Black Oil

This installment is a copy of a post from a year ago. It should be included in my midshipman cruise stories,. i have had numerous comments from, dare i say, old sailors about that post. It should be, and now is included in my sea tales.

Long before Navy ships became sophisticated power chains of today, most Navy ships were fueled by black oil. Black oil was just a step above crude oil. Environmentalists would probably have heart attacks just looking at it.

It was the fuel for ship’s boilers after coal and before “Navy distillate,” a cleaner burning oil. i have a number of sea stories about black oil and Navy distillate. This story is about black oil before that other stuff became the Navy’s fuel of choice. It was a thick, viscous, and clinging substance: think of B’rer Rabbit, B’rer Fox, B’rer Bear, and the “Tar Baby.”

In the summer of 1963, the USS Lloyd Thomas (DD 764) was on exercises in the Atlantic OP areas (operational areas). i was a third class midshipman. We were en route from Sydney, Nova Scotia to Bermuda and were refueling from an old Navy oiler. It was the time of black oil.

During the refueling operation, i was assigned to the “DASH” deck aft. i don’t think the sailors topside who weren’t on the refueling teams were wearing service dress whites as in the Goodrich photo, but they could have been. We were in our dungarees (far and away the most impressive, most effective, and most appreciated working uniforms for sailors ever) and in kapok life jackets. We didn’t wear hard hats but we did have on battle helmets.

Ray Bean, a member of the Facebook group, “US Navy Gearing Class Destroyers” posted some rather amazing photos of the USS Goodrich (DD 831) refueling that same year. Ray’s photo here shows the after refueling station on the DASH deck, just forward of the after gun mount:

The refueling hoses were secured to the post in the middle of this photo and the end was placed in a fitting which was a fuel line to the ship’s tanks. The hose was tied off with what we called a “pigtail” to keep the hose in the fitting.

On this particular evolution, the deck seaman in charge of securing the “Pigtail’ did not do a good job. When the refueling began, the force of the black oil through the refueling lines broke the pigtail. Black oil hit that sailor dead on, carrying him back into the lifelines in the upper left hand corner of the DASH deck as shown in the photo. He collapsed in the corner completely covered with the oily goo.

The disaster was reported to the captain on the bridge. He sent his executive officer back to the station to take handle the catastrophe. By the time the XO got to the station, the pigtail had been secured and fuel was being pumped into the tanks. But this old exec was proud of his self-importance. Seeing the fuel was pumping, he raged about cleaning up the mess. He pointed to the gunky mess in the corner and demanded to the officer in charge to get rags, clean the mess up, and to throw that oily mess overboard.

The officer in charge then said, “But sir, that’s Seaman Jones.”

The XO, startled, mumbled something about cleaning everything up and meekly went back to the bridge.

After we cleaned up the seaman, we all laughed.

A Mid-Watch Lesson

It was summer school for me in 1968. Andrew, Rob, and i discovered The Tavern, the Black Pearl, and other delights. i was liking my liberty as an ensign. But the learning curve was almost vertical.

Another lesson came one week night when i had the duty. i was assigned the mid-watch (midnight to 0400) as the Officer of the Deck, in port, (OOD). A second class petty officer was my petty officer of the watch (POOW), and a seaman striker from radio was the messenger. It was a cool, comfortable evening and we were tied up pier side, not nested out with one or two other destroyers between us and the pier. We were port side to.

The watch had been very quiet. Liberty had ended at midnight for the crew. It was about 0200 when a very drunk seaman reeled across the brow to the quarterdeck. When i told him he would be put on report for unauthorized absence, the drunk young man went ballistic. He was cursing and threatening me. i was attempting to determine how i should handle the sailor without getting either of us in trouble when the POOW called the duty master at arms.

The duty master at arms arrived several minutes after the call. He was a first class gunners mate. He had on his dungarees but with a tee shirt rather than the chambray shirt. The left sleeve was rolled up to hold his pack of cigarettes above his massive arms.

