Chapter Four, Crossing the Pond; part two

All of my previous transits in the Atlantic had been a SOA (speed of advance) of 17 knots. This was primarily because my previous ships in the Atlantic had been destroyers. At one time, the old Yosemite had been capable of a maximum speed of 19.6 knots. But age of the machinery and addition of lots of weight for new repair equipment, CAPT Boyle believed her maximum was about 16 knots. The transit from Mayport to Rota, Spain was planned at a cruising speed of 14 knots. I was pessimistic and suspected she would be lucky to grind it out at 12 knots.

Captain Boyle and Ken Clausen, the chief engineer discussed how the thirty-nine-year-old ship could handle speed. Captain Boyle had plenty of experience and knowledge concerning steam ships. He served in three engineering tours, was an engineering instructor at Navy Destroyer School and a senior examiner on the Atlantic Fleet Propulsion Examining Board. Ken had already established himself in my opinion as one of the best chief engineers with whom I had served.

Prior to departure, we had three non-crew members board for the transit across the Atlantic. Navy Campus for Achievement provided Mr. Mabry for conducting GED and CLEP tests and other educational services for the crew. The Fleet Weather Center, Norfolk sent a first class and a second class aerographer’s mates (AG’s) temporary duty to give us the most current and complete weather information. It was the season for tropical storms and hurricanes.

After our first night underway, AG1 Scollan came to me with a message from his command in Norfolk. A tropical depression off of Bermuda was developing and was being watched closely. In two days, the depression strengthened into a tropical storm and on September 11, it became Hurricane Chantal, the one I described in my letter to Maureen above.

Looking at the charts, Captain Boyle and I assessed our options. Both of us had significant experience with hurricanes, typhoons, and tropical cyclones and storms. We believed it would be safest for the ship to cross well ahead of the northern path of Chantal. To remain on the western side of the storm could put the ship in a precarious position without maneuvering room if Chantal moved northeast. The fleet weather center disagreed and directed us to stay east until the hurricane passed.

Frustrated, Captain Boyle with my agreement decided to obey the direction of the weather center. There was a very, very slight chance our crossing north of the hurricane track could put us in a dangerous position. Although we were sure this wouldn’t happen, if it did we would have no leg to stand on in defense of our actions.

By Monday evening, September 12, Chantal had dissipated and was no longer classified a hurricane, reverting to a tropical storm. We resumed our course to Rota. I was not sure the old “Busy Lady” could make up the delay to arrive on time. She proved me wrong.

Although Yosemite was expected to steam around ten knots, the boiler technicians used oversized sprayer plates for the boiler burners and the old grey lady made it across the big pond at an estimated SOA (Speed of Advance) of twelve knots. At times, she even topped out at sixteen knots. Beautiful old lady. She arrived in Rota as scheduled, Tuesday, September 20.

*     *     *

In all of the other Navy ships on which I deployed, going to sea was an extremely busy time for all hands. Everyone had watches, usually three or four sections. If it was four sections, the watch sections would rotate through the four-hour watches, which gave them a different watch each day. Yosemite was in four-section watches on the bridge, Combat Information Center (CIC), lookouts, and engineering. But the vast majority of the ship’s complement was the Repair, Medical, and Dental departments, and none of those crew members stood watches.

However, Captain Boyle had determined early on the material condition of the thirty-nine-year-old ship was poor. There was a large amount of rust throughout the ship, especially on the weather decks. The first lieutenant, chief engineer, and the repair officer came up with a plan to address the problems and bring the ship back to respectable material condition by the time we returned to Mayport. Captain Boyle approved.

The plan went into effect as soon as we left Mayport. Nearly the entire ship kept busy throughout the transit, a massive effort by the Repair department was made cutting and welding rotten metal throughout the ship.

I was getting the feel of communicating with the crew. The POD became my daily connection with all of them. The POD was read, or at least was supposed to be read to all hands at morning quarters. I tried to convey good order and discipline was a primary concern for everyone, but we could take care of business and still have fun. I was learning on the fly.

