i had some wonderful ships to sail on during my time at sea. Thirteen ships: five destroyers, two amphibs, three helicopter landing ships, two USNS troop ships, and one destroyer tender.

It is impossible to say one was better than the others. Each was different, each had its pluses and minuses. However, the USS Stephen B. Luce (DLG 7) was the right ship for me with the right Commanding Officer, the right Executive Officer, and the right Weapons Department head for me at right time. The only negative thing about the whole experience aboard her as the Anti-Submarine Warfare Officer was it was too short of a tour. Nine months.

After getting a night of much needed rest, i met most of the other officers in the wardroom at the morning mess. We set sea detail at 0730. i was just an observer on the bridge. We were immediately in the biggest naval exercise i experienced in my career. We had British, French, Greek, Italian, and Turkey navies involved across a large swath of the Mediterranean, moving east against an orange enemy. i was quickly qualified as officer of the deck (OOD) fleet steaming and was in a four-section watch. It felt good.

Many of the other navies had ships were formerly U.S. destroyers. They were old ships and those forces did not have the necessary maintenance expertise compared to the U.S. Fleet. This was most noticeable, and most annoying, in radio communications. As the other ships kept trying to get their radios to work properly, they were continuously conducting radio checks in English…okay, okay, it wasn’t really English; it was more like pidgin English, but the trills and accents of the various countries were included:

(Each ship had its own call sign using the phonetic alphabet; U.S. ships also had nicknames for call signs. The USS Hawkins’ call sign was “Daily News.” i do not remember the Luce’s call sign.)

“Delta Victor, Delta Victor, this is Charlie Whiskey, Charlie Whiskey , RADIO CHECK, RADIO CHECK, over.” “Charlie Whiskey, this is Delta Victor, roger, over.” Most of the time, the initiating ship did not receive the response, so this radio check thing went on incessantly. This seemed to occur on the evening, mid-watch, and morning watches.

Now, just think of the last call you had with a customer service representative, who was actually in Pakistan, or Ghana, or India, or somewhere in the Andes. Think of the difficulty of listening, then add those trills and guttural sounds to the broadcast.

If it hadn’t been so annoying, it would have made me laugh.

Ted Fenno, the XO was one of the nicest XO’s i ever met and was a huge help for me later as the head surface warfare detailer. He was one of the two best XO’s i had, the other being Louis Guimond on the Hawkins.

And then, there was CDR Butts. He was one of the top Commanding Officers during my career, and we got along very well. Before we returned to our home port i had become the sea detail and General Quarters OOD (except in ASW operations).

As the exercise wound down, we headed for Izmir, Turkey, our liberty port

i was not thrilled. After all, i had essentially missed Korfu, Greece. i have a romantic connection to the ancient civilization there and thought i had missed a wonderful opportunity to explore the Greek culture. As we went to anchor, we received a radio message from commander of the U.S. Navy forces. One of the Turkish destroyers was having multiple problems and needed assistance. i was appointed as the leader of the ad hoc team to visit the TCG Adatepe and do what we could to get the ASROC control panel and various radio gear.

The Adatepe was formely the USS Forrest Royal (DD 872), sold to the Turks in 1971. i thought it ironic in that the Forrest Royal‘s hull number had been only one number from my first ship the USS Hawkins, 872 to 873. The team of my first class ASROC gunners mate, the ship’s Electronic Technician warrant officer, a second class radioman, and me rode over to the Adatepe in the captain’s gig.

Coming aboard, we were met by the captain and XO. The warrant and i were taken to the wardroom, our enlisted team members were taken the enlisted mess. i was rather amazed at the lack of cleanliness throughout the ship, especially in the main passageway. We were offered espresso and took it. It was undoubtedly the strongest espresso i ever had. Apparently, it was very popular as there were bags of coffee beans piled around the wardroom.

After that thrill, the warrant was escorted to radio, and i to the ASROC Captain’s Control Panel next to the launcher amidships on the 01 level where i met my gunners mate. We discussed the problems through an interpreter with the ASW officer and his petty officer. Then, we opened up the top of the control panel. What we saw wasn’t pretty. Nearly the entire workings inside the panel were black, burnt. We both shook our heads and said we couldn’t make the panel operational. It would likely have to be replaced. i was taken back to the wardroom for more espresso where the warrant officer joined me. He had in his hand a round ceramic wafer, which was essential to the radio circuits. It was about the size of a half-dollar coin. Over a quarter of it was gone and where it was not, it appeared it was scorched.