Without much more than a polite recognition of the officer, me, he put his arm around the shoulder of the sailor and moved him aft. He said, “Sailor, let’s go have a talk in the paint locker.”

The next morning, i slept as last as i could and still partake of the morning mess. After the mess i walked to the forecastle for divisional quarters at 0750 and colors at 0800. The seaman was in first division and was in the second ranch. Chief Jones was laughing. The culprit looked like he might have been through a meat grinder. One eye was black and bruises were showing wherever there was skin.

The MA gunners mate had taken care of the problem. i don’t think the young man was ever UA again and never caused a problem on board because of drinking. The report chit disappeared before making it to the legal officer.

It was an awakening for me. The underground system for discipline at the sailor level worked well, but all of us would have been before a court martial today.

The First Summer

Sea stories abounded in those years. There was less regulation, especially about personal behavior. Drinking was part of the culture. Navy ships were not too far removed from “Rocks and Shoals” discipline. The Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) was not the dominant means of justice it is today. It was a male culture before the new world had put a stop to many shenanigans. Both officers and enlisted were prone to shenanigans.

And i was a part of a shenanigan as soon as we made fast to the pier.

The welcoming party on the pier was roughly about 700 people, mostly dependents of the crew and the wardroom, lots of children. They were all waiting anxiously as the ship’s engineers connected the auxiliary steam, electric power lines, and the phone lines. The boatswain mates double-upped the mooring lines and coordinated public works put the brow onto the quarterdeck before the guests could come aboard.

The Damage Control Assistant (DCA) who had me wait on the tarmac in Malaga, Spain, came to me and asked me for a favor. After i more or less agreed to help him, he told me he had a problem. He told me he had his family on the pier with his fiancé. Then, he added his other fiancé was also on the pier. He wanted me to engage the second fiancé and keep her distracted while he invited his family to the wardroom with the first fiancé, and then escort them off the ship. His plan was for me to then hand off the second fiancé to him so he could apologize for ship’s business causing him to be delayed in greeting her.

i shook my head in agreement, and amazingly agreed to help him, surprising myself. Even more amazingly, we pulled it off. i never saw either of the fiancé’s again, although i came close to meeting the first after he had dumped the second less than a month later, which provided another sea story.

* * *

For the transit back to Newport, i had shared forward officer’s with the Public Affairs Officer (PAO). i wasn’t particularly thrilled to be with him and deduced he was only the PAO because the CO and XO didn’t want him to fill any billet with responsibility and putting him a position that he was desirous of pursuing as a full time specialty made it easy.

Two new ensigns reported aboard. They missed joining me for the flight to Europe and joining the Hawkins before the western voyage by days. Andrew Nemethy was from Boston. Rob (We called him Bob then) Dewitt was from Maine. They were assigned to forward officers with me.

Forward officers was more like a dungeon than officers’ country. It was on the first deck under Mount 52, which was located on the 01 level (one level above the main deck). There was a small head and a row of three desks with cabinets and drawers above and below the pull down desks. If a desk was pulled down, it was difficult to squirm through to get to the other side as there was less than three feet between the after bulkhead and the cabinets. Amidships there was an opening into the racks. The racks were a larger version of the enlisted racks: metal frames with canvas tied to the frame to serve as “mattresses.” There were two racks stacked on each side of the narrow passageway in bunk-bed fashion.

To put it mildly, it was tight, yet nowhere near as tight as living in enlisted berthing. i still wonder why they had four racks in that compartment. It would have been like being in a sardine can had another officer joined the three of us.

i moved to after officers quarters on the main deck after about six weeks. Andrew and Rob adopted the space as home and remained there throughout their tours. However, we forged a bond as the three new ensigns. They remain close friends as i write.

* * *

i didn’t realize it, but one of best learning periods of my Naval career was beginning.