I also was learning how Navy officers, chiefs, and sailors heeded my cardboard signs I hung on my office door. If the sign indicated I was out of the office and where I was, whoever had come to see me would leave, go back to work, and return later. However, if the sign indicated I was in, I qualified that information with additions. My normal sign was “Knock and Enter.” Then there was “Quiet Time: Please Do Not Enter,” “Conference in Session: Please Do Not Enter,” “XO’s Mast: Please Do Not Enter,” etc.

Then as president of the wardroom mess, I would sit at the head of the wardroom table. In one of the first days at sea at the end of the noon mess, I arose and announced, “I hear the rack monster calling (“rack” was the old sailors’ term for beds, which were canvas bottoms tied to a metal frame); it is time for a “NORP.” The old salts knew about the “rack monster” even though the new officers didn’t understand, and no one knew what a “NORP” was. When they all inquired, I explained “NORP” was the acronym for “Naval Officer’s Rest Period.”

CHENG and the First Lieutenant got together with the assistant repair officer. They had the repair department make another Bakelite sign. This one was blue with a gold background. Instead of letters, the threesome had the repair department paint Navy signal flags on the blue background for November, Oscar, Romeo, and Papa. One had to know the signal flags to read it, but soon everyone on board knew it spelled “NORP.”

No one seemed to pay attention to any of the other signs and would barge into my office regardless of what the sign said. However, when I hung the “NORP” sign on my door, no one dared to enter. It worked and continued to work until the day I left the ship.

One particular incident occurring on the transit to Rota was related to later events. The repair department had an informal leader who was a positive influence on the crew’s morale. ET2 (Second Class Petty Officer, Electronics Technician) Schmidt was constantly involved in supporting the ship’s policy. He was a leader in group physical fitness workouts and other social activities.

One late morning after I had conducted my messing and berthing inspection, he knocked on my door and sat down. In the POD that morning, I had inserted my hand-written assessment of the previous day’s messing and berthing inspection. In it, I had named a culprit of having a gross rack, in the engineering berthing as I recall. Padelsky decided the new XO needed a lesson in leadership. He told me it was not right to identify poor performers in public, that, as the old saw goes, I should praise in public and condemn in private.

I listened politely and then told Schmidt his idea might work somewhere else, but we were in the Navy and should be held accountable. I could put the poor and gross rack maker on report, which would lead to a rather lengthy NJP process, which was silly, or I could point out in public the rack-maker was creating a bad and unhealthy atmosphere for the others in his berthing compartment, which should put pressure on him to clean up his act.

I thanked him for his input and I would consider his advice in future POD notes.

On the fourth day after leaving port, a chief came to the bridge to report two sailors, male and female, had been found in a locked compartment. Apparently, nothing of significance had happened yet, but the situation was grossly inappropriate in our situation. The two went to Captain’s Mast and were dismissed with stern warnings.

This occurred as the captain and I were discussing how we should deal with male and female relationships when they went on liberty throughout the cruise. I went through the regulations concerning women at sea. We considered an incident during the previous regime when two crew members, a male and female kissed each other crossing the brow onto the ship. Of course, the sea trials incident of standing lights on after sunset and the two crew members locked in a compartment were also considered.

As far as I can recall, we never wrote any of these rules down officially, but it was known throughout the ship these rules were in effect throughout the deployment and continued once we returned stateside:

1. There are no female or male sailors and officers aboard the There are only sailors and officers aboard and we are all going to act like sailors and officers.
2. No two sailors or more shall ever be inside a compartment locked from within.
3. No affection will be demonstrated between crew members on board or in any area controlled by the ship including the pier or landing areas for liberty boats.

It was a different time, different cultural mores and different fashion. An example was in my handwritten POD note:

6. Shaved heads. General regulations on grooming standards state that the standards are based on “neatness, cleanliness, safety, military image and appearance.” While shaved heads might be clean, they do not project the military image and appearance. This is especially important when Yosemite enters foreign ports and represents the U.S. in our sailors’ appearance and conduct ashore. Consequently, no personnel will be allowed ashore after ROTA with shaved heads.

