When i started writing this section, i wrote a long narrative about how i lost my NROTC scholarship and ended up in Naval Reserve. Yesterday, i realized that stuff is pretty boring, perhaps only interesting to a few, if any, family members.

To make it short, i cut out the particulars and ended up with the following summary:

i lost my scholarship, finally flunked out of Vanderbilt, and because of the contract i had signed with the Navy was required to become a Naval Reserve enlisted for either four or six years. i do not remember which. i began the weekly Tuesday sessions at the Navy Reserve Center in Nashville’s Shelby Park. After testing, i was designated as a radioman striker and began taking courses to advance.

Regardless, when i resumed college at Middle Tennessee, it was impractical, damn near impossible to go to school full time, work two jobs requiring about 50 hours of work a week and commute to Nashville on Tuesdays to attend the weekly reserve meetings.

i went to a lieutenant, my supervisor at the reserve center seeking a solution. He told me i could go into the “Active Status Pool.”

i asked, “What’s that?”

He explained i would go into this pool, not attend meetings, not get paid the very, very small fund a reserve seaman would earn, and unless a requirement arose for my kind was needed on active duty (almost totally unlikely), i would get my DD-214, the document that legally showed i had completed my active duty service in a year’s time.

It sounded like the solution for me. i took that step in at the year’s end, i received my DD-214. i continued pursuing my BA English degree at MTSU, and before my last semester in May 1967, was beginning to look for work as a sports writer.

That’s when i received a draft board notice announcing i was “1A” in the draft from the Selective Service System, further stating i would be called to active duty. In 1967, it was obvious i was, in all probability, headed to Vietnam as a grunt, an army enlistee.

i was not pleased.

i began investigation as to why this could happen when i had a DD-214 denoting i had completed my active duty. Well, i had completed that phase, but i still had a year of obligated service remaining. Since one year was not one of their options, i would have to serve two years. Thus, the SSS policies and procedures changed the course of my life.

i changed direction and began to seek to go to Navy OCS, reasoning i had really enjoyed my time during my midshipman cruise, and it was certainly more attractive than pounding ground in Vietnam.

It turned out that was more difficult than i expected. The Navy was not really drawn to having a flunkie from NROTC attend OCS, but with a review of my appeal, my subsequent academic record at MTSU, and especially a personal letter to the Navy on my behalf from Joseph L. Evins, the respected Democratic representative for Tennessee (he somehow knew my parents), i was accepted by the narrowest of margins.

After graduation in August, i traveled once again to Newport, Rhode Island in mid-September, this time more wisely choosing to fly rather than taking a Trailways bus.

The next phase of my sea adventures began.

i finished this as Maureen and i are belatedly winging to Boston for a weekend in Newport, Rhode Island and with friends and family in Boston and Vermont, a tale unto itself. The last section of this post has been written about before, notably in my book Steel Decks and Glass Ceilings. But it is an essential part of my tale of the sea and me. i could not omit it here.

And now i was an engineering midshipman. I would remain that way until we pulled back into Newport over a month later.

We did make a liberty port in Bermuda. i don’t recall very much about that first time there. i knew i loved the place and hoped to return (to my surprise, i did return on two other ships later, much later). i also remember the command had forbade enlisted and midshipmen from riding on motor bikes, and that it was a long and expensive cab ride from our pier into downtown Hamilton. i met a very pretty black-haired British young woman. i don’t recall how it happened but i had dinner with her and her parents in a beautiful white house on a hill overlooking the island.

Engineering was a new deal. The operations and weapons department had three section watches and so did the midshipmen. But engineering was on four sections, which meant they didn’t have to dog the 1600-1800 watch to rotate the personnel through the different watches. For six weeks, i and the other midshipmen remained in three sections with no dogwatch.

So, for six weeks, i arose around 0320 and relieved the watch at 0345, first in main control and then in the after fireroom. The morning watch was the shortest watch in order for the off-going watch standers to eat in the morning mess. After chow, i went to quarters (0750) and began my workday at 0800. We had the long noon mess beginning at 1130 and running to 1300. i often skipped the meal and got in a good nap, going back to my assigned engine room or fireroom.

The workday concluded at 1600. Since i had the next watch, i was let loose at 1515. But i had to be back on watch at 1545. Since there was no dogging the 16-20 watch, i was there until 1945.

