Sunday, August 20, 2023, we are in the middle of Hurricane Hillary, which thus far has been more of a whimper than a roar. The highest winds predicted in squalls around 45 MPH, are supposed to occur around mid-afternoon. That’s just below 40 knots for old sailors. Of course, the winds and the rain will be worse in the mountains to the east and lowlands could be facing some serious floods. There is likely to be some damage along the coast.

But we are just enjoying the light rain inside with my plans to read and listen to music — i currently am listening to a CD in a jazz anthology collection. This particular one is “Songs for a Rainy Afternoon,” rather apropos, i think. Maureen is likely to watch some television as well, probably a chick flick.

When i read the prediction described with fearful words, i laughed and remembered a time when i experienced a little more of that. i decided to include another earlier post out of sequence for my sea tales. That post included a Lebanon Democrat column from a bunch of years ago. The introduction described a number of other times at sea, storms were formidable.

Two events were left out.

The first occurred in 1975 about this time of year. The USS Anchorage (LSD 36) was transiting back to the states, having just left Keelung, Taiwan after picking up a 106-ton sea fueling buoy for an “opportune lift.” That experience is a sea story all to itself. The cylindrical buoy was supported by about four feet of logs on the well deck and welded to the batter boards on the bulkheads.

i was getting ready to relieve the watch and become the OOD for the evening (2000-2400) watch. When i reported to the bridge, CDR Art Wright called me over to the CO’s chair in the forward starboard section of the pilot house.

“Jim, the seas are already worsening, and I am a bit concerned about that sea buoy possibly breaking the welds in the shoring and breaking loose” he explained, “Would you go down to the well deck and stay there until the storm passes? I need someone I can trust to let me know if we have an emergency on hand.”

Finally, he cut off a possible excuse from me, “I will stand in for you as OOD until the mid-watch relief gets here.”

He didn’t see me gulp when i responded, “No problem, captain; aye, aye.”

i descended the ladders from the bridge on the 03 level down to the main deck, then the mezzanine deck, to the well deck. The buoy was all the way forward, almost to the mezzanine deck. i walked around the massive buoy and examined all of the welds on the buoy and the bulkheads. All good. I retreated to underneath the mezzanine deck above as the rain had begun to get serious. We were experiencing some rolls just a bit heavier than normal. i watched.

As the night deepened, the swells and the wind picked up. About every 15 minutes or so, i would circle the massive thing in the cavernous well deck, to check the buoy and the shoring as i had initially. i had rejected taking someone with me. i had thought of my BM1 Hansborough who was the well deck master, but decided if something went wrong, i wouldn’t want to put him in danger. By now, i was soaked and felt a bit lonely.

I had gotten there about 2015. The seas probably peaked somewhere around a Sea State 4. They began to calm around 0200, and were calm enough that the captain and i agreed i could secure from my post before 0400.

i have been in much rougher seas, but i don’t think i’ve ever been more concerned about what the seas might do.

The other event was on the USS Yosemite in 1984. i will save that sea story for later.

* * *

The original introduction:

Lately, in discussions with former shipmates and  other old sailors, rough seas have been discussed. i experienced rough seas on my first night aboard the USS Lloyd Thomas in (DD-764) and fought back seasickness as the radar gang was trying like mad to make me sick (a ritual described here previously). My first ship after commissioning, the USS Hawkins (DD-788) experienced enough bad weather off of Cape Hatteras that she experienced her maximum roll of 45 degrees, dangerously close to her “point of no return,” i.e. if she went much farther she would just keep going and capsize. That was rough. i was chased by a typhoon across the South China Sea, forced out of Hong Kong liberty by another (my wife was there to spend a week with me), and actually in the eye of a hurricane when it was forming in the Caribbean. But in a weekly column in The Lebanon Democrat several years ago, i described the worst storm i experienced in 15-plus years of sea duty.

Notes from the Southwest Corner: Stormy weather? It seems so calm to me

SAN DIEGO – Late last week (2013), a friend called early in the morning to tell me it was raining downtown.

“Rain,” I said, “What rain?” There was no hint of rain only several miles away. “Yep,” Steve responded, “It’s raining real rain here.”

Rain in June is rare here, spot rain even rarer. So there is yet another Southwest weather corner mystery.

The call regenerated thoughts of storms. Even though I was in the eye of a fledgling hurricane as I recently related, it was not the worst storm I experienced.

That storm came unannounced and unwelcomed.

