Liberty in Rota was quiet. It was our first liberty for the deployment, so I was a bit nervous. Perhaps it was because of my initial visit in 1968 to this southwestern port city of Español.

Back then, the town was off limits to all but personnel stationed at the Naval Base. I was awaiting transportation to my first ship, the USS Hawkins (DD 873). I waited for two weeks. I took a tour bus to Seville for a bullfight and a day’s walk around the old world city. The rest of the time I played golf (poorly) on the very dry base course. In the evening, I would wander from the BOQ over to the officer’s club. On my second Saturday, I hooked up with a couple of aviators and several of the nurses at the O-Club bar after dinner. We went to one of the nurse’s apartments in downtown Rota, my only time off the base during those two weeks. We played a drinking game called “Indian.” I shall not go into details, but the other officers drove me back to the base in the wee hours of the morning and poured me out of the car. I stumbled into my quarters and proceeded through the worst hangover in my life. On the following Monday, I received instructions to catch a morning flight to Malaga, Spain where I would board the USS Hawkins (DD 873), my very first ship.

Needless to say, I did not have fond memories of Rota and had concerns some of Yosemite’s personnel might follow in my experience fifteen years before.

But the crew and officers went into town and enjoyed the sights, returning to the ship in good shape (as far as I knew). Several of the officers, including Doc Kerrigan and Linda Schlesinger, our disbursing officer drove about 45 minutes to Cádiz. Cádiz is a larger city directly south of Rota across the Bay of Cádiz. It had a fairly large casino. Linda had stood watch during sea detail, then pulled shore patrol duty before joining Frank at the casino. She later told me she fell asleep out at one of the gaming tables. When she woke up, all of her chips were gone.

We pulled out of Rota in the morning. By the time we reached the straits, the world of the sea had turned gray. Crossing the Straits of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean or back out to the Atlantic Ocean was one of the most majestic sights I saw in my 15 years of sailing the seas aboard Navy ships. I transited the straits four times. This time, it appeared the transit was going to be just gray mist and black seas, no sighting of Gibraltar’s promontory this time. If you knew where to look and for what you expected as I did, you could barely make the shadow of the awe inspiring peak.

But then came something better. We gained communication with a radar contact on a parallel course eastward. It was the USS New Jersey (BB 62). She, with a speed advantage, soon became visible, a specter of a magnificent past silhouetted in the gray mist. We crossed into Mediterranean waters side by side. It was more awesome than it would have been had it been a beautiful sunny day. We didn’t need that Spanish rock. We were in the company of a legend, and she was breathtaking for this mariner.

I was even more impressed with Captain Boyle when he sent a flashing light message to the New Jersey’s commanding officer. Captain Rich Milligan, the New Jersey’s CO, later was Frank’s immediate superior in follow-on commands. Milligan became the Commander, Cruiser Destroyer Group Two out of Charleston. Frank was the Commanding Officer of the Readiness Support Group in Charleston. His direct superior was Commander, Cruiser, Destroyer Group Two, also in Charleston, Captain Rich Milligan. They became friends and golfing buddies.

Their flashing light messages made me smile. They discussed the durability of the older Navy ships like destroyers, Yosemite, and New Jersey, compared to the new ships, an appropriate observation even more applicable today. And they were doing it by flashing light messages as these two ships of World War II vintage crossed from the Atlantic into the Mediterranean.

*     *     *

But then we had an event that was upsetting to say the least. After we had secured from sea detail, we conducted a “unit sweep.”

As we got underway from Rota, we announced the unit sweep for drug testing. The Navy belatedly had begun a “zero tolerance” program for drug abuse. In 1973-75 during my time aboard USS Hollister (DD-788) as chief engineer and on USS Anchorage (LSD-36) as first lieutenant, drug usage had been epidemic. There were many crazy incidents involving marijuana and harder drugs on both ships, but it had been particularly rampant on the Hollister. During my years aboard those two ships, the Navy’s policy was unclear, at least in my mind. On the Hollister, I took the position if a sailor used drugs off the ship and his using did not impact his performance on the ship, I would not take offense. But if they used drugs on the ship or it impacted their ability to perform, which in engineering is a definite ship safety concern, then I would do all in my power to take them to mast or a court martial and use every means available to get them off my ship.

