Louis Guimond, Part III

One lesson Louie Guimond gave me i could not repeat…and i regretted that.

i wrote of this lesson in my book, Steel Decks and Glass Ceilings. Before the USS Yosemite deployed in September 1983, a chief discovered an unauthorized absentee (UA) who was really a deserter in every way except the last escape clause in the way the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) was written, and it was certainly his intent to be a deserter.

i was the XO and a geographic bachelor as my new bride was in San Diego and would remain there until we returned from and Indian Ocean deployment in seven months. Consequently, i was aboard in my cabin when the shore patrol brought this problem child back to the ship.

At breakfast the next morning, i learned the quarterdeck had accepted this clown rather than notifying me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. i was not a happy camper. i went back to the summer of 1968, when the shore patrol brought back a UA/deserter to the USS Hawkins quarterdeck. That quarterdeck watch notified that XO, Louie. He immediately ran to the quarterdeck and went berserk on everyone near. He refused to accept the sailor and demanded the sailor be sent to base security.

Thus the ship avoided having an organizational terrorist on board and counting against their complement, a spot that could be filled with a productive sailor. They also had avoided dealing with a complex UCMJ legal process that would be time consuming and distracting court martial.

But my quarterdeck had accepted the criminal and i was stuck. My concern i didn’t get the opportunity to do what Louis did 15 years earlier proved valid. That sailor required me to respond to a First Lady inquiry, a congressional inquiry and was a thorn in my side and the ship’s for almost the entirety of my two-year tour.

Louis Guimond knew how to be and XO and he did it.

Louie Guimond, Part 2

After i concluded the previous installment about CDR Guimond and more than halfway through this one, i discovered i had an apparent misconception formed fifty-five years ago. i had previously believed he was of Cajun ancestry. But when i attempted to find out more about him before and after he and i crossed paths, i discovered from a blurred copy of a USS Gompers cruise book that he was born in Mount Holyoke, Massachusetts. That’s not exactly Cajun country. It could be his parents were cajun and returned to Louisiana where Louie met and married Natalie.

i also discovered that when i visited them in Chula Vista (San Diego) in early 1970, he had gone from the Hawkins XO to executive officer of the Gompers. i thought he completed his career as XO of the USS Prairie before he retired. It is possible, he desired his last tour to be on a ship and asked to be XO before he retired, but that seems unlikely

Right now, i am glad these are sea stories, my recollections even with their questionable accuracy. i can only say that i have recorded what i believe is accurate and never intentionally changed the veracity of these stories. It did take me a while to regain my bearings and accept my memories from years ago might have have few misconceptions. After all, as old sailors like to begin and in with a phrase that is faulty from the get-go concerning sea stories: “And this (that) is no bullshit.”

Two of the greatest benefits i had for ending up with a Navy career were my first executive officer and second commanding officer on my first ship, the USS Hawkins (DD 873).

Commander Max Lasell relieved Captain Thomas Nugent in August 1968. He became Captain while he was the Hawkins the commanding officer. He not only gave me so many points about how to be a Navy officer i cannot recite them all, he gave me his trust and his support, which was invaluable both in that first tour and later in my life. i will write of him later.

* * *

LCDR Louis Guimond was remarkable. He could have been a comic book hero, someone so terrific, so unique, it would be difficult to believe he actually existed if i hadn’t been there.

He joined the Navy in World War II and was assigned to submarines where he became a sonarman. He rose in the ranks and became a Mustang, an enlisted sailor that was so good, the Navy made him an officer, not a limited duty officer, not a warrant officer, but a line officer. He rose to the rank of CDR and retired in his last operational tour, the USS Prairie (AD 15). One of the appeasing reflections i had when my last operational tour was XO of the USS Yosemite (AD 19) was knowing that was my first XO’s last tour.

Louie was about 5-8, extremely fit, and a very good athlete. He had premature white hair. His wife, Natalie, was beautiful. They were devout Catholics. i spent the afternoon with them when i was en route to Vietnam. Louie had been transferred to San Diego when i still had about six months before rotating off the Hawkins in December 1969. Their son, Louis Jr. was about sixteen.