A sane person would have immediately hit his rack. But i was not a sane midshipman. i would not catch more sleep because the crew’s movie was held in the DASH hangar at 2000. We did get about 15 minutes for chow. i would sit or lay on my side with my head propped up by one of my arms to watch the old movie, usually an oater, getting out between 2130 and 2145 and hit the rack at taps, 2200.

The next groundhog day would begin again around 0320…for six weeks. The watches in main control were not bad, almost fun. i stood mostly by the big board with dials and arrows under the huge blowers blowing air, if not cool air, directly on me and the other watch standers. Toward the end, i learned a lot and even took the two big wheels for the two propellers to respond to the lee helm orders from the bridge to alter speed. Oh, it was hot, real hot, probably whacking at 100 degrees. And it was humid…no, not “Humid.” Steamy would be more accurate. Steam plants in those days had many leaks, and it was suffocatingly steamy and hot in the engine rooms.

The same could be said for the firerooms, only worse. Our watches were stood on the boiler flats on the lower level by the fittings that fired the boilers. It was tough work. Even worse, every hour, the messenger of the watch, moi, would have to crawl up on top of the water tanks, and slide on the crawl space to measure the amount of water at the cap allowing access to the the tank.

It was good training they said. For what i wondered.

* * *

Somewhere throughout this ordeal, i became friends with a BTFN, that’s Boiler Tender Fireman. He was about 6-2 with red hair. He had been promoted to first class petty officer three times, only to be busted all the way back to FN twice, his current status. He had been in almost 16 years.

One evening after the movie was over, the fireman and i walked across the torpedo deck. On a FRAM II destroyer, this was the 01 level space with Mark 32 torpedo tubes on the port and starboard sides. It was between the hangar deck aft and the forward smokestack. He and i talked a bit. Apparently, i had gained his favor.

He said, Let’s go down to the mess decks. I want to share something with you.”

Again, the brilliance of this midshipman struck and i said yes. We proceeded below to the empty mess decks. The fireman walked by the mess line and grabbed two slices of white bread. Then, he walked up to the soda dispensing machine, grabbed two paper cups, and added ice and coke, leaving about two fingers of space at the top. He handed one to me and took the other. i followed him up to the midship passageway on the main deck. He broke material condition YOKE by opening a hatch, ushering me out, then closing and battening down the hatch behind him. He nodded and motioned for me to join him as he sat down on the deck against the bulkhead. i sat opposite him with my back on the safety lines above the gunnel.

He motioned for me to hand him my plastic cup. He placed the two cups on the deck, pulled out the bread slices, placing one over each cup. He reached into his dungaree pocket and pulled out a medium size bottle of Aqua Velva, the blue aftershave lotion. With some ceremony, he opened the bottle and poured about two fingers of it on the bread. The liquid filtered through the bread filling the cups with ice and coke.

He explained the bread filtered most of the ingredients but the alcohol would go through. He then made a toast. i tapped his cup with mine. As he was downing his delight, i moved the cup toward my mouth. But when his head was raised downing his concoction, i tossed the contents over my right shoulder into the briny deep. i acted as if i had actually downed it, wiping my sleeve across my mouth.

He didn’t catch me. We remained good friends for the rest of the cruise. But i did manage to avoid him after the movies after that night.

* * *

The after-movie moments provided me the opportunity to experience something that has been with me for the rest of my life, sixty years.

The movie that night starred John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara in “The Quiet Man.” i had not seen it before and was blown away. i lingered in the hangar deck until the IT gang broke down the camera and left.

i walked across the torpedo deck but stopped just aft of the port torpedo tubes. i turned and looked out toward the horizon. The sea had flecks of small white caps. There was a million stars in the sky. The full moon was glowing white. It cast a path of moonlight across the sea surface from the horizon straight to me. The declining bow waves splashed past me with swooshes. The sound of the boilers from the forward stack passed over my head. Except for the bow waves, it was silent to me. i still do not know what it was. i used to think i imagined it, but it has happened since.

It felt like the moon and the sea had risen up, entered me, and grabbed my heart(?). i was moved. i stood silently for several more minutes before realizing i needed to go below to be in my rack for taps. i made it and lay there for some period of time, thinking about what had happened but having no answer.

It had no impact on my plans to get my degree, serve my three years and get out to be either a civil engineer or preferably a sports writer. Yet, even today, i look at the sea and think of that moment by the port life rails of the USS Lloyd Thomas (DD 764).

Perhaps it had claimed me for a career at sea.

i’ll never know.