Then on September 16, Captain’s Mast was held for several sailors put on report. MMFN Edmunds, the deserter whose wife required me to write a letter of explanation to the First Lady, was one of them. The captain assigned Edmunds to a Special Court Martial.

At 1000, Thursday, September 20, Yosemite entered Rota Bay and tied up port side to the pier at Naval Station, Rota.

By the captain’s and my assessment, the transit had been successful. We still had a long way to go to reach our destination of Diego Garcia, the first of the four legs had gone pretty well. We had made our projected arrival date at Rota on time in spite of the threat of Hurricane Chantal. The crew had gotten their sea legs and all seemed to be faring fairly well. From our experience with this new idea of women in ships, we had been able to formulate some rules. It seemed the crew had bought into the idea they were sailors, regardless of gender.

It was now time for a short liberty port visit and to prepare to cross the Mediterranean.

Far and away, one of the best things about deploying in my time in the Navy was leaving all attachments to land behind. That point in time was announced, even saluted by one prolonged blast on the ship’s whistle and the boatswain mate piping “attention” on his boatswain’s pipe followed by his announcement on the 1MC speakers, “Underway.” Such announcements were preceded by two even better announcements: “let go all lines,” and blessedly “all lines clear.”

All of this meant the ship was on her own. As mentioned in my description of our sea trials. The “all lines clear” did not only refer to the mooring lines and steam lines but also the phone lines. Back then, such cutting of umbilical ties meant no phone calls. It also meant no outside agencies coming on board to conduct inspections, no salesman trying to get their foot in the door, no superiors or their staff coming on board to give direction on how we should operate or address their particular area of expertise, no inspectors coming to check their particular bailiwick and disrupt the ship from getting done what needed to be done, and no dependents coming on board asking for us to do something to help them or their sailor.

“Underway” meant Yosemite was on her own to do what she, in 1944, was commissioned to do. As a career surface officer, it was a heady feeling to get underway for a deployment scheduled to last almost eight months.

At 1400, Friday, September 9, 1983, Yosemite got underway and would remain on her own power except for five brief port visits until 1200, Wednesday, March 21, 1984.

While writing this book, I came upon a shoe box full of letters I had written Maureen. Many are too personal to include here. But there are some that capture my thoughts better than I could now, thirty-four years later. The one below, as all of those letters appearing here, has been edited for grammar, sometimes to omit an item not really accurate in retrospect, or to delete a negative reference to a shipmate. This one was begun two days after Yosemite departed Mayport and was completed the night before we arrived at the US Naval base in Rota, Spain.

Lady,

Underway. Sun so bright; sea so calm: we sail. I cannot hear the engine growl or the boilers rumble from up here on the open bridge – an archaic wonder, this open bridge I have come to love with the wind in my face. Dolphins, flying fish, and a giant sea turtle bigger than a small car, busily nosing about and poking their heads up and sometimes clearing the water in their entirety to peer at this strange sight passing by, this steel mammoth filled with 900 souls, these 900 souls ironically lonelier than if they were by themselves on a deserted isle.

The above was written several days ago – I have already lost track of time – when all was peaceful. A hurricane (Chantal), born in an unlikely area and following an unusual path has reared up to pester us (our pesterers actually are the ones who control our puppet strings reacting to lines on a satellite picture, not the hurricane herself) and awake me at all hours of the night to receive reports, analyze the graphs, and then look at the beautiful sea and attempt to read her dark and brooding mind to guess at Chantal’s course and speed to minimize our peril, avoid standing into danger. Then in those irregular moments throughout the day, recommend to the captain, a knowledgeable, capable seaman in his own right, a course and speed to keep us on a safe journey east.

But we cannot take the risk of the course and speed we both think is prudent taking us eastward, defying the desk-sitting analysts back in Norfolk, for if we were wrong, there would be hell, ours, to pay with swift retribution from the desk sitters on dry land.