As the Hawkins exec, Louie was very strict with the crew. i’m guessing that is because he was a bit wild when he was enlisted and made sure his crew would not be able to cavort like him. Consequently, the crew did not like him at all. They respected him, but they didn’t like the strictness. The wardroom loved him. He laughed and pulled tricks and made every officer comfortable.

i’ve often thought about how he broke one of the rules about being an XO that for a while bothered me. The first and primary rule in the XO book of rules is to support the commanding officer even if you don’t agree with him. Our first CO was the brunt of Louie’s best jokes. For example when the ship was on liberty in Naples, he convinced the CO he should not buy a reel-t0-reel tape recorder that was vertical, that he should get one where the reels were horizontal on the top of the recorder because gravity would make the vertical reels go slower.

My favorite tale occurred just before i reported aboard. The day before Hawkins was getting underway after a week of liberty in Naples, Italy, the navigation team, as usual, had a navigation brief in the wardroom. The XO, as with most FRAM destroyers and many other Navy ships as well, was the navigator. His assistant was a senior lieutenant junior grade (LTJG) named Chris (i cannot recall his last name as i write), a nice guy and competent junior officer. They had the Naples harbor chart and surrounding waters spread out on the wardroom table. The XO went through the brief meticulously covering all possibilities.

* * *

As he closed, the commanding officer, a very conservative ship driver, looked down, and asked what was the object below the proposed track the XO had laid out on the chart.

“Is that a sunken ship, a ship wreck?” he asked concernedly.

“Yes sir,” the XO replied, “but its highest part, the mast, is 70 feet below the surface, well clear of our draft (with the sonar dome, the draft on the Hawkins was just over 20 feet).”

“XO, in no way do i want you to put us anywhere that wreck,” the captain asserted.

Chris and Louie knew it would be useless to protest, and even though it would make back out of its mooring more difficult, they laid out an alternate plan.

The next day at sea detail, the ship got underway. The XO ignored the alternate plan and backed down the initially planned track. As the ship backed down, the captain was looking forward and aft to check for any craft or obstacles. He asked, “Chris, how are we doing on that shipwreck?”

Chris replied much to the navigator’s dismay, “We are doing well, captain; backed right over it; it was well clear.”

The captain’s reaction was not, shall we say, pretty.

* * *

Louis seemed to take the junior officers under his wing. i vividly recall one summer day in Newport, 1969. For some reason, the XO and i were standing on the port bridge wing while the ship was moored outboard in a nest of three destroyers. Looking out over the pier area, the XO spoke to this green, wet behind the ears ensign while looking out over the array of Naval might. “Jim,” he said, “I remember when ships didn’t have all of those antennae wires dishes.” He paused and continued, “They were beautiful back then.”

* * *

When the first CO went on leave in the summer of 1968. Louie was the acting CO and held Captain’s Mast. As mentioned earlier as XO, he was tough and the crew feared him as he would give them no quarter. i had a seaman who had been put on report and for Unauthorized Absence (UA). i was very concerned. The seaman had reported aboard almost six hours late. i was pretty sure Louie would throw the book at the young sailor.

Mast was held on the bridge. When the seaman stood at attention before the podium, Louis asked him why he had not reported as scheduled. Roughly, here is the seaman’s story:

Well sir, my flight got into Logan Airport a bit late, so i hurried to catch a cab. Then when we were going through Callahan Tunnel, the cab driver started hustling me about giving him my guitar. We got in an argument. So i jumped out of the cab with my guitar, i got lost a couple of times but i walked here from the tunnel.

i held my breath. i was waiting for the XO to lower the boom. Louis studied the man’s service record paused for a minute, and said,

“Son, i should give you the max: reduction in rate, half pay for three months, restriction to the ship for thirty days, and 45  days extra duty.

“But that is one of the best stories i ‘ve heard for a long time at mast.

“You are dismissed with a warning.”

i had some extremely good executive officers, and yes, i had several that weren’t good leaders. Of all of them, LCDR Louis Guimond was the best.

