Category Archives: Sea Stories

Fairly self explanatory, from what I can remember that is.

A Tale of the Sea and Me – Destiny and Detailers

The Hawkins had completed its submarine Polaris missile shoots and had returned to the new homeport of Norfolk. i was Anti-Submarine (ASW) Officer on the USS Hawkins (DD-873), a FRAM destroyer that had recently changed home port from Newport, Rhode Island to Norfolk, Virginia. i was running with two other officers in the Hawkins wardroom, Andrew Nemethy from Massachusetts and Rob Dewitt from Maine. i was coming up on the time to request to remain aboard for the second half of my three-year obligation to active duty or request to be assigned somewhere else. Andrew and Rob were commissioned later than me but they too would soon have to face the decision.

George “Doc” Jarden was the Administrative Officer aboard the USS Guam (LPH 9), a helicopter carrier in the amphibious force. He and i were roommates and classmates in Officer Candidate School (OCS) and had become good friends. Doc was also facing a similar decision about staying or rotating.

Andrew and i had discussed staying aboard the Hawkins, and after we got out, buying a sailboat, sailing it to Europe, selling it and using the money from the sale to kick around the continent until we ran out of money and came home to grow up.

i had become “the wardroom sea daddy” on the Hawkins and found myself in an awkward position. The XO was new. The Operations and Engineer department heads were new. My weapons department head wasn’t the brightest bulb in the light array. Captain Max Lasell began to rely on me, especially concerning the weapons department. i also think he liked me and saw my potential as a Navy officer. The captain and i would meet often in the wardroom to share thoughts on the ship’s operation and learn more about each other.

i decided i needed to split my tour and go somewhere else. But where?

There were other factors in this problem.

After building up the numbers of service members during Vietnam, the military forces were beginning to cut back the officer corps with early releases, reductions in rank and other strategies. This began to play in our decision about what to do next.

Doc and i often met after our workdays at the Red Mule in Norfolk, a hamburger and beer joint we liked. We discussed our decisions about rotation on most of those occasions. We were so similar our service numbers were only two numbers apart. Doc’s was 726236 and mine was 726238 — it is remarkable to me i can remember such things because the Navy went to social security numbers by the time i returned to active duty in 1972. We had the same detailer, the officer in the Bureau of Personnel who was responsible for determining our fate in staying aboard or rotating.

Doc, a Duke graduate, was a liberal in his thinking. i described him as the hippie’s gift to the Navy. Even then, i was pretty much apolitical and focused on being a twenty-year old man enjoying life. So, i was surprised as Doc and i were quaffing our beers after cheeseburgers and fries when he said, “I’m going to volunteer to go to Vietnam.” i was shocked. We both had agreed one of the primary reasons to get our commission at OCS was to avoid the draft (the draft lottery was not created until a year or so after we were commissioned) with the concern we would end up as ground pounders in the Army. Now, Doc was thinking about volunteering to go there.

“What, Doc? How could you come to such a decision?,” i almost shouted.

“Well, i’ve been thinking about it,” Doc explained, “Our parents had World War II, and whether we like it or not, this is our war.

“I want to be a part of our war,” he finished.

Now, it may have been the couple of beers i had downed, but i mused and agreed.

We began calls to our detailer. It was tough to get through by phone but we did it, often calling at 0500 when they opened up their lines to accommodate officers on the west coast. The detailer — i have not included his name as i have tortured him enough — informed us a release of officers would be coming soon. He told me i would be cut early. He told Doc he didn’t think he would be cut. Doc and i met again at the Red Mule and scratched our heads. Over a beer or two, of course.

The cut came. The powers that be cut those officers in essentially “non-critical” billets. I was ASW officer on destroyer, including being the sea detail, general quarters Officer of the Deck. Doc was Administrative Officer on a helicopter and like me the sea detail and general quarters OOD, i.e., essential.

We were not cut and resumed our calls to our detailer. He told us they didn’t get down to the numbers they needed, and another cut was coming. He told me i would be cut. He told Doc he would not be cut.

