letters and care packages—“snail mail”—that carried a physical piece of home. In return, I sent gifts back—small reminders that even across distance, connection remained.
Looking back, what stands out most is the intention. Communication required effort. You didn’t send quick updates—you wrote messages that carried everything at once: logistics, emotion, humor, and reassurance.
Recently, I found these emails again, saved by my mother for over two decades. Reading them now, I don’t just see a younger version of myself—I see how we stayed connected in a time when connection required patience, trust, and care.
Those messages weren’t just emails.
They were letters—written at sea, carried through early technology, and held onto by the people who mattered most.
📚 Sources
https://www.history.navy.mil/research/histories/ship-histories.html
https://www.navsource.org/archives/04/1161/040161.htm
https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1018
👤 Author Bio
The author is a U.S. Navy veteran with experience in leadership and service, offering reflections on the governance, economic opportunity, and civic responsibility shaped by military service and a global perspective gained through time spent both at home and abroad. Chat GPT assisted in crafting my thoughts and perspectives into a streamlined output.
The Sentinel Woman 
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