This began with the idea of it being a couple of sea stories with some of my shipmate stories included. Mike Foster and i just recently reconnected.

As i began, i realized again how that short eight months were some of the most impactful in my life, determining the course i set for my Navy career. i also considered how it would add to my narrative for my grandson. So i began roughly about the time Sam’s mother was born.

i woke up thinking about it. In the middle of the night. Couldn’t get back to sleep for thinking about it. Didn’t want to forget what i was thinking about. If i had not been fearful of that, i probably could have resumed my slumber. Couldn’t. Had to get up and record it.

That happens quite frequently to me.

i used to wake up and start thinking about relationships going south and not understanding why. My brain would get entangled with why the south bound bond had deteriorated. Then, that ole brain of mind would start plotting how to turn it around with me knowing all the while that wouldn’t happen. But then, i have always been a dreamer, an optimist. Finally, i went to a counselor and she (Martina Clarke) was marvelous for me. i don’t think about those kind of things anymore. i accept the fact i can’t control others perception of me. i just have to keep trying to do what’s right. That happens when you get as old as me, i think.

But this was a whole different matter. These were positive thoughts, pleasant. i wanted to save them. Why? i don’t know. My only answer is i am a writer, always have been, just didn’t always admit it.

*     *     *

Recently, i hooked up (electronically) with an old shipmate. We have been communicating quite a bit about Navy things. Mike Foster is the president of World Wide Realty Solutions out of Connecticut. But in 1972-73, he was one of the four OOD’s on the USS Luce (DLG 7) with me, often relieving me on watch. Our communication has brought back recall of the shortest and one of the most rewarding tours i had in my Navy career.

There will be some repeats of my other seas stories in here. Yet, my experience on the Luce should stand as whole as i remember it:

It was a defining eight months of my life. It began because i had applied and been accepted for recall to active duty. i was one of six officers accepted back in that year as surface line officer. A primary reason my application was successful was Captain Max Lasell, the commanding officer on my first ship, the USS Hawkins (DD 873), had appeared before the board and recommended i be accepted.

As with all things, i wasn’t sure i was doing the right thing, but i felt was necessary to adequately provide for my family. i had a promising career (i felt) ahead of me in sports journalism. i was the sports editor of The Watertown Daily Times, a model of excellence as a mid-size daily in upstate New York. i had been successful enough to either rise further in that organization or attain success by moving on to a major daily in a big city. i was confident of my future but the rules of the guild kept management from paying me enough for adequate financial security. Had it just been my wife and i, we could have toughed it out, but our child was scheduled to arrive on the scene. i couldn’t see ends meeting. Thus, i applied to get back in.

Another little problem was my reserve status. Even though i was accepted back for active duty, i was informed if i did not achieve becoming a regular line officer (a designation of 1110, rather than 1105) within a year, i would be discharged. That would have made our situation untenable. So the heat was on.

Our daughter Blythe was born July 7, 1972. i left the newspaper as August rolled around, carted my wife Kathie and our daughter to Paris, Texas via my home of Lebanon, Tennessee, parked them with my in-laws and left at the end of the month to catch my new ship, the  Stephen B. Luce somewhere in the Mediterranean.

i flew to Newark and then caught a MAC (Military Airlift Command, an Air Force organization) to Rota, Spain. After a day, my next flight was to Naples. A LDO lieutenant and two chief petty officers took our one night of liberty to find an off-limit area, not because of the red lights but because one of the chiefs had heard of this great Italian restaurant in the forbidden sector. And so, we went. Somewhere in the middle of Naples, we cut off the main street and walked up a stairway. Now, this was not an ordinary stairway. It was about fifty or sixty feet wide, a street not for vehicles really with a stair level every ten feet or so. We walked up those stairs for about a quarter mile. The chief who had hooked into this adventure nodded toward a single door among the many.

i still don’t have a clue how the chief knew of this place and i am dumbfounded as to how he might have located it. This was long before Google maps. But there we were four Navy personnel in civilian clothes deep in the heart of Naples somewhere, with no capability to speak Italian surrounded by oh, about a gazillion Italians who could not speak English.

