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.

After another dreary flight, i was taken in a military vehicle to the USNS Geiger (T-AP 197) berthed at the quay wall berth at Akasakicho, which was located the west-south-west of the US Naval Base proper. Thus began a year like no other in my life. There are enough stories, wild and crazy enough to fill an entire book by themselves. It also would be somewhat of a confessional for me to write about some things of which i am not particularly proud.

So, i will address that year separately except for describing where a great deal of that year’s frolics stook place and what i’ve written about the ship i rode during the first six months or so. The Geiger, the USNS Upshur (T-AP 198), and the USNS Barrret (T-AP 196), which was in the a long maintenance period back on the West Coast, were built as ocean cruise ships for American President Lines. Before they were completed, the Military Sea Transport Service bought them and converted them into troop and dependent transports operating between the USS and Europe and the Western Pacific. All of the existing spaces from the first deck and above remained in their cruise ship configuration for the dependents and officers. Most of the cargo holds were converted to troop compartments.

This LTJG, who had just spent 18 months sharing staterooms with one, two, or three other junior officers on the Hawkins officer quarters, most the size of a large closet, was in high cotton. My temporary quarters were luxurious compared to the just adequate BOQ quarters i had during my transit, and the XO stateroom, which i would occupy for a year, was beyond my imagination.

The “Town Club” was the Naval Officer’s Club, just not on the base. It was a sprawling complex with about six BOQ rooms upstairs. It was where the Japanese Admiral Yamamoto planned the attack on Pearl Harbor — and that’s a writer’s delight in irony. It had a huge swimming pool in front to the side of the main entrance.

Immediately to the right was the “Chocin” room, an elegant dining room with a teak lattice ceiling, a large bar to the left of the entrance, and booths for dining along the walls. The waitresses all wore kimonos. Their hair and makeup gave them the appearance of geishas.

Further down the long hall on the left was the “game room,” simply a rook chock-full of slot machines. Across the hall was the stag bar, one of my favorite places on earth. The floor was a darkly stained teak, above the well appointed bar was a painting depicting a Japanese woman lying on her back facing away from the artist. She was naked and the painting was tastefully erotic — i later found out the woman was the girlfriend of one of my commanding officers who had been CO of a mine sweep home ported in Sasebo. There was a juke box (of course) and a shuffleboard against the wall to the right.

Down the hall to the right was a huge dining room, complete with a stage. I think it sat about 300 and was the site of many USO shows. The food was exquisite, the service matched the food.

In the basement, was a Japanese restaurant that served sukiyaki (the enlisted club’s was better).

There was a short order diner downstairs as well, plus a hot tub, spa, and sauna.

It was the perfect place for a wild and crazy year.

My sea stories took a couple of years of rest. After the tour, i became a sports writer and eventually the sports editor of The Watertown (New York) Daily Times. When my salary situation made it difficult to support my wife — i married Kathie Lynch, the daughter of an Army artillery colonel upon conclusion of my tour as XO; i met her in Pusan, Korea — i applied to return to active duty. i was one of six line officers accepted. Our daughter Blythe was born July 7. We moved the two of them to their parents’ home in Paris, Texas, and i flew to Korfu, Greece to meet my new ship, the USS Stephen B. Luce (DLG 7).

The sea stories continue…

i walked out in the early morning of a seaport town in the Southwest corner. It was dark to most folks.

i, however, saw the beauty of first light.

Hardly any folks would have noticed. Even those who stood watches on the bridge or lookout might not have recognized first light with a cloudy sky. But the old Officer of the Deck who stood countless morning watches (0400-0800) before they had satellites taking away the romance by pinpointing your ship’s position at sea, recognized again the subtle beauty of first light with a cloudy sky.

There are no stars nor moon to discern the approaching new day. It is more of a shadow outlining a cloud or two, just a slight variation in the sky of darkness.

Soon, it will beat back the darkness in its march to a new day, but for a few moments it will suggest the future of the day and beyond has much more than we could comprehend.

Good night, night, and good morning morning. You have told me with the clouds and first light, it is time to move on in a beautiful way.

This has taken me a while. 1970 was indeed a wild and crazy year. It had it’s ups and downs and i did a lot of things a sailor does in lands faraway, some good, some not so good but very good in another way (think Mae West). i became engaged and i landed a job from long distance, a job i thought would be my life time career.

It really was a little more than a year. My father and uncle picked me up in Norfolk in my uncle’s ’59 Pontiac Star Chief and took me home the first weekend in December 1969.

i had just over three weeks of bliss before heading to San Diego for my one-week course on Classified Materials.

Then i boarded a MAC flight that stopped in Fukuoka, Japan, before going on to Yokosuka, which was the western Pacific headquarters for the Military Sea Transport System (MSTS) — about half-way through my year’s tour, it was renamed Military Sealift Command (MSC). i arrived the Yokosuka BOQ around 2200 and crashed. The trip had taken about 20 hours.

i was also on the back end of an inoculation issue. Just before i transferred from the Hawkins, our chief corpsman reviewed my records and determined i needed no shots. Apparently, his sources were not the same as the West Coast medical folks. When i went to pick up my flight orders on Friday morning, i was informed i must have a bunch of inoculations. Since i was departing on Monday, i could not do them in sequence, but had to get them all that afternoon. i did.

i spent my week with my hometown friend Lee Dowdy in his apartment. Lee had served on the USS New Jersey (BB 62) and was on an amphibious squadron staff. After my shots, we went to Mickey Finn’s in El Cajon to watch the Dixieland Jazz Show. We had to leave after about a half hour as those shots, a bunch of them, took their toll.

After a cold night in the transit BOQ in Yokosuka, a small Breeko block building with a broken heater, i walked to the MSTS office. It was a cloudy, damp morning. The overweight civilian behind the desk informed me that my detailer had missed on several salient points, i.e.

• “Every major port in the Pacific” was actually four: Sasebo, Japan; Pusan, Korea; Quy Nhon, Vietnam; and Nha Trang, Vietnam.
• “The only Navy personnel aboard the troop ship” was actually 18. In addition to me as XO, there was a CO, a chaplain, two doctors, a chief boatswain mate, a chief storekeeper (SKC), a SK2 who was also the barber, a second class personnel man (PN2), and eight corpsman, including a master chief corpsman (HMCM).
• “Families, civilian independents” were actually 1500 Republic of Korea troops being carried to the two Vietnamese ports and returned to Pusan.

i left that afternoon and flew to Sasebo on a Navy C-2 cargo plane. i spent another night in a rather unimpressive BOQ, and reported to the USNS Geiger (T-AP 197). i immediately put a letter in the mail to my detailer, informing him of the slight difference between what he told me about my tour and what it really was.

The wild and crazy adventure was about to begin.