Two Bases, One Legacy: The Navy Base Challenge Coin Journey

Admin
Sep 25
6 min read

Updated: Sep 30

Gateways to Navy Life

Two Bases, One Beginning: Great Lakes and Norfolk in Metal

We kept circling one word on the whiteboard: beginning. Scribbled in red. Underlined until the Sharpie bled through. Because when you talk about Naval Station Great Lakes and Naval Station Norfolk—two places that couldn’t look more different—you realize they’re chapters of the same book. Great Lakes forges the sailor. Norfolk activates the mission. One is the forge. The other is the stage. Together, they’re the Navy’s first act.

Great Lakes? That’s the grinder. The place where you leave your civilian self on the sidewalk and step onto the Quarterdeck of the Navy unsure if your socks are folded right or if your RDC can see into your soul (spoiler: they can). It’s structured chaos. Somewhere between your first chow hall tray and your final inspection, “I think I can do this” mutates into “YES, I WILL.” The transformation isn’t just muscle-deep. Your breath steadies. Your bearing shifts. You stand taller—not because someone told you to, but because the Grinder itself demanded it.

And then—Norfolk. The heavy-hitter. The Navy’s loudest stage. The base where everything is ten times faster, ten times heavier, ten times more real. Great Lakes is rehearsal; Norfolk is the show. It’s where training turns into tasking, where boots broken in at boot camp meet steel decks and the roar of engines. It’s not continuation—it’s activation. The leap from potential to mission.

Different vibes. Different skylines. But stitched together like the seam on a dress uniform. One builds the sailor. The other shapes the warrior. And the Navy doesn’t work without both.

The Clocktower at Great Lakes

Every recruit remembers it: the clocktower rising over Building 1, like a sentinel with perfect posture. Built in 1911, it has watched over more than a century of transformations, silently marking the moment when civilians cross the threshold into sailors. This isn’t architecture—it’s initiation. The tower’s face has measured every nervous second of “can I do this?” and has borne witness to the quiet, unshakable answer: yes.

In design, placing the clocktower front and center isn’t embellishment—it’s acknowledgment. Because for sailors, that’s the first true north: a building that tells you the Navy has been waiting.

The Grinder (Great Lakes)

The Grinder is not just pavement. It’s choreography. It’s the soundtrack of recruit training—the cadence calls, the synchronized stomps, the drill instructors’ voices bouncing off stone like ricochets. Generations have sweated here, learned precision here, broken through limits here.

For anyone who trained there, hearing the word “Grinder” is enough to make your spine straighten. That’s why immortalizing it matters. Not as nostalgia, but as resonance.

The Eagle Over Anchor

Authority has a shape, and in the Navy it often looks like this: eagle wings stretched wide, perched over an anchor wrapped in rope. Adopted in variations across official seals, this insignia represents vigilance above and stability below. It’s the dual promise of flight and grounding, watchfulness and weight.

At Great Lakes, this emblem feels like a seal of approval, hovering over every recruit who passes inspection. For us as designers, it’s not a filler detail—it’s a character in the story. The eagle isn’t decorative. It’s parental. It’s proud. It says, “Stand tall—we’re watching, and we’re with you.”

Ad Rem Classum Paratus (Norfolk)

And then we get Latin—always a power move. Ad Rem Classum Paratus. “Ready for the Fleet.” Norfolk’s heartbeat, cast in a phrase. The motto isn’t ceremonial—it’s a charge. At the world’s largest naval base, where 75 ships and 134 aircraft operate daily, readiness is oxygen. You don’t “hope” to be ready at Norfolk—you are, or you aren’t there.

For a sailor fresh from Great Lakes, stepping into Norfolk feels like living that Latin in real time: no longer practicing, but executing. That transition is everything.

McClure Field (Norfolk)

Here’s the curveball (literally): McClure Field. One of the Navy’s oldest baseball stadiums, in use since 1901. An athletic field carved from mission, opened in 1918, now the Navy’s second‑oldest brick baseball stadium in the nation Named in 1944 after WWI hero Captain Henry McClure, it’s more than brick and bases—it’s tradition and breathing room Legends like Bob Feller, Yogi Berra, Pee Wee Reese—stories echo here .

In the chaos of Norfolk, McClure keeps humanity in motion. Think sailors in wool uniforms, wooden bleachers, a seaplane flyover before the anthem. This field has outlived wars, witnessed generations of athletes, and still holds space for joy in the middle of mission. That’s the brilliance: Norfolk isn’t only about carriers and chaos. It’s about community. Recreation. A reminder that even in the Navy’s most demanding hub, there’s a place where people gather to cheer, laugh, and belong.