Louis (Louie) Guimond, Part 1

Stuff has kept me away from my sea stories. Friends, old shipmates, family, and the doctor. The latter, after telling me my annual physical i’m in very good shape for someone a few months shy of eighty, decided to make sure and i’ve been seeing all kinds of specialists who have tolkd me i’m in very good shape for someone a few months shy of eighty. And of course, golf interfered with my writing schedule as well.

i’ve been intending to include Louis Guimond in my sea stories for quite a while. Here is a previous post that is one of my favorites and will be included in my book, A Tale of the Sea and Me ever gets to the publishing state. Louie will be in a couple of more at least.

After my personal introduction to NJP that summer of 1968, it was six years before i got to witness it in action again, or at least a variation of it (i think i’ve written of the sea stories before in other places).

i reported to my first ship, the USS Hawkins (DD 873)  in Malaga, Spain in April 1968, and  rode her on the last stages of her MED deployment (that is “Mediterranean” for landlubbers, not “medical”). i relieved the First Lieutenant as the ASW Officer would not rotate until late September that year at the beginning of an overhaul. In those days, the first lieutenant had a bunch of sailors in first division who were more likely to go to mast than most divisions. Not all, but most.

So once we got back to homeport, i spent a lot of time with report chits, XOI, and captain’s mast. The CO, Commander Tom Nugent, was…well, let’s not go there, but he was a stern taskmaster. Strangely, he was lenient at Captain’s Mast. i had several of my boatswainmates get off a lot lighter than i expected.

The below two incidents were included in an earlier installation of A Tale of The Sea and Me:

Then, while late on the evening (2000-2400) Officer of the Deck (OOD) watch on the quarterdeck, i learned the old way was still in my Navy. A very drunk seaman, one of mine in first division, came back from liberty and was so inebriated, i wasn’t sure he would make it across the brow. He was belligerent. When i attempted to calm him, he started cussing me out. As a fresh ensign i was trying to figure out how do deal with the kid while the petty officer of the watch (POOW) called the duty master-at-arms on the 1-JV sound powered phones.

The duty MAA was a first class gunner’s mate. He was big, burly, stout, and ugly. He had a crew cut and his muscles bulged from the tee shirt with one sleeve rolled up to hold his package of camels. He came up to the quarterdeck, saw what was happening and put his arm around the belligerent, drunken sailor.

“Come on, son,” he soothed, “Let’s go down to the boatswain’s locker and talk about this.”

They walked forward together, and i was relieved the incident was over.

It wasn’t.

The gunner’s mate took the young man down to the boatswain’s locker and gave him an old fashioned ass whuppin’.

i know this happened because i came from officer’s call the next morning to quarters for first division. There in the first rank was the offending boatswainmate. i expected him to look pretty bad because he had to be hungover, but he also looked like he had been through a meat grinder. The gunner’s mate had exercised the old style of discipline. My chief explained to me how it worked.

Wisely, i did not question what had happened.

Within a couple of weeks, i saw the old style of Navy justice at work again. First division had a strapping young seaman who was not overjoyed about being in the Navy and was often questioning authority. It did not help that he was also extremely prone to seasickness. If the ship rolled a little bit tied up to the pier or in a nest of other destroyers, this guy would blow lunch.

He had managed to piss off the First Division Leading Petty Officer (LPO), BM2 Carrier. i don’t know exactly what he did, but Carrier was my man second only to BMC Jones, whom i relied upon. Carrier held my hand and escorted me through some tough times. He also was old school, sailor, and back then, liberty cards were used to control who left the ship. The duty section would not be issued liberty cards at quarters. Those not in the duty section, would be given these cards to show to the quarterdeck to get approval to depart after liberty call. The division LPO issued the liberty cards at the close of morning quarters.

It was a Friday. When the LPO issued the liberty cards at quarters, he strangely could not find the seaman’s card. This was a frequent occurrence for sailors who upset the chief or LPO. This meant the seaman would be on board for the entire weekend.

Shortly before the noon mess and early liberty call at noon, i went down to inspect division berthing on the first deck underneath the fantail. The upset seaman was in berthing and seeing me, he became a sea lawyer, screaming about his rights and how the Navy couldn’t do this to him. Again, i was flummoxed and trying to decide how to handle this.

