A Mid-Watch Lesson

It was summer school for me in 1968. Andrew, Rob, and i discovered The Tavern, the Black Pearl, and other delights. i was liking my liberty as an ensign. But the learning curve was almost vertical.

Another lesson came one week night when i had the duty. i was assigned the mid-watch (midnight to 0400) as the Officer of the Deck, in port, (OOD). A second class petty officer was my petty officer of the watch (POOW), and a seaman striker from radio was the messenger. It was a cool, comfortable evening and we were tied up pier side, not nested out with one or two other destroyers between us and the pier. We were port side to.

The watch had been very quiet. Liberty had ended at midnight for the crew. It was about 0200 when a very drunk seaman reeled across the brow to the quarterdeck. When i told him he would be put on report for unauthorized absence, the drunk young man went ballistic. He was cursing and threatening me. i was attempting to determine how i should handle the sailor without getting either of us in trouble when the POOW called the duty master at arms.

The duty master at arms arrived several minutes after the call. He was a first class gunners mate. He had on his dungarees but with a tee shirt rather than the chambray shirt. The left sleeve was rolled up to hold his pack of cigarettes above his massive arms.

Without much more than a polite recognition of the officer, me, he put his arm around the shoulder of the sailor and moved him aft. He said, “Sailor, let’s go have a talk in the paint locker.”

The next morning, i slept as last as i could and still partake of the morning mess. After the mess i walked to the forecastle for divisional quarters at 0750 and colors at 0800. The seaman was in first division and was in the second ranch. Chief Jones was laughing. The culprit looked like he might have been through a meat grinder. One eye was black and bruises were showing wherever there was skin.

The MA gunners mate had taken care of the problem. i don’t think the young man was ever UA again and never caused a problem on board because of drinking. The report chit disappeared before making it to the legal officer.

It was an awakening for me. The underground system for discipline at the sailor level worked well, but all of us would have been before a court martial today.

The First Summer

Sea stories abounded in those years. There was less regulation, especially about personal behavior. Drinking was part of the culture. Navy ships were not too far removed from “Rocks and Shoals” discipline. The Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) was not the dominant means of justice it is today. It was a male culture before the new world had put a stop to many shenanigans. Both officers and enlisted were prone to shenanigans.

And i was a part of a shenanigan as soon as we made fast to the pier.

The welcoming party on the pier was roughly about 700 people, mostly dependents of the crew and the wardroom, lots of children. They were all waiting anxiously as the ship’s engineers connected the auxiliary steam, electric power lines, and the phone lines. The boatswain mates double-upped the mooring lines and coordinated public works put the brow onto the quarterdeck before the guests could come aboard.

The Damage Control Assistant (DCA) who had me wait on the tarmac in Malaga, Spain, came to me and asked me for a favor. After i more or less agreed to help him, he told me he had a problem. He told me he had his family on the pier with his fiancé. Then, he added his other fiancé was also on the pier. He wanted me to engage the second fiancé and keep her distracted while he invited his family to the wardroom with the first fiancé, and then escort them off the ship. His plan was for me to then hand off the second fiancé to him so he could apologize for ship’s business causing him to be delayed in greeting her.

i shook my head in agreement, and amazingly agreed to help him, surprising myself. Even more amazingly, we pulled it off. i never saw either of the fiancé’s again, although i came close to meeting the first after he had dumped the second less than a month later, which provided another sea story.

* * *

For the transit back to Newport, i had shared forward officer’s with the Public Affairs Officer (PAO). i wasn’t particularly thrilled to be with him and deduced he was only the PAO because the CO and XO didn’t want him to fill any billet with responsibility and putting him a position that he was desirous of pursuing as a full time specialty made it easy.

Two new ensigns reported aboard. They missed joining me for the flight to Europe and joining the Hawkins before the western voyage by days. Andrew Nemethy was from Boston. Rob (We called him Bob then) Dewitt was from Maine. They were assigned to forward officers with me.

Forward officers was more like a dungeon than officers’ country. It was on the first deck under Mount 52, which was located on the 01 level (one level above the main deck). There was a small head and a row of three desks with cabinets and drawers above and below the pull down desks. If a desk was pulled down, it was difficult to squirm through to get to the other side as there was less than three feet between the after bulkhead and the cabinets. Amidships there was an opening into the racks. The racks were a larger version of the enlisted racks: metal frames with canvas tied to the frame to serve as “mattresses.” There were two racks stacked on each side of the narrow passageway in bunk-bed fashion.