So here we are—sketches scattered, coffee cold, arguing about which detail hits harder. Is it the clocktower that embodies the beginning? The Grinder that echoes with transformation? The eagle that demands stature? The motto that pulses with readiness? The ballpark that proves humanity thrives even in uniform? The truth: it’s all of them. Together, they form a seam that stitches two stations into one Navy story. A story of forging and activating, grounding and soaring. And that’s why the design had to honor all of it. The forge. The show. The seam. Here’s how we brought it into metal.

Great Lakes Navy Base Challenge Coin

YES. OKAY. Let’s talk about this coin—because it’s giving HERITAGE. It’s giving TRANSFORMATION. It’s giving “every sailor starts here, so don’t screw it up.” From the first sketch, we knew we were holding something sacred. Not flashy. Not loud. Just rooted.

Right in the middle? Boom—the clocktower. The one rising in front of Building 1 like it’s been side-eyeing generations of recruits with a silent “you ready for this?” Behind it sits the Quarterdeck—the Navy’s front door, beating heart, and sometimes terrifying first impression. Above it all, that flag isn’t just waving. It’s flexing.

We wrapped the scene in a ship’s wheel. Not cartoonish—real rope texture, real wood grain, sharp enough you’ll swear we borrowed it off a destroyer. We lost hours arguing over rooflines, shadows, and windows. That’s not detail work—that’s obsession. And yes, we loved every minute.

Around the ring, “QUARTERDECK OF THE NAVY” screams across the top. On the side, tucked in like a secret signature, sits a compass rose—because orientation here has never just been about finding North. It’s about finding yourself.

The outer edge? Deep navy enamel like nightfall over water, broken by raised compass points that growl, “storm’s coming, but we’re steady.” The rope border bites sharp into gold, grounding everything in tradition.

Flip it—and there’s the Grinder. Full architectural poetry in raised metal. Rooflines. Pillars. Shadows so crisp you half expect the building to bark cadence. At the bottom, the eagle-over-anchor insignia swoops in like a proud guardian, wings spread wide.

Encircling it all, “Naval Station Great Lakes” up top, “United States Navy” across the bottom, flanked by stars. Classic. Commanding. Tradition you can hold.

This navy base challenge coin doesn’t whisper—it commands. It’s the 0500 whistle, the slap of boots on wet pavement, the first salute that makes your chest ache with pride. Every raised line is an echo: early mornings, shouted orders, friendships hammered out in exhaustion. This coin remembers everything.

Norfolk Navy Base Challenge Coin

Ohhh YES, let’s talk about this coin—because honestly, it’s got range. It’s a full-on airshow AND a ballpark moment, all wrapped in antique gold and Navy pride.

The front? Straight-up cinematic. A carrier bold as a movie villain’s lair. A jet overhead buzzing the tower. A helicopter hovering like this is not a drill. Anchored at the base is the Naval Station Norfolk crest, trident and anchor locked like it knows it’s the biggest stage in the fleet. And circling it all in Latin: Ad Rem Classum Paratus. Ready for the Fleet.

The border? Blue enamel ring, rope edge, raised gold finish. “NAVAL STATION NORFOLK” across the top, “EST. 1917” grounding the bottom. Over a century of shaping sailors, launching missions, and commanding the Atlantic.

Now flip it. McClure Field in full raised detail. Bleachers, scoreboard, seaplane flyover—you can practically hear the anthem. Around the ring: “Naval Training Station Stadium” up top, “Norfolk, Virginia” on the bottom, flanked by “June 22” and “2018.” History frozen in metal. And tucked in like a signature, the Department of the Navy emblem, grounding it in legacy.

Stars line the rim like baseball stitching—yes, we noticed, and yes, it’s genius. A bold “1” at the bottom flexes like the first pitch of a long season.

This navy base challenge coin holds weight. The roar of an engine. The crack of a bat. The salute at sunset. Norfolk isn’t just a station—it’s the station. And this coin tells the whole story, front to back.

Two bases. Two coins. One beginning. Great Lakes forges the sailor; Norfolk activates the mission. They’re stitched together not just by geography, but by memory, discipline, and legacy. And when we cast them in metal, we weren’t just making keepsakes—we were holding onto the Navy’s first act. Every sailor carries it. Every coin remembers it.