We walked in. There were about six tables the size of card tables, covered with white table cloths and a wine bottle candle in the middle of each table. Three of the other tables were occupied. We were led to one in the middle of the room. in a room about twenty by twenty feet. i am not even sure we ordered. i don’t remember a menu. Perhaps the chief used a hand signal.

Quickly, four drinking glasses came out and shortly afterward a bottle of wine, unlabeled with the cork halfway out was placed next to the candle setting. A basket of bread soon followed. Then after about five minutes, the waitress, a portly, dark complected woman, brought out four white plates filled with…yep, spaghetti and meatballs.

Oh lord, was it good. In my recall, it was the best. Everything was perfect. My kind of place. at the top of the front wall, they had a television, i’m guessing a 15-inch set. The ’84 Munich Summer Olympics were on the screen in Italian of course. It was the track and field events they were showing — this was prior to the terrorist killing 11 Jewish athletes, one of their coaches, and a police officer by “Black September” Palestinians. When we finished our meal and the second bottle of that red wine, chianti, i don’t know, but it was good; paid and tipped generously; nodded and nodded our appreciation, we left.

i don’t know how but the chief got us to the main street, we caught a cab and went back to the US Naval Base.

It was good. The next morning, i was the only one to catch a flight to the Kerkyra International Airport on the island of Corfu off the west coast of Greece. i arrived in the mid-afternoon, looking forward to a night on a Greek isle. That’s when i learned the ship would depart for a big exercise the next morning. i stayed aboard and hit the rack early.

Good start to a deployment? Maybe.

After my personal introduction to NJP, 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.

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 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 new CO, one of my best, CDR Max Lasell, went on two weeks of 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 was Louis Guimond, 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, 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.”

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

These are sea stories about an institution in military life not found in civilian organizations, at least not officially or legally.

For those who haven’t served in the military, the institution is called Non-Judicial Punishment or NJP. NJP is the beginning of the justice system for military organizations, which ends with court martials.

i’m sure the other services will disagree, but because of the nature of being isolated on a ship at sea, NJP is unique in the power it has over the crew and the necessity it has for good order and discipline as well, of course, with justice.

My first introduction to NJP just happened to involve me. In 1963, i was aboard the USS Lloyd Thomas (DD 764) as one of 21 third class NROTC midshipmen. Our first liberty port out of Newport, Rhode Island was Sydney, Nova Scotia. We were not aware, or at least i was not impressed with the idea of sticking to rules and regulations. We had just concluded our first year of college, and we were raring to have a good time, which we did.

While in Sydney, liberty on the Thomas was declared by rank: Liberty for second class petty officers and below expired at 2200. First class petty officers and below expired at 2300; Midshipmen and chiefs liberty expired at midnight, and Officers at 0600 (as i recall) before we were to get underway at 0800. On our last night of liberty in Sydney, a half-dozen third class middies executed our plan to have a good time for as long as possible with the assistance of one of the first class midshipmen. He had the duty that last day and had drawn the OOD quarterdeck midwatch. He agreed to not report us if we came back after liberty call during his watch.

We arranged to meet some local young ladies at one of their homes. The crew had found the local dance hall and went there in mass, but we opted to miss that and have our own rendezvous and, of course party, party, party. As i remember, my night was really uneventful, but i did drink a good bit of Carling Black Label (Do you remember, “Hey Mabel, Black Label?) and was happy to stay until about 0200.

That is when our plan pretty much fell apart. When we crossed the brow to report aboard around 0230, our accomplice was no longer the Officer of the Deck. A junior officer had taken over and the Executive Officer, a stern, no fooling kind of guy, was on the quarterdeck.

The dance hall had created some jealousy when the sailors began dancing with girls of the local boys, also at the hall. A fistfight began between a sailor who was dancing with a local was confronted by her boyfriend. The fight expanded until all the men were rioting while the ladies went home. It was a doozy. Bottles of Mabel’s beer were apparently missiles in the air and used as weapons as well.

Liberty was cancelled around 2100 when the shore patrol and local police reported the melee to the ship. The ship was had mustered to see who was missing and began counting heads to ensure everyone got back.

The Exec ordered the quarterdeck to put the six of us on report. We acknowledged but rather than head for our racks, hung around close to the quarterdeck to watch sailors straggle back from the brouhaha. It was a constant but decreasing stream of sailors in varying degrees of disarray.