The criteria for the next cut was fitness reports. Fitness reports were the assessments of officers by their commanding officers in the performance of their duties. Doc and i had been rated high in our fitness reports (fitreps: officers performance report submitted by his senior every six months) and were not cut.

But wait, the detailer told us. They still had to make another cut. i was sure to be cut, he told me. Doc was told he would not be cut. Perhaps, i guess, it was because i was on a destroyer and Doc was on an Amphib. i do not know.

The next cut was done by commissioning date. The date chosen was one month after we were commissioned. Both of us remained on active duty.

i decided to act on Doc’s idea about Vietnam. i volunteered to be a forward Naval Gunfire Liaison Officer (NGLO or GLO). This is a job that requires the officer, aka me, to go out ahead of the front lines, usually with a radio talker and call in fire on the enemy. Really bright people who want to live past the next year stay away from these kinds of assignments. Not me.

The detailer readily, almost gleefully agreed to my proposal. After all, there were very few officers applying for GLO and most that were assigned balked at the idea as much as possible. Not me.

We began planning the rotation when he told me i would be required to extend my active duty for a month. Astounded, i asked why. He explained that any assignment to Vietnam required a complete year for the assignment. To perform the duties of GLO, i would have to go to a gunfire support school and to Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape (SERE) training, a two-week course requiring the trainee to be captured and experience being a Prisoner of WAR (training), including some forms of torture, like waterboarding.

Some sense kicked in: “You want me to extend a month to go over there and probably get my ass shot off? Forget it? What else you got?”

Now mind you, this phase of detailing negotiations took about three, maybe four months of negotiation.

On the next phone call, the detailer told me had an assignment that might appeal to me. i asked him what it was. He told me i would be the executive officer of the Military Sealift Transportation System (MSTS) Transport Unit One (The name of the command was changed later the next year to Military Sealift Command or MSC. i asked him what the job entailed. He said he didn’t know but he would check with the others in the office. i waited on the phone for almost three-quarters of an hour. Fortunately, BUPERS did not have muzak for waiting.

When the detailer came back he explained that no one really knew exactly what it was, but one detailer recalled from the past what he thought was.

“And what did he say?” i implored.

“We think you will be the only Navy Officer on a USNS ship manned by government civilians,” he explained, “The ship is a transport that carries U.S. troops and dependents to and from various ports in the Pacific,” finishing with, “We believe you should hit every major port in the Pacific in your year’s tour.

He paused after my earlier rejection of GLO because of the extension of active duty,  “You will have to extend a month to attend the Register Publication System school for communications in your new assignment.

“Hmm,” i mused, “Extend a month to see all the major ports in the Pacific and being the only Naval personnel on the ship.”

“I’m all in,” i explained.

This occurred sometime in October. Shortly afterward, i received my orders in a radio message to detach from USS Hawkins (DD 873)  in December 1969  and report to RPS school in San Diego and proceed to to Yokosuka, Japan to report to MSTS Headquarters for further assignment to Executive Officer, MSTS Transport Unit ONE. To be honest, i was pretty pumped. i began my preparations in earnest.

As usual, there are several more stories in this too long for inclusion here.

The wearisome and very long flight to Yokosuka put me in late in the evening in mid-January. The next morning, i walked in the rain to the MSTS office building. It was a dreary, dark day. The office was dark and bare. The overweight civilian with a dark tie, white shirt, and dark suit, rose from his chair and shook my hand across the large metal desk and motioned me to sit in the chair in front of him.

He told me i would be leaving that afternoon to fly to Sasebo, Japan. i was not impressed with Yokosuka and wondered if Sasebo would be different. Then, the man behind the desk dropped the bomb on my ideal tour: “Well, it’s not quite what you were told.

“You will be the executive officer of an 18-man unit. There is a CO, a lieutenant commander, you, two doctors, and a chaplain. There is a boatswainmate, storekeeper and corpsman chiefs, 6 corpsman, 3 storekeeper enlisted,  and a seaman.