To put it mildly, it was tight, yet nowhere near as tight as living in enlisted berthing. i still wonder why they had four racks in that compartment. It would have been like being in a sardine can had another officer joined the three of us.

i moved to after officers quarters on the main deck after about six weeks. Andrew and Rob adopted the space as home and remained there throughout their tours. However, we forged a bond as the three new ensigns. They remain close friends as i write.

* * *

i didn’t realize it, but one of best learning periods of my Naval career was beginning.

My First Division Chief Petty Officer was Boatswain Mate Chief (BMC) Jones. He was from Arkansas and about to retire there after he had completed his twenty years of service. He planned to start a gem cutting business and had been working toward that end. He was about 5-9 with skin you would expect on someone who had spent twenty years on small craft and the weather decks of a destroyer. It looked like alligator skin. He was thin, wiry, and and strong, reminding me in that way of my father.

Chief Jones first taught me how to be an ensign division officer. He worked with me before quarters each morning to be sure i was relating the news and direction for the coming workday. Most importantly, he kept me in line to not only play the part but actually become the leader of the division. i remain amazed he did this while always playing the supporting role, always making sure the sailors knew i was in charge. Most of our sailors were close to my age. Yet because of Chief Jones, there was no question as who was in charge: me.

To this day, i remain convinced that the toughest job in any organization is the Navy chief petty officer’s job as a division chief (i’m pretty sure this position in the other military organizations is similar, although not as formal as the Navy’s (CPO’s wore different uniforms, closer to the officers’ uniforms than the sailors’ dungarees and crackerjacks).

We shall call the seaman apprentice Wilson. He came on board after we had returned from the MED. SA Wilson was a strapping young man, about 6-2, and in good shape, about 180-200 pounds. He immediately created the ire of the Leading Petty Officer (LPO) BM2 Carrier. Wilson claimed he was getting seasick when the ship was moored to the pier. Carrier thought Wilson was a sea lawyer, one of the most despicable terms to apply to a sailor.

After a couple of weeks on a Friday, i had gone down to inspect first division’s berthing compartment after noon liberty call. Wilson was sitting on his bottom rack. He was not a happy sea lawyer.

In those days, “liberty cards” were used to control the crew’s liberty. Destroyers had been almost exclusively in three section duty, unless they were deployed when they went to port and starboard, two sections. By this time, 1968, many were in four-section duty when stateside, and three when they were deployed. Each sailor had a “liberty card,” about the size of a business card that denoted what section the sailor was in. In my memory, they were different colors, but i’m not sure. Each morning at quarters, the chief or LPO would hand out the liberty cards to those in the duty section that would have liberty. Each evening or whenever liberty expired, the quarterdeck would take to liberty cards from sailors coming back aboard. The process continued every day unless it was holiday routine, when the LPO would go through the berthing compartment and hand out liberty cards to the off going watch.

Regardless, on a Friday, liberty call went down at noon. The sea lawyer had apparently done something that hacked off Carrier, the division LPO. At quarters that morning, Carrier handed out the cards, but did not give SA Wilson his card. Wilson could not go ashore without his liberty card and would have to remain on board for the weekend unless the card somehow showed up.

When he saw me, the sea lawyer began a rant, going on about he was going to put us all on report for denying him his liberty card. It was the way things were done back then, but certainly not according to the UCMJ even then.

i was perplexed, trying to deal with a situation i had never had confronted. Carrier had gone ashore. i couldn’t consult with him, and besides, this required an immediate judgement from me. As i puzzled, BMC Jones descended the ladder down into the compartment. He asked me what was going on. i responded.

Then Chief Jones, probably 150 pounds soaking wet, turned to Wilson. He grabbed Wilson’s chambray shirt near the top button, shoved him back into the bulkhead, and pushed him upward until the startled Wilson was on his tiptoes. My CPO told the sailor in no uncertain terms, using the most exquisite sailor talk (for the uninitiated, this mean it included enough cussing to fill a book), that he was going to remain on board, and if gave his division officer, me, any grief, he, BMC Jones, would take care of the problem.

Wilson was shaking, mumbling, “Yes, Chief, aye, aye,” and, “I’m sorry Mr. Jewell, i was out of line.”