My favorite returnee was a third class petty officer. He stumbled off the quarterdeck around 0230 on his way aft to his berthing, drunk in partial uniform with his whites torn and bloody and big chunk of his jumper top missing. He also had no shoes or socks. We caught him as he reeled down the weatherdeck.

“Did you win the fight?” we asked.

“Win?” the sailor shouted, “Hell, i got back didn’t I?”

One of the last groups to return were in a cab. About four chiefs and the captain poured out and stumbled (a nice way to describe it) across the brow. The captain, a former submariner, preferred running with the chief petty officers rather than the wardroom. Seeing the stern XO there, the chiefs disappeared immediately after reporting aboard.

The XO, looking for some command guidance and relief apparently, approached the more than slightly inebriated CO and almost pleaded, “Captain, liberty was cancelled at 2100. They had a big fight between the town guys and our sailors at the dance hall. i’ve been very worried about you.”

The captain reeled about, looking cockeyed, and said, “Dammit, that’s great. Liberty for all hands.”

The XO, as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, which wasn’t very unobtrusive, escorted the captain to his cabin.

The next morning, the Lloyd Thomas left the pier to join the other ships of the USS Intrepid (CV 11) flotilla in the eight-week cruise. i’m not saying the captain might have been a little bit hungover and i cannot find a report of the incident in any search, but while standing out the harbor, the Thomas sideswiped a Japanese fishing vessel. i know because standing the port wing lookout, i watched as the startled Japanese crew went from eating their bowls of rice to jumping over the side. Amazingly, the ship proceeded out as if nothing had happened.

A day later at Captain’s Mast, i was assigned three weeks of extra duty, meaning after the working day, i was assigned a couple of hours each day to do onerous tasks. With my devil-may-care, good-times-roll demeanor, i had a good time. The best moment was the night i was assigned to scrub down the after-steering gear room, just aft of my berthing which was on the first deck below the fantail. With the huge gearbox creaking and groaning, i climbed atop and took a nap. Figured that would show the XO.

i never quite understood how i and the other midshipmen got such punishment at NJP for our pretty innocent foray while the Captain was doing his thing and the chiefs got off Scot free.

But i was beginning to understand NJP.

i probably worked harder In 1973-74 as Chief Engineer (CHENG, i preferred to be called) of the USS Hollister (DD 788), than in any of my other Navy tours. i had longer hours and more things to do in less time as First Lieutenant of the USS  Anchorage (LSD 36) or the Weapons Officer, nee First Lieutenant of the USS Okinawa (LPH 3), but my previous tours had given me experience in those two jobs. As CHENG, it was a whole new ball game, and i had no real experience in engineering. Not only that, it was a time when a commanding officer with no engineering experience, like mine, left CHENG alone. i had to insist he come down to main control to see a malfunctioning pump for himself. i think, in the nearly two years i was the engineer, it was the only time he went into the engineering spaces.

But there were a number of good moments, most of which were funny experiences i had as engineer. Today, shuffling through old files, i found a note i had written of one such incident.

As CHENG, i tried to go through all of my spaces daily to catch any problems requiring correction, to talk to my sailors, and just get a feel of how things were going. After all, the Hollister was 29 years old, and the previous CHENG, who had been a corpsman before getting his commission through the NESEP program, fixed auxiliary steam lines using plaster casts like the ones he had previously used for broken bones when the ship was on line in Vietnam. She wasn’t in great engineering shape.

But on one of my daily walk-throughs, i was checking out the forward fire room and had slid down the ladder to the lower level. There, two firemen had placed a 55-gallon drum on the deck plates. The two were cleaning out debris and oil from the bilges below and dumping it into the drum.

i pointed out to them the drum, once full, would be much too heavy to lift up the ladders and out to the pier. They seemed puzzled when a BT3 (Boiler Tender third class petty officer), who had overheard the conversation from the boiler flats, slid down the ladder seeking to remedy the problem.

“Don’t worry, sir,” he explained to me, “There won’t be any problem with lifting it out of here.”

And then pointing to the bottom of the drum, he further explained, “There’s a hole in the bottom of the drum. All of the oil and water is going right back into the bilges.”

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, i did not record my reaction or the ensuing result. Today, i just shook my head and laughed.

It was a good tour.