“There are three troop transports for carrying 1500 Republic of Korea troops to and from Vietnam out of Pusan, Korea. Sasebo is the port for six days of upkeep and resupply. Your unit is aboard the USNS Geiger (T-AP 197), the other ship in the current rotation is USNS Barrett (T-AP 196). The third ship currently in overhaul is the USNS Upshur (T-AP 198). Greatly disappointed, i caught a Navy flight to Sasebo the next day.

i reported to LCDR Hank Fendt on the Geiger and found out we would be dropping off new and picking up ROK’s that had been Vietnam for a year in Quinhon and Na Trang. i sent an letter to that detailer: “Dear sir, all the major ports in the Pacific are Sasebo, Japan; Pusan, Korea; and Qui Nhon and Nha Trang, Vietnam. The “US troops and military dependents are ROK troops and officers. Thanks.”

Yep, i was disappointed. But it turned out pretty well. It was a good recalibration for me, and gave me a lot of time to think. It also was a wild, wild time. That is yet another story.

What i didn’t know was what happened to my friends. In the last several years through the new things people love to hate like Facebook i have reconnected to my old shipmates, Andrew Nemethy and Rob DeWitt, and my OCS roommate Doc Jarden.

i thought all three had gotten on the next reduction in force. Now i know the rest of the story.

Rob was not cut, rotated to a command ship, the USS Wright (CC 2), homeported in Norfolk. After a working on motorcycles and getting several post graduate degrees, he ended up in home state of Maine as an orthodontist.

And then there was Andrew. i was sure he made the cuts. He didn’t. i found this out when i inquired after he made a comment about being in Vietnam. When Andrew learned of my new assignment and found out he would not leave the service early, he decided he would follow suit and requested a tour in MSTS. He got it. He was assigned to the MSTS office in Saigon. He describes how he got there:

You were the inspiration for that, traveling all around the Orient on a freighter having a jolly old time in ports, seeing the world, and writing poetry, which as you may recall, We sent back-and-forth to each other. That I ended up in Vietnam is all due to you!

What could go wrong? The glitch was that I had no idea…MSTS had posts in Vietnam. Oops.  That is why Lasell was chuckling at my orders when they came in. Traded a cushy boring job on the destroyer for the excitement of being in the middle of a war. You were the inspiration for that, traveling all around the Orient on a freighter having a jolly old time in ports, seeing the world, and writing poetry, which as you may recall, We sent back-and-forth to each other. That I ended up in Vietnam is all due to you!

The Lasell Andrew mentions was the commanding officer of the Hawkins. He was on of the best i had in the Navy. Ironically, his last tour was the commander of the MSC office out of San Francisco. Sadly, he passed away after i had finally located him in the Southwest corner before i could go see him. i owe him a lot.

Doc’s story was similar to Andrew’s. Again, i thought he had got out early. Again, when i reconnected with him, he straightened me out in the following email excerpt :

JJ…

Hey sailor…belated Happy Vet’s Day.  Note the switch to personal email–my day-to-day involvement with our local NPR station is just now coming to an end.

So, my tour after the Guam.  In early July, 1968 got a nice note from Bupers to proceed unodir within 60 days to DaNang to take over as officer in charge of a river squadron.  Okay, then…not exactly the kind of news one hopes for, but we had all volunteered and that was the way it was.  Lots of anxiety, but basically resignation.

Meanwhile, the CO of the Guam was a tough son-of-a-bitch, and like all COs of carriers–fixed wing or helo–was an aviator.  He was uncomfortable on the bridge, but at the same time had little time or respect for young OCS officers.  He only reluctantly qualified anyone as an underway officer of the deck.  I was one of the few.

You know, I have no idea there was a person, a detailer, making decisions about my next duty. I did request to join MSTS, because I was sick of Norfolk, new we weren’t going anywhere, and wanted something a little different in my last year than the same old same old. You were the inspiration for that, traveling all around the Orient on a freighter having a jolly old time in ports, seeing the world, and writing poetry, which as you may recall, We sent back-and-forth to each other. That I ended up in Vietnam is all due to you!