My First Division Chief Petty Officer was Boatswain Mate Chief (BMC) Jones. He was from Arkansas and about to retire there after he had completed his twenty years of service. He planned to start a gem cutting business and had been working toward that end. He was about 5-9 with skin you would expect on someone who had spent twenty years on small craft and the weather decks of a destroyer. It looked like alligator skin. He was thin, wiry, and and strong, reminding me in that way of my father.

Chief Jones first taught me how to be an ensign division officer. He worked with me before quarters each morning to be sure i was relating the news and direction for the coming workday. Most importantly, he kept me in line to not only play the part but actually become the leader of the division. i remain amazed he did this while always playing the supporting role, always making sure the sailors knew i was in charge. Most of our sailors were close to my age. Yet because of Chief Jones, there was no question as who was in charge: me.

To this day, i remain convinced that the toughest job in any organization is the Navy chief petty officer’s job as a division chief (i’m pretty sure this position in the other military organizations is similar, although not as formal as the Navy’s (CPO’s wore different uniforms, closer to the officers’ uniforms than the sailors’ dungarees and crackerjacks).

We shall call the seaman apprentice Wilson. He came on board after we had returned from the MED. SA Wilson was a strapping young man, about 6-2, and in good shape, about 180-200 pounds. He immediately created the ire of the Leading Petty Officer (LPO) BM2 Carrier. Wilson claimed he was getting seasick when the ship was moored to the pier. Carrier thought Wilson was a sea lawyer, one of the most despicable terms to apply to a sailor.

After a couple of weeks on a Friday, i had gone down to inspect first division’s berthing compartment after noon liberty call. Wilson was sitting on his bottom rack. He was not a happy sea lawyer.

In those days, “liberty cards” were used to control the crew’s liberty. Destroyers had been almost exclusively in three section duty, unless they were deployed when they went to port and starboard, two sections. By this time, 1968, many were in four-section duty when stateside, and three when they were deployed. Each sailor had a “liberty card,” about the size of a business card that denoted what section the sailor was in. In my memory, they were different colors, but i’m not sure. Each morning at quarters, the chief or LPO would hand out the liberty cards to those in the duty section that would have liberty. Each evening or whenever liberty expired, the quarterdeck would take to liberty cards from sailors coming back aboard. The process continued every day unless it was holiday routine, when the LPO would go through the berthing compartment and hand out liberty cards to the off going watch.

Regardless, on a Friday, liberty call went down at noon. The sea lawyer had apparently done something that hacked off Carrier, the division LPO. At quarters that morning, Carrier handed out the cards, but did not give SA Wilson his card. Wilson could not go ashore without his liberty card and would have to remain on board for the weekend unless the card somehow showed up.

When he saw me, the sea lawyer began a rant, going on about he was going to put us all on report for denying him his liberty card. It was the way things were done back then, but certainly not according to the UCMJ even then.

i was perplexed, trying to deal with a situation i had never had confronted. Carrier had gone ashore. i couldn’t consult with him, and besides, this required an immediate judgement from me. As i puzzled, BMC Jones descended the ladder down into the compartment. He asked me what was going on. i responded.

Then Chief Jones, probably 150 pounds soaking wet, turned to Wilson. He grabbed Wilson’s chambray shirt near the top button, shoved him back into the bulkhead, and pushed him upward until the startled Wilson was on his tiptoes. My CPO told the sailor in no uncertain terms, using the most exquisite sailor talk (for the uninitiated, this mean it included enough cussing to fill a book), that he was going to remain on board, and if gave his division officer, me, any grief, he, BMC Jones, would take care of the problem.

Wilson was shaking, mumbling, “Yes, Chief, aye, aye,” and, “I’m sorry Mr. Jewell, i was out of line.”

That was when i realized the power of chief petty officers and also learned, controlled displays of anger, could be a positive leadership tool.

More stories from the summer of 1968 coming…