In December 1972, the U.S.S. Stephen B. Luce (DLG-7) returned from a Mediterranean deployment with Destroyer Squadron 24. Being the holiday season, the squadron was allowed to exceed the normal limit of 15 knots.

After crossing the Atlantic on a great circle route to Charleston, SC, the U.S.S. Stanley (CG 32) detached and headed toward its homeport. The other five ships turned north toward Newport, RI, expecting to cover the 1000 miles in about three days, arriving two days ahead of schedule.

There were no warnings about what was ahead. Even without satellites, Navy weather stations normally did a decent job on weather reports, but not this time.

When the storm hit us, wind speeds approached 100 miles per hour, perhaps even more.

The bridge of the Luce was 75 feet above the water line, and green water, i.e. real waves, crashed against the bridge windows almost in relentless rhythm.

We tied bridge watch standers into their posts. Only the officer of the deck (OOD) and his assistant remained unfettered to frequently shift from side to side for better vision. Mostly, this OOD (moi) stood behind the center line gyroscope repeater with one arm around a handrail, making small course changes to find a better course.

The bow would climb up a wave and about one-quarter of the 500-foot ship hung in the air above the ocean before crashing down, the bow plunging under water before settling out briefly and starting up the next wave.

Foam covered all the sea except when the wind gave a glimpse of the dark blue ocean. The other ships were often within a 1000 yards but seldom seen except for their masts, the rest of the ship hidden by the waves.

Our watertight doors proved less than that, leaking from the pounding seas. Over a foot of water rolled about the main deck passageways. The galleys could not keep food on grills or steady in the ovens. We ate what was available, cold. We did manage to make coffee for almost five days.

The Luce took innumerable 45 degree rolls. Hanging tightly on a bridge wing, it seemed as if I was parallel to the sea.

When two other officers and I ate in the wardroom, the chairs were tied to the tables, unavailable. We propped ourselves on the floor against the port bulkhead. After a bite or two, the ship rolled fiercely. We lost our seating and tumbled across to the starboard side, sandwiches and coffee flying everywhere.

One enlisted man with the top rack in a three-tiered section was sleeping peacefully when another jolt tossed him out and down, across to the adjacent tier where he landed in the lowest rack with another startled sailor.

The Luce lost two days, arriving in Newport on its original schedule. Two older destroyers arrived about a half-day later. One newer class frigate arrived a day later. The final ship, another frigate arrived a day after that.

On the one frigate that was last in making Newport, a freak wave crashed off a forward bulkhead and ripped a three-foot hole in the back of the forward gun mount. The ship experienced flooding forward but successfully secured the breach with damage control.

When we pulled in, none of the Luce’s usual weather deck projections remained: life lines, fire stations, and damage control equipment were gone. Ladders (stairs to the landlubber) between decks had disappeared. Plenum chambers for air vents had been ripped back from the exterior bulkheads, eerily resembling giant wings.

Remarkably, we only had one major injury. At the storm’s onslaught, our assistant navigator took a dive into the brass around the chart table and cut a gash in his forehead, requiring several stitches.

Strangest of all, the sun shone daily through the entire ordeal.
Never before and never after have I been so glad to be home for Christmas.

As noted, it was my summer for learning the Navy way.

A major lesson came mid-summer. i was with a number of my first division sailors who were cleaning the ship’s midship passageway. In addition to all of the weather decks and the hull, the deck seaman also had the responsibility for most of the shared interior spaces, particularly the passageways, what landlubbers would call halls.

Our Engineering Department had a special sailor on board. He really ran the deep hole engineering (fire rooms and engine rooms for the Chief Engineer, the Main Propulsion Assistant (MPA) in charge of the engine rooms, and the “B” Division officer in charge of the firerooms. He was unique and held a rating that only lasted for a few years. During those years, a chief who was a Boiler Tender (BT) or a Machinist Mate (MM), if he passed the requirements he would meld the two disciplines and become a “steam propulsion specialist.” Then, his rating would be SPCS (E8) or SPCM (E9).

Unfortunately, i do not know remember our SPCM’s name. He was a burly six-footer with thick black hair and a booming voice.

The passageway under maintenance was close to the engineering log room amidships. The log room was pretty much the engineering office where records were kept on feed water, freshwater, fuel, oil levels, test results, among others. It was also where our SPCM hung out. i was doing something with my sailors. i don’t know what it was. But i know it was the wrong way to handle things.

Our SPCM emerged from the log room, put his arm around my shoulder, and escorted me respectfully to the port side weather deck. Again, i don’t remember exactly what he said, but i know it had a major impact on me, and because of his counsel, i changed the way i dealt with my men, and it was a major improvement.