The glitch was that I had no idea, stupidly, that MStS had posts in Vietnam. Oops.  That is why Lasell was chuckling at my orders when they came in. Traded a cushy boring job on the destroyer for the excitement of being in the middle of a war. What could go wrong?

Fortunately, nothing, and I would not trade the experience, nor taking an in country discharge making money and then traveling back around the world, for anything. Just about killed my poor parents though, especially since I was an only child. Taking four weeks, or maybe it was three, of survival training down at Quantico,, with Marines, was an interesting experience and also launched my interest in fitness and being in shape, which I turned out I was pretty good at. Carried that athletic interest for the rest of my life. It was a cold slosh of reality too, since they threw us in a simu,aged VC prison camp and among the things they did was throw us in a muddy pond, during the winter, so it was really cold, and then “tortured” us and used psy ops tricks on us.

I will never forget that the guy who probed the hero in our platoon and outsmarted our captors to unite our crew was the least likely looking hero of the bunch, a gangly professorial JG. Meanwhile a commander who was going to Vietnam, an older guy and seemingly all no younger,  totally fell apart before our eyes, and was not shipped out as a result, at least that’s what I heard. So you never know who’s going to be the brave one or how people will react. Lesson learned.

My theory was that if the Viet Congress wanted to get me, I would try to at least be able to run like a bastard and at least be as fit as they were. Plus I had good boots and no flip-flops.

Now the rest of this story also is dripping in irony. The funny thing is three of us ended up in journalism of sorts. Doc became a television producer. Andrew was a journalist in Vermont, and i have been all over the charts in my writing efforts.The real rest of the story is there are three guys with whom i had great relationships and shared good and hard times and we have reconnected. We have our lives to live and they are in Maine, Vermont, North Carolina, and the Southwest corner. i might get to visit with them in the coming days, but time, which does not change, is getting shorter. It doesn’t matter. i have reconnected with three pretty special people.

And as you can see, Andrew and Doc can tell stories as well or better than me.

A Tale of the Sea and Me – They Aren’t Around Anymore

The Navy has grown with the times. Many of the sailors in my time on board ships (from 1963 until 1985, on and off, of course) would not be accepted into today’s Navy. The world has gone technical and the Navy with it. Consequentially, higher scores on aptitude tests and other hurdles to demonstrate smartness is required.

Many sailors, especially in my early days with the Navy, were not mental giants. Oh, we had plenty of intelligent enlisted as the draft was still rolling and many smart young men chose to ride a ship rather than pound the ground or watch aircraft head for the wild blue yonder. But there was a place for folks who did not have an excellent academic record. In fact, many sailors had not graduated from high school. i knew of a number of sailors from those years who were there because a judge gave them a choice of joining the Navy or going to jail.

In numerous cases i witnessed, the Navy was this kind of sailor’s life. They lived on the ship, a place to sleep with food to eat. The civilian clothes they had were in a locker storage place outside the base gate. When they went out, it was most frequently to a bar. There were only a very few who were incorrigible. Many went up and down the ranks like a yo-yo. i knew several that had made it to second or first class petty officers but kept getting busted and spent their twenty years as a seaman or fireman most of the time. Nearly all of them contributed in some way to an effectively run a ship.

The sailor in this tale was one of those. He was a fireman in the after engine room of the USS Hollister (DD 788). i was his Chief Engineer (1973-75). This particular sailor didn’t do much more than stand his watches back aft. He stayed pretty much to himself and was quiet. He had gotten into trouble occasionally, several times getting caught smoking marijuana, but that was about it.