My approach didn’t work. I was at peace with the way I handled it, but drug usage did not abate on Hollister. On Anchorage when I was first lieutenant, drug usage was still a significant problem, but the wanton disregard for policy had abated somewhat. Still for an operator, it was a scary proposition for many reasons.

After nearly four years as the Senior Naval Officer at the Texas A&M NROTC Unit and two years in my amphibious squadron staff tour, the military’s zero tolerance for drug usage was still a concern of mine when I became weapons officer on the USS Okinawa (LPH 3) in Perth, Australia in September 1981. The military established a zero tolerance for drug usage in late December 1981. The policy used random testing and “unit sweeps” to find drug users and initiated punitive actions including courts martial or administrative separation for drug use. Drug testing included marijuana, cocaine, heroin (opiates), amphetamines, barbiturates, methaqualone and PCP. The Navy’s version of the edict was issued with the catchphrase “Not on my watch, not on my ship, not in my navy.”

From my perspective as a ship’s department head and as executive officer on Yosemite, the zero tolerance greatly improved my ships’ performance and greatly reduced the dangers associated with drug use on ships.

As part of the regulations including military justice, the procedure included the command’s ability to process any Navy personnel who had tested positive twice out of the Navy on an “Administrative Discharge.” It was a step in the right direction. Taking anything with the probability of debilitating one’s effectiveness at performing their job at sea on a warship was, and remains an unacceptable risk. I believed that then and I believe that now. Even though I drank alcohol like a champ, I never had a drink aboard any of the Navy ships on which I was stationed. To me, there was and is a distinction between alcohol and drug use.

So, I was all for the Navy’s new zero tolerance stance. Another advantage for a ship’s executive officer was that it gave me a clear and unconfused procedure to follow.

There was only one sailor who “popped positive” on the test: ET2 Schmidt, the second class who had admonished me for calling out another sailor for a gross rack during a messing and berthing inspection. It was Schmidt’s first drug offense.

When Schmidt appeared before me at XOI, I asked him why he would violate the Navy’s zero tolerance program. He told me he was raised in a family where they did not consider marijuana harmful, and they all used it as a matter of course. He continued by explaining he did not agree with the Navy’s policy. I thought his explanation was a lame excuse and did not bear any weight. He knew the consequences, and he had violated the rules. I was actually sad a productive sailor who had been a positive force for the command had chosen to cost him and the command by committing an illegal act. In addition to being a key, effective member of Rx Division in providing electronic equipment repair and maintenance, he was the division’s leading petty officer. As stated earlier, he had contributed positively to the ship’s “esprit de corps.”

That made Schmidt’s act even more severe from my perspective.

Captain Boyle, if possible, was even stronger in his belief than I was about drugs having no place on Navy ships. Following his own guidelines even though Schmidt’s division officer and department head recommended leniency, Captain Boyle held firm to his belief and administered the penultimate maximum punishment at captain’s mast: reduction in rate to ET3, half-pay for two months, forty-five days extra duty, and restriction to the ship for sixty days – the harshest punishment supposedly was three days in the brig on bread and water, but most commanding officers, including Captain Boyle and this executive officer believed the long restriction and reduction in rate would have a more significant impact on the offender. I thought the captain’s action was right on target.

If a Yosemite sailor had a second offense for drug usage, Captain Boyle’s policy was to refer the offender to a summary court martial. He believed, and again I agreed, someone who used drugs and endangered the ship, should leave the Navy with less than an honorable discharge. An administrative discharge would get the sailor out of the Navy but with a “general discharge under less than honorable” conditions. That was not sufficient punishment or enough of a deterrent in our minds.

Case closed. Or so I thought.

This is a note to thank all of you who thus far provided me feedback on the installments of my book, Steel Decks and Glass Ceilings.

Those who have complimented the book have motivated me to keep at it. That is good. i need motivation.

Others have included corrections, edits, or revisions. This changed my perspective on the installments. i now look upon that feedback as essential in making this a more accurate and much better read in the long run.

Thank you.

One issue about the book has bugged me from the beginning. That is using the actual names of sailors who did some things wrong during the deployment. i initially decided it was not big deal. i checked with several folks who have more knowledge and experience than i do. From that i concluded naming the guilty was not my problem and what risk of a law suit existed, i was willing to chance for the book being as accurate as it could be.

Several friends including my wife were concerned about possible libel suits from the guilty. Although i had considered such a possibility, this is not the reason i have changed my mind about names. But with the number of folks voicing concern, i sat down with myself and reconsidered the situation.