We were disappointed we could not help and returned to the Luce. i wrote up the report. i went ashore for dinner, my only time in Turkey.

The next morning, we were underway. More MED sea stories to follow.

You can find more about the book and the author, aka me, by clicking on “About Jim” and Books” in the menu bar below the home page banner. You can buy this book direct from me and it is signed for #18.00.  You can click  the “Books” in the menu. Select the “Buy Book” button under “Buy Signed Copies.”

I have written a book of poetry 2014, A Pocket of Resistance: Selected Poems.  The poetry book on Amazon is $17.42 or Kindle $9.99, Barnes and Noble, $22.45 or eBook $8.99 Book are available from other book retailers too. You can also purchase a signed copy from me on my website for $15.

i was back in the Navy, the active duty Navy. i regretfully left my beautiful wife and our precious six-week old daughter Blythe in Paris, Texas with her parents. My parents and bt rother Joe joined us for the last few days.

That was when our father challenged us to a match of eight ball on the pool table in the garage Kathie’s father had turned into a recreation room. Colonel Lynch, a retired US Army artillery officer was fond of repeating the saw, “It’s Hard To Remember That Your Initial Objective Was To Drain The Swamp.” He was therefore called affectionately “The Alligator” and his rec room/garage was known as the “Alligator Pit.” Kathie was his partner. We, of course, were thinking this is going to be a piece of cake. My father broke and ran the table. Gaping at each other we exclaimed we didn’t know Daddy played pool. Mother chimed in, “There’s a lot of things about your father you don’t know.”

My family drove me back to Tennessee and i caught a flight to Newark. Funny, how you remember certain things: i was sitting in the Newark airport waiting for the departure of the MAC flight to Rota, Spain. i had on my service dress khakis with the blouse and shoulder boards ( i still think that was the sharpest officer’s uniform the Navy ever had). i ordered a Carlsberg Elephant Malt Liquor. It still tastes good.

My MAC flight, as most flights carrying Naval personnel east did, we stopped in Rota. Unlike my first time, the top was only one night. i caught another flight to Naples, sitting next to a NESEP Ensign and a senior chief. We were berthed at the same hotel and agreed to dine together for dinner. The senior chief said he knew a great Italian place. We headed out until the senior chief directed the cab driver to stop. We walked down a large street and followed the chief when he turned left. It was a stairway as wide as a four-lane highway with streets and apartments chock-a-block all the way.

i realized we were in an area designated as off-limits. The senior chief confirmed my suspicions, but it did not deter us. About two-thirds of the way up the steps, the senior chief stopped and entered a wooden door of an unmarked store front. Inside, it was white on white: white plaster walls, round rickety tables covered with white tablecloths, the wooden chairs were rickety as well. In the middle of the table was an empty wine bottle with a candle and drippings along the side, gasp, like all those Italian restaurants in the states.

A problem arose when we realized none of us spoke Italian and no one in the restaurant spoke English. With standard terms like “spaghetti” and gesturing, we ordered bread, spaghetti and meatballs, and a bottle of wine. The brought out our orders quickly and placed the wine alongside the empty one with the candle. The wine bottle was not labeled. i proceeded to have the best Italian meal i’ve ever had with an incredible wine. Perhaps the atmosphere impacted my perception, but it was wonderful.

Next to the ceiling in a corner was a small black and white television. The 1972 Olympics in Munich was on. We sat and watched while we finished our wine — i didn’t learn of the terrorist attack on the Jewish team until i reported aboard.

The next day, we all went our separate ways. i flew to the island of Korfu, Greece. i took a cab to the port and reported aboard my next ship, the USS Stephen B. Luce (DLG 7) in the mid-afternoon. The flight and travel had worn me out and even though i wanted to see Korfu, no matter how short, i was too tired. i was introduced to the XO, LCDR Ted Fenno, and the commanding officer, CDR Richard Butts, taken to my stateroom, climbed into my upper rack, and went to sleep.

One of the best and too short tours of my Navy career had begun.

After i was released from active duty February 1971 in Seattle, Washington, i traveled to Paris, Texas with my financé, then on to Tennessee, moved my goods to Watertown, New York with massive help from my good friend Henry Harding, back to Paris to get married, and became a sports writer in upstate New York for the Watertown Daily Times.

i was still obligated for two years of Navy reserve time and joined the Watertown reserve unit. It was a financial blessing. The amount i earned going to reserve meetings once a month was equal to a week’s pay at the newspaper.

i was amazed. Hippies remained in full swing, and the military was resisted by many after the anti-war sentiment of young folks in the late 1960s. The reserves were trying to recruit and retain from that ilk. The Watertown reserve unit (and probably the majority of reserve units) was struggling to retain its reserves. Consequently, things in vogue that did not fit with the Navy regs, were allowed, like hair length. That didn’t fit well with me. Rules are rules. i was also still upset when the reserve lieutenant gave me incomplete information after i joined the Nashville unit and told me i would complete my obligations by going to the “active status pool” (NOPE!).