There were two distilling plants on the Hollister, the large one in main control, the forward engine room, the smaller one in the after engine room. These two plants made feed water for the boilers and potable water for the crew. They were vital for operations and feed water, the latter used to power the ship through the four boilers always took precedence of the 300 or so souls in the crew and the wardroom. The forward evap (our term for evaporators or the distilling plants) could produce about 700 gallons an hour. The after evap could make about 250 gallons of water each hour.

i often wondered what evil genius designed these evaps. They made any Rube Goldberg invention look simple. It took genius to maximize their output along with stroking and petting them, believe it or not, TLC. During my engineering tour, i determined that along with everything else, the evaps was possessed by and ran at the whim of gremlins. Today, as i write, i know those gremlins jumped on my shoulders as i rotated to my next ship and now occupy any mobile phone or computer of mine.

The ship had transited to Pearl Harbor from Long Beach with her destroyer squadron. After a week of liberty, we were getting underway to return to home port when the forward evaps went down. Even my master chief machinist mate, an incredible engineer, could not coax the plant into making water. He kept trying, along with his first class and several others. i personally took soundings on the water tanks and kibitzed almost round the clock with the master chief on the next tactic.

The after evap was huffing and puffing and actually was making more water than it was rated to produce. The reason was the fireman i mentioned earlier. It was almost like he had a love affair with that contraption. He would twist the controls, of which there were many, tenderly, moving them just slightly — think of the Wizard of Oz twisting all those controls when Dorothy, Toto, the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion, and the Scarecrow discovered him behind the curtain.

We would have been in big trouble without that overproducing little evap and its master who tended to its needs.

As it was, we were on water hours for almost four complete days before the master chief and his boys got the big evap running again. Our captain sent a flashing light message to the commodore on the destroyer flag ship reporting we were going off water hours. The commodore responded, “Congratulations to CHENG. Please remain downwind for the next couple of days.”

The fireman got out after a month or so after we moored in Long Beach.

i miss those kinds of sailors. They aren’t around any more.

A Tale of the Sea and Me – Submarine Rockets

We were changing home ports in July 1969, and as i have noted, none of the wardroom or crew were too happy about that change. but first the Hawkins had a rendezvous with a couple of submarines.

In July, she once again traveled south, this time to Cape Canaveral, Florida. Her assignment was to serve as a location platform for two submarines going through Polaris missile firing tests off the coast. i was glad to visit with a very close cousin, Nancy Orr Winkler and her husband who lived there, and went to a disco, only to leave quickly after discovering a Naval officer, even in civilian clothes still had a haircut that did not attract Florida disco women.

Our first sub to undergo a three-week workup was the HMS Renown, a British submarine. It was difficult maneuvering to remain exactly on a point in the ocean, especially when the wind picked up, but we did incredibly and to watch that Polaris missile emerge from the sea and rocket (pun intended) into the sky was impressive. We were looking forward to repeating the process with the USS Thomas Jefferson, a US submarine.

There were a few problems in setting up the location in the first drills, but they were resolved before i caught a flight to Tennessee.

i was disappointed i wouldn’t be around for the actual launch of the Jefferson’s polaris missile. Taking a week’s leave, i went to Lebanon, Tennessee to attend my sister Martha’s wedding. The wedding and the week home was a wonderful respite. When i got back to Cape Canaveral and reported aboard, i found out i had missed some craziness.

You see, the British missile shot was relatively unnoticed. i don’t think we had any extra folks on board with the possible exception of a sub-expert to act as a go-between. With the Thomas Jefferson, the Hawk, sans me, had a flock of looky-loos, including VIPS. i’m pretty sure there was a least one US senator and one US representative aboard with their families. That meant their staffs, PR folks, media reps, and Lord knows who else accompanied them — actually, i don’t have a clue because i wasn’t there. i know there was a least one office holder and a lot of civilians on board.

There was a problem. The gimbals in the guidance system that directed the rocket motors locked. The fire control technicians could not turn the missile. Instead of soaring up and out into the wild blue yonder, the missile went straight above the Hawkins with its cast of onlookers including the ship’s officers and crew watching intently. That’s when the missile was destructed, as in boom. Fragments, even large pieces of the missile began downward, raining on the ship. The boatswain mate of the watch, was on the 1MC speakers urging everyone to go inside the skin of the ship and take shelter, explaining the dangers.