That was when i realized the power of chief petty officers and also learned, controlled displays of anger, could be a positive leadership tool.

More stories from the summer of 1968 coming…

i left one important sea story out of the Hawkins (DD-873) transit back across the Atlantic in 1968 (Installment 16). It is a story that will resonate with nearly all sailors on destroyers in the 1960s: DASH!

DASH was the acronym for Drone Anti-Submarine Helicopter. It was a pioneer in employing a drone in warfare. It carried a torpedo to deliver over a submarine’s positIon a a significant distance from the ship, unlike the torpedo tubes aboard the ship.

It was also when the expertise for effectively creating such a drone was in its infancy, a great idea just a bit too early. Hawkins was one of the few ships, the only one i knew of at the time, to not have lost a DASH during their flights. En route to Newport on our return, we flew the DASH several times successfully.

Other ships had some severe problems through no fault of their own. There was one that was launched and rather than respond to the air controllers signals just kept going up and up and up until it disappeared. The ship never knew what happened to it. Another had a successful flight until the DASH returned and hovered about fifty feet from the DASH deck. The controllers tried everything they could think of to get it back aboard but failed. When it ran out of fuel, they watched it sink into the ocean. There are numerous other stories of bizarre behavior of these drones resulting in losing them at sea.

As a result, sailors often sardonically called DASH “CRASH,” “SMASH,” or “SPLASH.” The two DASH helicopters on board Hawkins were offloaded when she went into the yards for overhaul in September 1968, and the program was cancelled in 1969 due to its expense and terrible record. However, the DASH hanger was a great place to show the crew’s movie at night, and the DASH flight deck provided a great place for hovering helicopters to conduct vertical replenishment (VERTREP) for transfer of supplies and personnel, not to mention a great place for steel deck picnics, and holiday routine sunning.

“{The Adventure of Remo Williams Continues”…

This installment is a bit long and a bit late. In the past week or more, i devoted my time to honoring my wife for our 40th anniversary Sunday. i also had my annual physical and was told by my doc, the very trustworthy and long-term primary care physician, Dr. William Padilla, that i was in good shape for someone on the cusp of 80. Since then, i have been scheduling or attending a battalion of specialists to ensure some questionable conditions and lab results were nothing to be concerned about — hey, i’m old and due to the Navy’s Preventive Maintenance System (PMS), believe fiercely in being safe rather than sorry; damn the inconvenience of so much time in so many in efficient check-in systems that hunger for repetition and paperwork). Then as usual, i got too specific in my sea story here,, delving into details. But i thought there were many folks who might read this and never have been on a Navy destroyer of old (roughly those commissioned from 1935 to 1949). So i have taken longer to write this post and include those particulars.

Headed Home the First Time

Once clear of Gibraltar, the at sea routine kicked in with the entire ship. We had 20 days of transit back to Newport. We arrived back to our home port 15 May.

Although i had spent two months at sea on a destroyer in my midshipman training cruise, it was a completely new and fascinating experience as a junior, and i mean junior, officer.

i was a bit deflated when i was told i would be the First Lieutenant in charge First Division until the current ASW officer was transferred in late September. In retrospect, it was a good thing. i learned the aspect of destroyers that went back to sailing ships: deck seamanship. My first chief petty officer was BMC Jones, and no one could have introduced me better as to how the Navy on ships really work.

Lieutenant Steve Jones was the Weapons Officer and my boss as department head. He broke me in well. The other sailor who really became a friend was BM2 Carrier, the division Leading Petty Officer (LPO). He taught me almost as much as Chief Jones on how to be a division officer.

i was learning in my job, on my watches, division work, and how the wardroom works. It was a different world then, and i don ‘t think there is anything like it in the world today. It was old Navy.

* * *

The wardroom dining table was on the starboard side of the wardroom, which was on the main deck, two levels below the bridge. The table sat ten. For the three meals, the oncoming watch’s OOD sat to the left of the CO at the head of the table, his other watch standers, the Engineering of the Watch (EOOW), the CIC Watch Officer (CICWO) and the Junior Officer of the Deck (JOOD) followed. The lone exception was the Wardroom Mess Caterer, almost always the Supply Officer sat at the end of the table opposite from the CO at the head. i always assumed that was his position for taking the criticism of the Commanding Officer about the fare. The more senior officers, nearly always the department heads not going on watch, followed until it reached the setting to the right of the Captain. That was reserved for the executive officer. The other officers sat on the large couch that curved around the forward and port bulkheads of the wardroom. They would dine at the second seating along with the off going watch standers.