But it wasn’t hard, only a monthly Tuesday night reserve meeting and i met some several good folks in a similar situation. And i let my hair grow, in spite of my dislike of wavering on regulations.

In the summer of 72, i flew to Mayport for two weeks of ACDUTRA aboard the USS Waldron (DD 699). Having the luxury of not adhering to the Navy’s regulation haircut, my hair was longer than it had ever been. So before i left Watertown, i had a buzz cut.

This gave me a new recognition about our personal judgement process. When i came to Watertown and my new job, i was still pretty close to Navy regulations in hair length. The older reporters, management, liked my short hair and i was considered one of them. But with the tacit approval of the reserves, i let my hair grew, longer than i had in my life. The older staff began to distant them from me, and the younger, long haired guys began to take me in as one of their own. When my ACDUTRA was confirmed, a couple of days before i left, i got a buzz cut from my barber, even closer than Navy regs required. When i returned, the old guys took me under their wing and as my hair grew again, the younger guys also accepted me. Hair. Crazy hair.

Those two weeks of dutywas aboard the USS Waldron (DD 699). i have an admiration for FRAM 1 destroyers. They retained the open bridges. i served on three ships with open bridges, the USS Lloyd Thomas (DD 764), Waldron, and my last ship, the USS Yosemite (AD 19).

Unlike most two-week reserve duty, there was no liberty port. It seems like we were at sea the whole time in a major fleet operation. i stood my bridge watches with a young LTJG who had no fleet steaming experience. There were several times when i advised him what to do in situations he had never faced. Several times he was worried about helicopters dipping sonars close by. i calmed him down and explained how it worked.

When i left, the captain gave me a letter qualifying me as a Fleet OOD. i remain proud of that accomplishment.

Even though the extra income was a life saver, when i became sports editor and the guild obstructed my getting the pay i deserved for what i was doing, coupled with my wife being pregnant with our daughter, i began to consider my options. None looked better for security than getting back in the Navy. So i applied for becoming active. The officer in charge of such applications told me i could get in immediately if i requested to become a “Training and Reserve” (TAR) officer. i rejected that option immediately. He then said my chances for acceptance was not likely. Before i initiated the process

i reached out to my Commanding Officer, CAPT Max Lasell, of the USS Hawkins (DD 873), who made the effort to appear before the screening board and recommend i be accepted. i was one of six line officers accepted for that fiscal year.

i received my notice and orders to report to the USS Stephen B. Luce (DLG 7). i gave the Times notice and recommended my assistant replace me sports editor. He spent his entire career there. My wife Kathie gave birth to our daughter Blythe on July 7, 1972. We went to Paris, Texas where the two of them would stay while i flew to Korfu, Greece to report to the Luce. It was good to be back at sea.

We interrupted this program to attack a time consuming project, creating a gift for someone special, it took a while. i have not posted a sea story in some time. i plan to get back on step with more sea stories on a more regular basis. i am working on one now but have chosen to restart with something i wrote quite a while back. i put standing watch on the bridge through one day into a poem or free verse. For me, it captures memories of 14 years at sea — not enough, mind you. i don’t know how today’s Navy handles watch standing. i suspect some human factors experts have changed it a great deal. But every Navy ship i was on had the same watches and the same watch standing process…and i loved it. i hope it engenders some good recollections for you.