Chief Jones, was about 5-8, a soaking wet 130-pounds, wiry, wrinkled, and about to retire with 20 years in about a month or so. He was also checking out the spaces. Up on the main deck, he heard the seaman yelling below. Chief Jones slid down the ladder to berthing, ran over to where this 6-2, 190 pound kid was berating me. The chief grabbed the seaman by the front of his blue chambray shirt at the chest, pushed him up against the bulkhead and then lifted him up until the seaman’s feet cleared the deck. The chief then launched into a profanity laced tirade that would have made the coarsest of sailors proud, concluding with something along the lines of “don’t you ever confront an officer and deal with your problem on board; see  you at quarters Monday” (Well, i’m sure that wasn’t exactly what he said, but it was close).

LCDR Louis Guimond was the XO, a mustang coming up from the ranks after being a submariner in WWII. He was tough and the crew feared him as he would give them no quarter. Shortly after we went into overhaul at the Charlestown Naval Shipyard in South Boston (the USS Constitution is now moored there), the CO went on two weeks leave. Once again, i had a seaman put on report and forwarded from XOI to Captain’s Mast. i was very concerned. The acting CO the feared XO, who would conduct Captain’s Mast. The seaman had reported aboard almost six hours late and was an unauthorized absence. He had not divulged his reasons at my investigation nor at XOI.

Mast was held on the bridge. When the seaman stood at attention before the podium, Louie asked him why he had not reported as scheduled. Roughly, here is the seaman’s story:

Well sir, my flight got into Logan Airport a bit late, so i hurried to catch a cab. Then when we were going through Callahan Tunnel, the cab driver started hustling me about giving him my guitar. We got in an argument. So i jumped out of the cab with my guitar, i got lost a couple of times but i walked here from the tunnel.

i held my breath. i was waiting for the XO to lower the boom. Louie studied the man’s service record paused for a minute, and said,

“Son, i should give you the max: reduction in rate, half pay for three months, restriction to the ship for thirty days, and 45  days extra duty.

“But that is one of the best stories i ‘ve heard for a long time at mast.

“You are dismissed with a warning.”

And that, my friend, is Navy justice at work in the old days.

Sunday, August 20, 2023, we are in the middle of Hurricane Hillary, which thus far has been more of a whimper than a roar. The highest winds predicted in squalls around 45 MPH, are supposed to occur around mid-afternoon. That’s just below 40 knots for old sailors. Of course, the winds and the rain will be worse in the mountains to the east and lowlands could be facing some serious floods. There is likely to be some damage along the coast.

But we are just enjoying the light rain inside with my plans to read and listen to music — i currently am listening to a CD in a jazz anthology collection. This particular one is “Songs for a Rainy Afternoon,” rather apropos, i think. Maureen is likely to watch some television as well, probably a chick flick.

When i read the prediction described with fearful words, i laughed and remembered a time when i experienced a little more of that. i decided to include another earlier post out of sequence for my sea tales. That post included a Lebanon Democrat column from a bunch of years ago. The introduction described a number of other times at sea, storms were formidable.

Two events were left out.

The first occurred in 1975 about this time of year. The USS Anchorage (LSD 36) was transiting back to the states, having just left Keelung, Taiwan after picking up a 106-ton sea fueling buoy for an “opportune lift.” That experience is a sea story all to itself. The cylindrical buoy was supported by about four feet of logs on the well deck and welded to the batter boards on the bulkheads.

i was getting ready to relieve the watch and become the OOD for the evening (2000-2400) watch. When i reported to the bridge, CDR Art Wright called me over to the CO’s chair in the forward starboard section of the pilot house.

“Jim, the seas are already worsening, and I am a bit concerned about that sea buoy possibly breaking the welds in the shoring and breaking loose” he explained, “Would you go down to the well deck and stay there until the storm passes? I need someone I can trust to let me know if we have an emergency on hand.”

Finally, he cut off a possible excuse from me, “I will stand in for you as OOD until the mid-watch relief gets here.”

He didn’t see me gulp when i responded, “No problem, captain; aye, aye.”

i descended the ladders from the bridge on the 03 level down to the main deck, then the mezzanine deck, to the well deck. The buoy was all the way forward, almost to the mezzanine deck. i walked around the massive buoy and examined all of the welds on the buoy and the bulkheads. All good. I retreated to underneath the mezzanine deck above as the rain had begun to get serious. We were experiencing some rolls just a bit heavier than normal. i watched.