The table settings would make Emily Post proud. The china was white, the silverware was silver with a soup spoon, a teaspoon, and knife on the right, and the salad fork was on the left side of the setting with the dining fork on the inside. The dessert fork was above the plate. The table cloth was white, ironed with nary a wrinkle. Each officer had his own napkin ring. It was silver, or perhaps pewter. i find it hard to believe ours were silver. In many destroyer wardrooms, including the Hawkins, the napkin rings had been engraved with the initials or last name of the officer. The white napkins in the rings were collected and placed in the napkin drawer to be used for a day or two before the napkins were replaced and washed. The new folded napkins were at the table setting the next mess with the appropriate ring on top of the napkin.

At the time, Navy officers received a Basic Allowance for Sustenance (BAS). The intent was to to pay the officer’s contribution to the wardroom mess. If i remember correctly, mine was $48.00. This supplement to base pay was to pay for the monthly contribution to the wardroom mess. The monthly fee varied greatly. Some CO’s and their mess caterer, normally the supply officer were parsimonious and went cheap on filling the larder. Some preferred dining on the high end and damn the expense, often requiring the officers to pony up more than their BAS.

i think the Hawkins was somewhere in the middle. We ate well, but our fee was stayed within our BAS.

The fare was rather amazing…until we ran out of fresh stores. Eggs, bacon, cereal with milk, were standard choices, waffles, and pancakes were often in the choices and brunch for holiday routines was spectacular. This was of course before real eggs and fresh milk gave way to the powdered versions, which was in pretty short order.

The noon mess was something from the aforementioned Emily Post: soup was served first, followed by a salad, then the entree with vegetables, followed with dessert, all, of course, eaten with the appropriate utensil. A pre-meal prayer was given by the captain or someone he assigned randomly.

The evening mess was varied, often with sandwiches and soup.

The formality at the meals, especially the noon mess, was rigorous.

i confess, it made me feel important, different.

* * *

But to get back to sea stories, as i noted the oncoming watch’s OOD sat to the right of the captain. During one noon mess, the oncoming OOD was a really good guy. I believe his first name was Chris. He sat beside the mercurial screamer of a CO. During the meal, the conversation turned to topic of great interest to Chris. In making a point, he slammed his right hand down on the table. Unfortunately, his soup spoon was in the soup bowl when he slammed. His hand caught the spoon and flipped with a full soup spoon full of soup onto the captain’s face and khaki shirt.

The wardroom went totally quiet, awaiting for the captain to explode. He wiped his face and as much soup as he could off of his uniform and amazingly remained silent.

Chris, forgoing the remaining courses, excused himself and quickly left for the the bridge.

The time went quickly. On Wednesday, May 28, 1968, the USS Hawkins passed the Beavertail Light to port and Brenton Reef to starboard, the line between Inland and International Waters. She tied up around 0900 at the Newport Naval Base destroyer piers.

i was about to experience life in port of a Naval officer.

.

East Across the Pond

i really wanted to include the names of the people who contributed to my growth as a Navy officer in this post. However, there were a couple of people who aren’t depicted in a good light. i did not publicly name them in such a fashion and, at least for now, have left most folks unnamed.

One of the most impressive sights i’ve seen in my life time occurred on the mid-watch the evening after the Hawkins had gotten underway from Málaga (the mid-watch was from 0000-0400). That, naturally, was the watch my section was assigned on my first night at sea on my first ship. The Bridge and Combat Information Center (CIC) were in four section watches. We passed through the Straits of Gibraltar around 0100. It was dark, but not dark enough to hide the massive Rock to the North, the Rock of Gibraltar (This image was copied from the “Spartan and Green Egg” website.)

i was blown away. My watch standing position was Junior Officer of the Deck, Underway, JOOD (UI). That is about a lowly of a watch position a Navy officer could have on the bridge of a Navy destroyer. i will never forget the rush i felt as we crossed the straits into the Atlantic Ocean and joined the other destroyers of Destroyer Squadron 24 for the transit across the “Pond” as we called it, and headed for our homeport in Newport, Rhode Island on a great circle route.

