At the time, we were embarrassed. The late nineteen-sixties was a period in history remembered best for its brazen disregard of social convention. There we were reading books on table manners, appropriate dress, proper decorum and picture this: chivalry. We were way out of step with our contemporaries. Our "professor," in a soprano sing-song voice, taught us which utensils should be held in which hand for how long and how to chew and speak at table. Us guys in the back row rolled our eyes and slumped low in the seats.

It's taken this long for me to tell anyone. Not only did I take such a course (remember, it was required), but I earned a passing grade.

The only etiquette we seem to worry about these days is the how to behave in that one most crucial, pivotal moment in contemporary life: the job interview. The rest is up for grabs. The nineties will be remembered neither for table manners nor common courtesy among strangers.

So imagine my amazement on the day we made our first visit to the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. We got a first hand look at the benefits of discipline and courtesy. Rare commodities indeed.

Ron (Midshipman Third Class Ronny T. Rowell) is a Youngster. "Youngster" is USNAspeak for second year, or sophomore. We've known Ronny since he was in the second grade. He's always been a favorite. He grew up with our three kids. Suddenly he's a tall, muscled, energetic, winsome and just plain likable young man - who also has been appointed to one of our nation's foremost institutions of higher learning.

At the Visitor's Center, we asked to see him. We were directed towards the main campus, around the turn into Tucumseh Court and the famed steps of Bancroft Hall - or "Mother B" as it's known.

We were approaching the lunch hour - didn't think much of it. Our primary concern was - would we see Ron?

Up the massive stone entrance between sweeping ramps of Bancroft, we found the office. Through the glass, several uniformed Mids hovered over desks and paperwork. In an instant, I was uncharacteristically tongue-tied. How do I address these guys? "Ronny Rowell please," was all I could say. I forgot the words "Midshipman Third Class" and "Company B."

While we waited, we wandered through the marbled, wood paneled lobby. The place drips history and tradition. Familiar names like Dewey, Halsey, King, Lejeune, Nimitz, Rickover, Spruance, Burke, Stockdale, Carter are engraved on brass plates under distinguished portraits, like ever-present reminders that every student who walks these halls has a shot at greatness.

We sat down on a leather bench. A lanky Mid arrived, snapped to ram-rod attention with a message. For us. "Mr. and Mrs. Kemp, Mr. Rowell has asked me to inform you that he will arrive here in the Lobby of Bancroft Hall in eight minutes."

"Thank you, sir." It came so easily you'd think I was accustomed to being so addressed. He nodded, and disappeared.

I turned to Carolyn. We looked at each other wide-eyed like… "whoa."

In the open entryway of Bancroft Hall, Mids began to assemble. Some carried drums. Others brass horns - a trumpet, a baritone, a tuba, a piccolo. A color guard appeared just as Ronny came 'round the corner. I looked out to the court - hundreds, maybe thousands of uniformed Mids lined up in formation.

Carolyn gave Ronny a big hug. This was not the little boy I remembered. "What's goin' on out there, Ron?"

"Oh, everybody's just lining up for lunch. We do this every day." And as he completed his sentence, there was a sharp call out of the silence. One of those people out there was in command. The lines were straight. It was a mighty army… er, I mean, Navy. A drum beat a steady cadence, and the band struck its first chord. "Anchors Aweigh!"

At once the regiment moved in synchronous harmony. In all directions. It looked like a maze, but the destination was clear. The lunch hall. "Is it OK to run my video?" I asked Ron. "Sure," he said.

Looking up from my camera, I said, "Ronny, there's a lot here I don't understand. For example, why are all the Mids out there wearing dark uniforms while you are wearing whites?"

Ron smiled, "Because I am entertaining guests today."

"You mean us?"

He nodded affirmative. "Mr. and Mrs. Kemp, would you like to join me for lunch at our table?"

"No kiddin?"

"No sir.  I am delighted to be your host.  Then afterwards, if you like, I'll take you around and show you the Yard."

And he did. We sat down in King Hall, Bancroft's 65,000 square foot dining facility along with 4,400 Mids who eat three times a day in this massive room. It's an amazing sight - thousands of meals served simultaneously. The Plebes (first year Mids) at our table sat motionless while upper classmen quizzed them on all manner of trivia.

Ron showed us the historic Chapel whose cornerstone was laid by Admiral John Dewey in 1904. The memorabilia of John Paul Jones, Commodore who commanded the newly formed American Naval forces and fought the British at sea during the Revolutionary War (1779). The Museum of Ships, many handcarved - some by naval officers locked in solitary confinement as prisoners of war.

We met officers and Mids along the way - each gave us a warm greeting and "thank you for taking the time to come and visit with us today."

As we said good-by to Ron - telling him how very proud we are - we drove back out onto the Interstate rush heading back to DC and Dulles Airport.

Maybe you'd call it national pride. We agreed it had been a while since we felt this sense of patriotism. These few hours with our friend Ron did more to rekindle a genuine love of country than a thousand sound bytes from televised news, or press conferences or windy political speeches.

The experience was rooted in two simple concepts - discipline and courtesy.

Let's think about that - discipline. To be your best. To keep the edge as a practitioner of your craft. To be the best at the things you do. And courtesy. Acknowledging the people in your sphere with respect and civility.

Simple enough. And essential for your success.