As the night deepened, the swells and the wind picked up. About every 15 minutes or so, i would circle the massive thing in the cavernous well deck, to check the buoy and the shoring as i had initially. i had rejected taking someone with me. i had thought of my BM1 Hansborough who was the well deck master, but decided if something went wrong, i wouldn’t want to put him in danger. By now, i was soaked and felt a bit lonely.

I had gotten there about 2015. The seas probably peaked somewhere around a Sea State 4. They began to calm around 0200, and were calm enough that the captain and i agreed i could secure from my post before 0400.

i have been in much rougher seas, but i don’t think i’ve ever been more concerned about what the seas might do.

The other event was on the USS Yosemite in 1984. i will save that sea story for later.

* * *

The original introduction:

Lately, in discussions with former shipmates and  other old sailors, rough seas have been discussed. i experienced rough seas on my first night aboard the USS Lloyd Thomas in (DD-764) and fought back seasickness as the radar gang was trying like mad to make me sick (a ritual described here previously). My first ship after commissioning, the USS Hawkins (DD-788) experienced enough bad weather off of Cape Hatteras that she experienced her maximum roll of 45 degrees, dangerously close to her “point of no return,” i.e. if she went much farther she would just keep going and capsize. That was rough. i was chased by a typhoon across the South China Sea, forced out of Hong Kong liberty by another (my wife was there to spend a week with me), and actually in the eye of a hurricane when it was forming in the Caribbean. But in a weekly column in The Lebanon Democrat several years ago, i described the worst storm i experienced in 15-plus years of sea duty.

Notes from the Southwest Corner: Stormy weather? It seems so calm to me

SAN DIEGO – Late last week (2013), a friend called early in the morning to tell me it was raining downtown.

“Rain,” I said, “What rain?” There was no hint of rain only several miles away. “Yep,” Steve responded, “It’s raining real rain here.”

Rain in June is rare here, spot rain even rarer. So there is yet another Southwest weather corner mystery.

The call regenerated thoughts of storms. Even though I was in the eye of a fledgling hurricane as I recently related, it was not the worst storm I experienced.

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.

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 assistant 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.

As noted, it was my summer for learning the Navy way.

A major lesson came mid-summer. i was with a number of my first division sailors who were cleaning the ship’s midship passageway. In addition to all of the weather decks and the hull, the deck seaman also had the responsibility for most of the shared interior spaces, particularly the passageways, what landlubbers would call halls.

Our Engineering Department had a special sailor on board. He really ran the deep hole engineering (fire rooms and engine rooms for the Chief Engineer, the Main Propulsion Assistant (MPA) in charge of the engine rooms, and the “B” Division officer in charge of the firerooms. He was unique and held a rating that only lasted for a few years. During those years, a chief who was a Boiler Tender (BT) or a Machinist Mate (MM), if he passed the requirements he would meld the two disciplines and become a “steam propulsion specialist.” Then, his rating would be SPCS (E8) or SPCM (E9).

Unfortunately, i do not know remember our SPCM’s name. He was a burly six-footer with thick black hair and a booming voice.

The passageway under maintenance was close to the engineering log room amidships. The log room was pretty much the engineering office where records were kept on feed water, freshwater, fuel, oil levels, test results, among others. It was also where our SPCM hung out. i was doing something with my sailors. i don’t know what it was. But i know it was the wrong way to handle things.

Our SPCM emerged from the log room, put his arm around my shoulder, and escorted me respectfully to the port side weather deck. Again, i don’t remember exactly what he said, but i know it had a major impact on me, and because of his counsel, i changed the way i dealt with my men, and it was a major improvement.

The SPCM and my BMC Jones were close friends in the goat locker, aka the chief’s quarters. As a result, they took me into their twosome, and continued to provide me with advice about how to be a better division officer.