It may not sound like a good deal but standing the mid-watch was a good way to start your tour on a Fleet Rehabilitation and Modernization (FRAM) destroyer (These “FRAM cans” were modernized Fletcher, Gearing, and Sumners class destroyers that went through extensive upgrades in mission and armament including replacing large, if not all, steel sections of the ship’s superstructure above the main deck with aluminum that produced significant problems later).

Reason number one for a new ensign to enjoy the mid-watch was mid-rats or midnight rations. The oncoming mid-watch was awakened around 2310-2315 (11:10-11:15 p.m. for land lubbers), they would rise quickly and head for their respective messes. For my case, that was the wardroom. The stewards would prepare a super snack for the oncoming watch and the off-going watch after they had been relieved and struck below.

That watch had a few normal requirements like “shifting control” to after steering. This was done on almost every mid-watch to ensure the system was working and the watch standers in the small, cramped space above the rudders on the stern, could take control of the steering system.

After-steering as with many facets of a Fleet Rehabilitation and Modernization (FRAM) destroyers and their predecessors was devised before the FRAM upgrades to provide sustainability during an at sea conflict. Back up systems abounded in almost every aspect. If the electrical system was knocked out, most systems like the gun mounts could be fired manually. If a pump was hit in the engineering spaces, there was a manual or auxiliary steam backup. If a shaft, its fireroom or engine room were damaged and inoperable, the ship could still have propulsion from the other shaft. And if steering control at the bridge’s helm was rendered inoperable, the bridge could still steer the ship by shifting control to after steering.

In the case of after steering, the shift was made during the mid-watch but often other watches would shift control to after steering and let the watch standers there take orders from the conning officer and steer the ship.

Other than that, rarely did the tactical commander order any formation changes. During this transit, the squadron commander was the tactical commander. When steaming with a carrier, the admiral in charge of the “battle group” would order formation changes (except for the staff i was on much later in my career). So it was a relative quiet four hours. The first two hours of the morning watch (0400-0800) and the last two hours of the evening watch (2000-2400) were also pretty quiet. It was a great time to learn about being a Naval Officer and, certainly more enjoyable, hear real “no bullshit” sea stories.

The voyage to Newport was relatively serene with good seas all the way. i was introduced to the big, black rubber hood sitting over the radar repeater sitting next to the helm. During the day with light filling the pilot house, the hood allowed the watch standers to look at the dark green cathode ray tube with the white bar sweeping around, highlighting blips that most often were contacts. In the darkness of night, the hood was not necessary.

That repeater was a central character in one of the sea stories i was told on these watches.

The commanding officer was impressive and seemed to be a nice guy most of the time. He was a Naval Academy graduate and was selected for Captain before he was relieved the following August. He also was what officers and sailors called a “screamer.” For the uninitiated in the Navy world, a “screamer” was an officer who couldn’t control his temper and often would go ballistic, chewing out anyone who did not perform as he felt they should, or just go off on someone for no real reason.

The Damage Control Assistant who partook of one more drink (or more) in Málaga while i waited on the airport’s tarmac was a frequent target of the CO’s outbursts. i was told that on one night watch in rough seas, the DCA was the Officer of the Deck (OOD). The captain kicked him off the bridge in a screaming rage five times, only to call him back to the his watch. It was after the sixth time, the DCA/OOD was looking at that repeater to see if he could discern any weather anomalies and check for contacts that CIC might have missed.

Hung around the bridge were a number of battle lanterns. They were one of those backups for emergencies mentioned earlier. If power was lost, the battle lanterns were configured to detect the power loss and come on to provide emergency lighting. One of these battle lanterns was secured on the overhead directly over that repeater. As the DCA was staring intently as the scope, the captain begin another rant, cussing out the DCA for many supposed errors in hus ways. As the rants continued to ratchet up, the rough seas were building and the battle lantern was loosened by the bouncing from the waves. As the captain peered forward in an attempt to determine what the weather offered, his rant reached a crescendo. That is when the battle lantern broke loose and fell straight down, hitting the OOD/DCA on the top of the head, knocking him out.

As other watch standers went to the downfallen OOD to attend to his injury, the captain continued screaming at his officer without turning around. Finally, he turned and realized he had been yelling at a comatose Naval officer.

That was the sixth time the OOD left the bridge during one watch.

To be continued.