Bridge Watches on a Destroyer, circa 1969

I. Sea Detail:
engineers man their stations
hours before
sea detail is set
with the sun arising
while
wisps of vapor mist off the harbor waters;
the bridge is manned,
while
the OOD begins his check-off list
while
captain and xo
huddle in the wardroom
over coffee, small talk
as if getting underway is no big deal
while
the boatswainmates
shinny up the six crisscrossed mooring lines
removing the rat guards
and
taking the dressing off the lines
(not ropes, you landlubbers: lines)
while
first division forward and third division aft
unrig the bird nests around the bollards
while
the bridge is manned in white sparkling purity
with dixie cups and garrison caps,
enlisted wearing black oxfords
while
the officers and chiefs gleam noble white
down to their toes
while
the boatswain mate’s pipe hits the high note
before he passes the word
over the 1mc;
while
the women and children
stand but not quite belonging on the pier
while
shore steam and phone lines are secured
while
the public affairs officers and the brass,
act like they are responsible
while
sailors on board get the work done
while
the pier master from port ops
hustles about with
line handlers from the other ships
standby to let go
when it’s time to get underway;
springing on line three,
slacking four, five, six,
port ahead slow
until
the bow nudges toward the pier
and
the stern swings out
and
the conning officer
with deft touch
at the right moment
backs all engines,
then three short blasts,
and
the order is received
to let go all lines
when the last line;
falls from the Dutch bollard
to the water,
the pipe again
and
“shift colors”
and
“underway”
with one long blast for change of status
while
the ship backs into the channel,
swinging the bow
and
“all ahead one-third
while
the women cry
and
the brass walk away
and
the ship is underway;
standing out the channel,
sailor men all in a row
on the forecastle and fantail:
dress whites with dixie cups again,
oh so impressive in their splendor
while
the men on the bridge
take the bearings on navigation points,
receive the radar fixes from combat
plot the track and report:
“navigator holds us on track,
fifty yards from center of channel;
nearest shoal water
six hundred yards from port beam”
while
the bridge watch stands
taut and erect,
ready to respond to helm and lee helm orders,
while
the boatswainmate of the watch
makes his pipe sing
before passing the word
while
the conning officer shoots the range
nervously checking over his shoulder,
making small degree course changes
for the helmsman to steer
while
the captain stands aft of
the conning officer’s right shoulder,
confidently checking
while
the xo, the navigator bends over his chart,
or
in less tense moments
checks the formations
on the forecastle and fantail
for correctness
until
the sea buoy is cleared
and
the boatswain pipe shrills
its song again
and
the word is passed:
“Secure sea detail;
set the normal underway watch.”

II. Midwatch (0000-0400)
the thin steward in his official white frock
timidly whispers,
then murmurs almost fearfully,
“Get up, get up, sir: midwatch;
time to relieve, the midwatch;”
the JO, the oncoming officer of the deck,
can make out the steward’s face
down the red rays of the flashlight,
thinking there is a grin at the thought
of waking the officer from a sound sleep;
and
the steward will grin again when he makes up
the JO’s rack in the morning,
before turning it into a sofa
by lifting it up into the bulkhead.
before departing –
they, these stewards, are careful
in awaking the oncoming watch
since one rustled the shoulder
of a burly lieutenant,
catching a foot in the temple
from the violent awakening –
the JO struggles to rise
with the ship rolling:
“’bout ten degrees, steady,” he thinks,
knowing it’s a good sea for the midwatch;
the red lighting for darken ship
casts eerie shadows
as he lifts his legs into his watch khakis,
fumbling with the shirt buttons,
splashing his face with cold water
in the sink before
unsteadily lurching from after officer quarters,
to head forward,
up the narrow passageway to
the wardroom
where
the speckled gray-haired xo
and
the hulking, bald captain
sit in their appointed places of rank
as they do nightly at twenty-three fifteen,
to relish mid-rats:
midnight rations which might be
soup from the noon mess
or
stew from the evening mess;
or
perhaps tonight,
tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich,
the JO leaves them waiting for the off-going watch
before they hit the rack
while
he will stand alert, semi-comatose on the bridge,
binoculars hanging by a halyard from his neck,
green foul weather jacket keeping him warm:
in control for four hours
of pretty much nothing
unless
there is sea traffic mucking up the quiet time
or
bad weather in an open sea with no evening stars.

III. Morning Watch (0400-0800)
one sleeps hard in the middle of the night
until around 0315, the messenger taps upon the metal rack
and says,
“morning watch relief, sir,”
and
the JO rustles awake,
jumps into his khakis
before taking a leak in the red-lit head
to stumble down the passageway,
up the ladder
for the short three-hour watch
and
relieve the OOD
and
take the conn:
steady course, steady speed;
no contacts
because the battle group
is calm
before the flag arrives upon his bridge
after a substantial breakfast
to kick things into gear
with exercises,
formation changes,
but now,
the OOD hangs across the bulwark
of the starboard wing
to smell pancakes, eggs, bacon, coffee
wafting up from the galley below
until
the murmur of first light
defuses the night,
which yields to the coming dawn’s
pink glow on the eastern horizon
until
the reliefs show up
after a quick breakfast
and
the relieved dash to the wardroom
for their own quick meal before quarters:
a draining watch which will catch up
around ten hundred hours
and
the JO will struggle to get
to the midday mess
after which he will hit his rack
to recoup.