After liberty call when we didn’t have the duty, Ensigns Rob Dewitt, Andrew Nemethy, and yours truly were spending a lot of time in Newport. On a Tuesday afternoon when Andrew had the duty, Rob and i repaired to The Tavern, what would be called today a sports bar. We had a beer and went to see a friend of Rob’s in a home nearby. When we left there, we stopped at The Black Pearl, then a shack that served as a lounge for the owner of the three masted schooner of the same name. Barclay H. Warburton III, owned the sailing ship and to have a place to relax, have a drink, and grub, transformed that shack on the pier now Bannister’s Wharf, which had been serving as a sail loft, into a small diner. It was wonderful. We had a sandwich, of course their incredible clam chowder, a beer, and headed back to the ship. It was around 2300.

As i drove down Thames Street, an older couple in a late model Buick pulled out of a side street with no warning. Although i was driving within the speed limit, i tee boned them. It totaled my car. Rob’s head went through my windshield, and i smacked the steering wheel with my face. My car was totaled. The couple escaped with minor injuries. They took us to the emergency room where Rob received stitches, and they patched up my mouth, the front of which had lost another tooth, bringing the total to three front teeth (ha, ha, Brenda Lee). It would be about two weeks before they could replace my two-teeth bridge with a three-teeth bridge. (i was cleared of any culpability).

After several days, Rob was back on the ship, and we returned to normal duty except it would not be a normal week. BMC Jones was retiring the following Monday. The ship was having a change of command on Saturday. So on Friday at early liberty around 1400, the SPCM and BMC Jones invited me to join them at the Lighthouse, a favorite pub for chiefs, to celebrate his retirement with a gin and tonic. the three of us in our summer khakis ordered gin and tonics and toasted BMC Jones. The SPCM did not think one gin and tonic was an adequate salute to my chief. He ordered another for the three of us, and then another. i finally escaped, leaving half of my fourth gin and tonic on the table.

i stumbled back to the ship. Ordinarily, i would have eaten in the wardroom for the evening mess, and then retired to my stateroom in forward officers. But that Friday evening was scheduled for the ship’s hail and farewell party to the outgoing and incoming commanding officers. i drank about a ton of coffee, dressed in a sports jacket and tie, and headed for the small officers club up the hill from the destroyer piers.

In the small club, there was a party going on, and the three star admiral, the commander of Cruiser-Destroyer Fleet in the Atlantic, and his wife were in attendance. i somehow ended up in a conversation with the two of them. Of course, the admiral asked me about my missing teeth while his concerned wife listened. i was still pretty…er, inebriated? i waxed effusively about the event, and they appeared glad Rob and i had not been hurt worse. i walked back down the hill to the ship and my rack.

The next day was a grand event: the formal change of command ceremony aboard the USS Hawkins (DD 873). Our commanding officer was being relieved by CDR Maxwell Lasell, a large, physically impressive Naval Academy graduate with a bald head long before it was de rigueur. The CRU-DES band was on the pier . Immediately beyond the quarterdeck, the fantail had a canvas shade rigged. Eight side boys flanked the entry to the quarterdeck from the brow. Just beyond them, in two ranks stood the honor guard awaiting to be inspected by the admiral and the outgoing and oncoming COs. The officer in charge stood in front at attention in his full dress white uniform complete with his Navy sword resting on his right shoulder…and three missing front teeth. It was Ensign Jewell.

The ceremonies commenced at 1000. The band played “Ruffles and Flourishes” three times as the admiral came aboard. After he was saluted, the admiral proceeded to face the honor guard officer as i ordered my charges to salute as i performed the salute with my sword, bringing the hilt to my chin with the blade pointed skyward, bringing it smartly to my side with the blade at a slight angle toward the deck. When the admiral returned the salute, i ordered “to” and brought the sword back to rest on my right shoulder.

The admiral then asked me, “How are your teeth, this morning?”

“They are fine,” i responded, “Thank you, sir.”

Behind him, i saw my new captain, CDR Lasell, silently chuckling.

i breathed a sigh of relief as they moved on toward the rest of the ceremonies.

i would bid adieu to BMC Jones Monday morning, The SPCM would leave shortly after we entered the yards the next month. And i had found a new mentor to add to the XO, CDR Max Lasell, commanding officer of the Hawk.