First off, i concluded naming those guilty folks would serve no purpose other than to put their names out there with a negative connotation for the public at large. During my two-year tour aboard Yosemite there were four crew members, one female and three males, that drove me bonkers with their disruption of good order and discipline. As a problem, they didn’t go away until i left the ship for my next duty station. Although i told myself i was only being accurate, there could have been a hint of revenge for the trouble they caused me, at least subconsciously. i believe i am better than that, above revenge, above holding a grudge.

Then there was and what continues to be my job as executive officer of the USS Yosemite. The executive officer has many facets of his job to perform. There are none more important than supporting the commanding officer in all matters, regardless of what  the XO personally believes is a better course of action. As Captain Boyle and i discussed at the end of one incident, the captain’s job includes ensuring justice is carried out aboard his ship. The exec, as i pointed out, is responsible for good order and discipline, and i added, if a few innocent folks are condemned falsely and good order and discipline has benefitted from their misfortune, the the XO, me, though sad at the fate of the innocent,  i can go with it.

That is not the captain’s position then nor is it now. He stands for justice. And if his XO is worth a damn, that XO is ultimately for justice as well. And i am. To not use the real names is justice at work.

Finally, i have tried to do what is correct in all of my personal and professional life. i certainly haven’t been perfect, but i have tried. My good friend and shipmate during my last tour, Peter Thomas articulated this well in a discussion we had several years ago when i asked him what one characteristic, one competency that was most important in being an effective leader. Peter said, “Do the right thing.” i had never articulated what i was trying to do so succinctly. Peter’s words have stuck with me, and i considered what is the right thing in this instance.

The names will be changed. i have already begun the process and will give these individuals the generic name of “Schmidt.” Why? Why not “Doe” or “Smith,” or even the old Navy moniker of “Joe Shit the Rag Man.”

Because for me, “Schmidt” is perfect. i was raised in a strict Southern Methodist family. We didn’t have any booze in the house except whiskey flavoring for boil custard at Christmas. There was no profanity. Then, my father told a joke at the breakfast table on the Sunday before Christmas. i was fourteen, my younger brother Joe, was nine.

Daddy turned to Joe and said, “On one Christmas Eve, Santa was in his sleigh in the sky headed to give gifts to all of the children. His sleigh was being pulled by his reindeer with Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer in the lead. Santa was giving instructions to Rudolph about which roof to land on next. All of sudden, Rudolph took a steep dive downward. The other reindeer followed and then came the sleigh carrying Santa.

“Rudolph and the whole shebang crashed into an outhouse. Santa climbed out of his sleigh, out of the outhouse basement and finally outside. As he wiped all of the foul content off his red outfit, he cried out, ‘Dammit, Rudolph, i said the Schmidt house!'”

My mother was aghast. My sister chuckled. Joe and i were rolling on the breakfast room floor laughing.

But as Paul Harvey used to say, that was not the end of the story. 

As we often did on Sundays after church, we went to dinner (also known as lunch in other parts of the country) along with our Aunt Bettye Kate and Uncle Snooks Hall. It was a nice family restaurant on North Cumberland near East High Street. i don’t remember the name, but it was good and on that Sunday crowded. We sat at a table in the middle of the room. The men, Joe, Uncle Snooks, our father, and i, sat at one end. The women, Aunt Bettye Kate, Martha, and our mother sat at the other end.

Sometime during the repast, brother Joe asked our father if he could tell the Santa joke to Uncle Snooks. Daddy, with a mischievous grin, nodded it was okay. Joe, all nine-years old of boy, got excited and began to tell the story. As he described Rudolph going into his dive, Joe became more excited and increasingly  louder. By the time he reached the part where Santa was climbing out of the outhouse and brushing himself off, he was practically yelling. Quite a few of the other diners had stopped eating and were listening. 

When he reached the final line, Joe shouted, “Rudolph, I said the Schmidt house!” my mother was aghast, Martha and Aunt Bettye Kate were trying to hold back their laughter, but Uncle Snooks, Daddy, and i were practically rolling on the floor.

Aunt Bettye Kate memorialized the event with a cross-stitch of the scene with Rudolph, Santa, the outhouse, and the punch line. i still have the cross-stitch and pull it out every Christmas to put it in a place of honor, and i laugh once again. My anonymous trouble makers have to be named Schmidt in honor of my family and the legendary joke.