The SPCM and my BMC Jones were close friends in the goat locker, aka the chief’s quarters. As a result, they took me into their twosome, and continued to provide me with advice about how to be a better division officer.

After liberty call when we didn’t have the duty, Ensigns Rob Dewitt, Andrew Nemethy, and yours truly were spending a lot of time in Newport. On a Tuesday afternoon when Andrew had the duty, Rob and i repaired to The Tavern, what would be called today a sports bar. We had a beer and went to see a friend of Rob’s in a home nearby. When we left there, we stopped at The Black Pearl, then a shack that served as a lounge for the owner of the three masted schooner of the same name. Barclay H. Warburton III, owned the sailing ship and to have a place to relax, have a drink, and grub, transformed that shack on the pier now Bannister’s Wharf, which had been serving as a sail loft, into a small diner. It was wonderful. We had a sandwich, of course their incredible clam chowder, a beer, and headed back to the ship. It was around 2300.

As i drove down Thames Street, an older couple in a late model Buick pulled out of a side street with no warning. Although i was driving within the speed limit, i tee boned them. It totaled my car. Rob’s head went through my windshield, and i smacked the steering wheel with my face. My car was totaled. The couple escaped with minor injuries. They took us to the emergency room where Rob received stitches, and they patched up my mouth, the front of which had lost another tooth, bringing the total to three front teeth (ha, ha, Brenda Lee). It would be about two weeks before they could replace my two-teeth bridge with a three-teeth bridge. (i was cleared of any culpability).

After several days, Rob was back on the ship, and we returned to normal duty except it would not be a normal week. BMC Jones was retiring the following Monday. The ship was having a change of command on Saturday. So on Friday at early liberty around 1400, the SPCM and BMC Jones invited me to join them at the Lighthouse, a favorite pub for chiefs, to celebrate his retirement with a gin and tonic. the three of us in our summer khakis ordered gin and tonics and toasted BMC Jones. The SPCM did not think one gin and tonic was an adequate salute to my chief. He ordered another for the three of us, and then another. i finally escaped, leaving half of my fourth gin and tonic on the table.

i stumbled back to the ship. Ordinarily, i would have eaten in the wardroom for the evening mess, and then retired to my stateroom in forward officers. But that Friday evening was scheduled for the ship’s hail and farewell party to the outgoing and incoming commanding officers. i drank about a ton of coffee, dressed in a sports jacket and tie, and headed for the small officers club up the hill from the destroyer piers.

In the small club, there was a party going on, and the three star admiral, the commander of Cruiser-Destroyer Fleet in the Atlantic, and his wife were in attendance. i somehow ended up in a conversation with the two of them. Of course, the admiral asked me about my missing teeth while his concerned wife listened. i was still pretty…er, inebriated? i waxed effusively about the event, and they appeared glad Rob and i had not been hurt worse. i walked back down the hill to the ship and my rack.

The next day was a grand event: the formal change of command ceremony aboard the USS Hawkins (DD 873). Our commanding officer was being relieved by CDR Maxwell Lasell, a large, physically impressive Naval Academy graduate with a bald head long before it was de rigueur. The CRU-DES band was on the pier . Immediately beyond the quarterdeck, the fantail had a canvas shade rigged. Eight side boys flanked the entry to the quarterdeck from the brow. Just beyond them, in two ranks stood the honor guard awaiting to be inspected by the admiral and the outgoing and oncoming COs. The officer in charge stood in front at attention in his full dress white uniform complete with his Navy sword resting on his right shoulder…and three missing front teeth. It was Ensign Jewell.

The ceremonies commenced at 1000. The band played “Ruffles and Flourishes” three times as the admiral came aboard. After he was saluted, the admiral proceeded to face the honor guard officer as i ordered my charges to salute as i performed the salute with my sword, bringing the hilt to my chin with the blade pointed skyward, bringing it smartly to my side with the blade at a slight angle toward the deck. When the admiral returned the salute, i ordered “to” and brought the sword back to rest on my right shoulder.

The admiral then asked me, “How are your teeth, this morning?”

“They are fine,” i responded, “Thank you, sir.”

Behind him, i saw my new captain, CDR Lasell, silently chuckling.

i breathed a sigh of relief as they moved on toward the rest of the ceremonies.

i would bid adieu to BMC Jones Monday morning, The SPCM would leave shortly after we entered the yards the next month. And i had found a new mentor to add to the XO, CDR Max Lasell, commanding officer of the Hawk.