Apparently, there were a number of folks who wanted to see the spectacle and stayed on the weather decks with debris falling around them.

Fortunately, no one was hurt. Unfortunately, i wasn’t there to see it.

A Tale of the Sea and Me – A Joke

There once was a young ensign fresh from his commissioning at the Naval Academy. He reported to his first ship and on his first turn to have the conn, every one, especially the CO, was surprised at this ship handling skills. He seem to be able to put his ship wherever he wanted and could stop it on a dime, one of the more difficult skills of ship handling.

Several junior officers had noticed him in his stateroom opening the top drawer of his storage locker and looking intently at something in the drawer. He then went to the bridge and performed his magic.

These skills continued and he was quickly promoted throughout his career. Crew and officers alike would stop to watch him handle his ship. More of them noticed before going to the bridge, he would go to his stateroom, open the top drawer of his locker and look at something intently.

He was early promoted a number of times, and even after he made flag, CO’s would ask him to display his ship handling skills. He would politely comply and again demonstrate his incredible skills. The steward who attended to the admiral’s cabin also noted the admiral would return to his cabin open the top drawer of his dresser and stare intently at something before going to the bridge.

Finally, the admiral retired. As soon as he left his flagship, as many officers as possible led by the captain rushed to the flag cabin, ran to the dresser and opened the top drawer. There was a a 3×5 white card, the only thing in the drawer. Hand written on the card in large letters were the words:

PORT LEFT ——- STARBOARD RIGHT

A Tale of the Sea and Me – Perhaps the Best Ever Sea Story

At one point of Naval history, there were commanding officers who shied away from involvement in the operation of the engineering plant. They left that solely to the engineer. i was the Chief Engineer or CHENG on a ship with such a CO after this story occurred.

On this particular Atlantic Navy destroyer in the Atlantic, the captain was of that makeup. His CHENG ran a great engineering operation. Even though he was somewhat of a crazy guy, the captain would laugh at his antics and let him run his department without interference.

This ship was independently steaming in the Navy’s Atlantic Operation Areas off of Newport, Rhode Island. CHENG had the mid-watch (0000-0400) as the Officer of the Deck (OOD). After about two hours, he was a little bored and decided to do something a bit different.

First, he switched steering control to after steering. Then, he ordered the bridge watch to the flying bridge, one deck above the pilot house. He directed the lookouts on the port and starboard bridge wings also to move to the flying bridge. He checked the bridge out and ensured it was empty.

It was 0200. The captain was sleeping in his sea cabin, which was just aft of the pilot house/bridge on the starboard side. CHENG, the OOD, ordered the Boatswain Mate of the Watch (BMOW) to make an announcement over the 1MC (the ship’s announcing system) and immediately return to the flying bridge.

The BMOW said “Aye, aye, sir,” and knowing boatswainmates, i’m betting he was loving it.

He descended to the 1MC speaker, piped “attention” on his boatswain’s pipe, announced. “Captain to the bridge,” in an excited voice and immediately climbed the ladder to the fourth deck afterwards.

For those who don’t know, such an announcement connotes an emergency situation when the captain is immediately required to handle an impending disaster. Normally, during the evening watches when the captain is in his sea cabin, the OOD would communicate with him via a sound tube — and that device created some sea stories of its own.

So, calling the captain to the bridge at 0200 on the 1MC is only when peril is upon the ship, which it wasn’t in this situation. But the captain didn’t know that. So he jumps from his rack, perhaps jumped into his trousers, but more likely just rushed through his door to the bridge in his skivvies.

He burst onto the bridge and found…Nothing. No one was there.

i am amazed that 1) he didn’t have a heart attack, and 2) when he found out the joke was on him, he did not fire, or kill his CHENG.

The tellers of this tale swore the captain laughed and did not punish the CHENG/OOD.

To this day, i keep trying to envision a destroyer captain bursting on the bridge to handle some dire emergency to find his bridge empty.