IV. Forenoon Watch (0800-1200)
gray ships scattered precisely on the deep blue green.
tinny radio commands,
accompanied by signal flags hoisted
half-mast for understanding,
two-blocked for recognizing the signal,
hauled down for execution,
while the extra signalmen,
standing tall on the signal bridge
with white dixie cups at a jaunty tilt atop their heads ,
converse with their counterparts
on the ships close by
in semaphore
and
combat and the bridge
compete in translating the commander’s signal
to reorient the screen around the carrier,
a foul, flat-deck excuse for a ship
only concerned with launching aircraft
without an ounce of seamanship considered,
and
CIC and the bridge draw their lines on
separate maneuvering boards to resolve
the mystery of relative motion
and
the conning officer directs course and speed
to the new station
with the stern wash churning white foam
and
the sea splashing seriously down the sides of
the sleek and low destroyer.

V. Afternoon Watch (1200-1600)
first, the officers must dine elegantly
with the captain and xo for the noon meal,
1130 prompt,
the oncoming OOD sitting to the left of the CO
at the head of the table with the XO on his right,
department heads and the other oncoming JO’s
fill the other slots withSUPPO, the mess caterer sitting at the opposite end
in order for the captain to give him flack
if not approving the choice of menu
or
a soiled napkin,
or
a misplaced piece of silverware;
the junior officers lounging on the green-leather
sofa winding around the forward port side of the wardroom,
for the second sitting with the off-going watch
and
the on-coming watch hustles up the ladders to the bridge
and
takes the conn and the watch
for the afternoon exercises
usually the most active time of the day for the carrier battle group
unless, “Bullmoose,” the flag requires a nap after the noon meal,

VI. First Dog (1800-1600).

16-18 they call it now,
before the evening mess
cutting the work day short,
but making it longer
with the two hours on the bridge
(it was created to rotate a three-section watch
and
not stick them with the same watch every day)
usually quiet as the other ships
also are knocking off for the work day;
the two hours go fast
and
the OOD wonders if he will watch the wardroom movie
or
hit the rack early to be ready for the morning watch.

VII. Second Dog
shades of gray:
no blue, no brightness of the sun,
gray ship on a gray sea with a gray horizon under gray clouds.
the second dog watch,
or what the new-fangled sailors
have come to call eighteen-to-twenty,
the OOD gives the JOOD the conn
while moving to the port bridge wing,
arms akimbo with one draped around
the gyrocompass repeater:
staring abeam at the dull, fleckless sea
to the horizon,
lines of gray variation,
feeling the wind stir,
watching the low dark clouds
looming close to the sea;
the sea itself stirring:
wavelets forming with
white beginning to flick at the top
when
on the horizon,
the low cloud projects a finger down
while the sea responds
with a finger projecting up,
all a swirling, growing, until they touch,
until the sea and sky join in a water spout;
until the gray
becomes an ominous seascape;
yet he is not perturbed
standing on the port bridge wing
as the storm rushes past
on the horizon.

VIII. Evening Watch
quiet;
dark;
the navigator has shot his stars and gone below;
the captain has sauntered up after his mess
to sit in his chair for relief of the watch,
muttered a few directions to the oncoming OOD,
and gone below to the wardroom
for the evening movie: it’s an oater tonight,
and
he’s only seen it twice this deployment
while
the OOD moves the ship to plane guard,
five hundred yards dead astern,
captain’s gig playing lifeguard boat
hoisted by the davit to hang over the passing spume of sea,
manned to hopefully pluck
the aircraft crew from the water
if
one is so errant to miss the guiding light
to the carrier’s deck
and
slide into the water;
there is nervous anticipation
as the OOD knows the carrier will search for the wind
and
the flat deck conning officer trying to qualify
so he can advance up the aviator’s ladder of success
will forget to signal the starboard 190 degree turn
increasing speed to thirty knots
and
the OOD will have to warn main control
to light off superheat
and
call the captian, interrupting the movie
and
realize
the carrier conning officer forgot to signal
another 185 turn to port slowing to ten knots
and
the OOD screams to main control
while fishtailing
to give the firerooms time
to shut off superheat
before the boilers blow them all to hell
and
he looks aft at the stacks from the starboard wing
to see no white smoke
and exhales a sigh of relief
before the carrier
concludes flight ops for the night
before the oncoming watch
shows up at 1145
and
relieves his watch.