So we avoid a danger that never really existed for us, a hurricane that died in a confused sea, a fate precipitated by her birth in an unusual place for such phenomena while several hundred miles west we fretted away the hours.

i spent my time being concerned about our being subjected to the lack of seaman sense governing us when i realized the captain was relying on my sense of the sea, my knowledge and experience, which was close to equal to his, and certainly greater than anyone else on board. Captain Boyle was listening to and taking my recommendations, often seeking them. He commented i communicated with the sea.

i communicate with the sea.

i had never had it put that way before. And it came from a man who knows. i do not possess the technical knowledge of oceanography and meteorology. i have the basics of sailing the sea and not much more. i, however, can look at the sea’s skies and her endless depth of blue, and hear her speak her mood. i used to feel her presence and interpreted the feelings i experienced at sea as an indication that god might really exist. Now, i know it was not a god but the sea trying to talk to me. Mystic nonsense? Maybe.

But maybe it is you who has given me this gift. Maybe experiencing you and our love has allowed me to understand this power of my communication with this frighteningly beautiful force such as she.

i rejoice in the revelation but acknowledge the responsibility i bear along with the talent(?). i am even more responsible for this lovely old ship and the souls on board. i must temper my abandon and romantic restlessness. i live comfortably within my communication with this power and love you even more for allowing me to live with both of you. These people rely on me. They all rely on me whether they realize it or not to give their lives a substance, a direction, a purpose.

The Captain is an idol, an object of reverence, a god at sea. i am the force, the dynamic driving force that worms into the spirit of each soul and claims my territory. Unlike many others, but not all, i have attempted to add humor, understanding, selflessness, credibility into this force. i hope have not engendered fear. i believe i am promoting respect; respect for the Captain, for me, and the ship, but most importantly for themselves.

There have already been mistakes. There will be many more. Hopefully, they will not have any adverse impact. i only hope i don’t burn out, don’t become so involved i cannot see the humor, pathos, and futility in this game of driving, leading these people down a path that has no real direction except for the immediate and eternal goal of the ship’s mission. i already have come to love this job, but i still occasionally wonder if this awesome responsibility of power won’t destroy itself, destroy me. i sometimes feel i am Luke, old cool hand lying on that table, those fifty eggs bloating his stomach, his body resembling a man on a crucifix after he told his prison mates not to lean on him.

i am an image i believe: an image our sailors would like to emulate. They know i am happy. They know i enjoy fine things. They know i am honest and upright, and they know i am married to a beautiful woman. They also know i came from the same roots as they. i can feel they identify with those common roots and see they, or perhaps their son or daughter, can reach this plateau.

The job is consuming. i started this letter the second day out. i started this last part at 0200 the morning we arrive in Rota. Every morning, i arise around 0530; sometime around midday, go for a run or take a nap (sometimes both); have one relaxing meal (breakfast is a working meal where i read radio messages and prepare for officers call), skipping the other meal. i normally hit the rack between 2300 and 0100 but already have had a couple of nights with only one or two hours sleep. There will be more. i really am not complaining because i am really into it and feel like i’m having a positive impact.

i’ve taken very little time for personal things. Sleep is my enemy. i want to stay awake forever and cram all of these things into my life, including being XO. i can’t so i’m trying to be selective and truly prioritize. This deployment provides me the time and requires me, quite willingly to focus on this ship, crew, and wardroom. My goal is to reach peak organization by the time we reach Diego Garcia. Once i’ve achieved that, i should have the time to focus on writing, and of course, you.

i am excited. i am excited about performing this job well and absolutely bonkers about us in the future. After these 183 days of deployment, i never want to leave you. i think about actually getting screened and assigned as commanding officer of a ship. It would be reaching my ultimate Navy goal, but it also would most likely mean at least one deployment, and the thought of being away from you that long again does not sit well with me. My wanderlust is fading, but i would accept a CO assignment in a heartbeat. But there would be some regret at the thought of leaving you.

“Whatever else you are, be a seaman, know the ways of the sea and the men who go down to the sea in ships.” Unknown

“Our will is to keep the torch of freedom burning for all. To this solemn purpose, we call upon the young, the brave, the strong, and the free. Heed my call. Come to the sea. Come sail with me.” John Paul Jones