This will be my last post about sea stories for a while. i’m taking a break. i realized writing these have evolved more into my story about my wonderful time in my Navy career. Although i want to give my grandson an idea of what it was like, i had intended these to be more of sequential sea stories. i am also well into eighty years of living, so i am not into feeling obligated. Also, one or two folks have expressed displeasure at my “selling” something, which is far from any intention i’ve had. And there are other things i wish to accomplish with what time i have left here. i suspect i will resume after a while, but i’m old and need a rest.

This is a no sh.. sea story about the worst storm i experienced in my 22 years in the Navy.

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. Of course, it was somewhere off of Cape Hatteras.

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 JOOD 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.

i received a gift several days ago. Totally unexpected, it was delivered in a small box at the front door. We get a lot of them because we use Amazon quite a bit (in erroneous logic, i claim it is to take advantage of the “prime” free shipping).

When i opened it, my jaw dropped about six inches. Five coasters were inside. They are nice coasters. What was etched on those coasters is what floored me. It was even more surprising when i found who had sent them.

Darryl Gunter.

Darryl is one amazing guy. He was a boiler technician — still “Boiler Tender” to me. He was on my last ship, the USS Yosemite (AD 19) when we deployed to the Indian Ocean, 1983-84. When i wrote my book, Steel Decks and Glass Ceilings, Darryl was one of the few folks who sent me photos to include.

Darryl has created a very successful boiler business in Atlanta. He is the “Chapter Commander” of the Combat Vets Association 25-8, a life member of Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW), and North Cobb American Legion Post 304. He is a patriot through and through. Currently, he is riding around the country on his motor cycle and will be out here in about a month.

i cannot wait to see him to thank him in person.

i received a number of honors while serving in the Navy. i’m most proud of my two commendation medals. But i cherish what a number of my superiors wrote about me in their reports of fitness and recommendations. Yet, there is only one that compares to what Darryl sent me.

In 1982, i was the emergency executive officer on USS Cayuga (LST 1189) for almost three months. It was a grueling time, including Amphibious Refresher Training and several incidents, two of which before i arrived involved a crew members losing their lives. The sitting XO had a nervous breakdown. As my work neared completion, The captain, Commander John Kelly recommended i stay on board to complete my required XO tour. The squadron commodore, Captain Jim McIntyre also recommended my staying aboard. The bureau said no. Still, these recommendations made me feel very good.

Yet, the only one i can remember that still makes me feel good as much as Darryl’s gift came 42 years go. Five quartermasters wrote a letter of appreciation as i was completing the XO assignment and returning to my regular tour as current operations officer on the Amphib staff.

i valued our sailors and these two gifts recognized i did. That is the best compliment i could receive:

Darryl’s gift nd the quartermaster’s letter:

“Thanks” really does feel like a feeble response. But thank you, Darryl and Picconi, Ling, Demers, Klein, and Bickford. Thank you.

Note: i once again apologize for my inability to manage graphics in Word Press.