This is the real part 6 of my serial book. i hope i haven’t confused too many folks with my gaffe.

i was beginning to get the hang of being on a Navy ship.

i don’t recall how it happen but i befriended a petty officer, a second class cook. He was one of the few black sailors on the Lloyd Thomas — i don’t recall any names of anyone on that cruise, although if i try real hard i might come up with some of the names of the midshipmen. The cook had been in 18 years, it was tough to get promoted back then, and was looking forward to going home when he retired (sic: you “completed active duty service” was what really happened as one, even officers, didn’t really retire with the pensions back then. One had to get a new job, start a new career. He was going home. As i recall, his home was a small town in Illinois.

Another second class petty officer i met was a BT, that’s “Boiler Tender” for old hands, and “Boiler Technician” for the newer sailors. This guy also had 18 years of service. He had made it up to first class three times, had been busted a bunch of times, and sort of settled in to being a second class until he got out. i still can see him one evening. He was sitting on the bottom edge of the hatch on the starboard side of the main deck. The hatch opened a small chamber where the deck hatch to the to the after fireroom was in the forward part of the chamber. It was designed that way so the deck hatch would not be subject to waves. i was walking forward on the main deck when i spotted him. He didn’t have the watch, taking a cigarette break and getting cool on the weather deck before going back down to the fireroom heat to work on a pump.

He, the cook, and a large number of the crew were single and lived on board. He told me he didn’t go ashore much, he liked his job, had no family, and never had any luck with women. It struck me he had landed in his briar patch.

* * *

During operations, there was a plan to transfer all of the midshipmen to the USS Intrepid (CV 11). She was the flagship of the flotilla on the cruise. Early one morning, they high-lined our 21 midshipmen over to the carrier. They had set up tours through the ship. True to form, another middie (i cannot remember his name right now, but i believe he was from Ole Miss) and i wandered off from the group. Also true to form, we got lost in the vast number of compartments and ladders on the huge ship. After the noon mess, we were to be transferred back to the Thomas, again via high line. When they mustered us by the high-line station on the hangar deck, one deck below the flight deck, where aircraft are stored and maintained. The muster revealed two midshipmen were missing.

We had finally gotten our bearings and were headed to the hangar deck when they passed the word for Midshipman Jewell and whatever-his-name-was to report to the hangar deck immediately. The announcement came from the 1MC, the loudspeaker system that broadcast throughout the ship. Relieved but a bit embarrassed, we rejoined the group and fell in line, the last two in the line.

A high-line is a ship-to-ship rig used to transfer cargo and personal. For personnel being transferred, they are seated in a bosun chair. The chair hangs from a device with rollers that rides on the high-line and is pulled by the inhaul or outhaul line from one ship to the other. With a personnel transfer, the inhaul/outhaul lines are required to be manned by personnel, not using a motor winch or other mechanical source for pulling the lines. It was a safety measure, supposedly, but pulling a man or two men in a bosun chair between two ships on such a requires rigorous effort by the line handlers. Destroyers would muster an “all hands” working party, i.e. every one on board not involved in replenishment stations, to man the inhaul/outhaul lines. It still required a lot of physical effort.

i think the other late middie’s nickname was Mo, and i know he received his NROTC commission as a Marine. i later met him for a drink when he was stationed at the Naval Weapons Station in Yorktown, Virginia. We were the last of eleven personnel transfers back to the Lloyd Thomas. We were situated in a double bosun chair. For those who might remember, such a transfer would be considered a Disney Land “E” ride.The double bosun chair was used for several more years until two admirals in one double bosun chair, were dunked during a transfer. Soon after, the double chairs disappeared from Navy transfers. Hmm…wonder why?

But they were still around when Mo and i were transferred. It had been a long day, and very, very tiring for the Thomas line handlers. Our chair was lifted up, the signals were given. Mo and i glided along the 120 feet between the ship quite nicely, the two of us unaware the line handlers were exhausted. When we were about twenty feet from our landing area, our chair stopped moving. The line handlers had stopped pulling. They were worn out. Mo and i dangled there about forty feet from the swirling Atlantic between two ships.

It seemed then and has increased over the passage of time that we hung there for an hour or so. It was more likely to been five minutes, if that, before the working party regained enough strength to haul Mo and i in our chair to safety.

There are several other incidents with high-line transfers my tale of the sea.

I was glad this one was over. Mo and i vowed we would stay with tour groups on any other such events involving high line transfers.

to be continued…