In the early spring of 1974, the Hollister had an inspection from the Commodore’s staff, Destroyer Squadron (DESRON) 9.

It was annual inspection involving all aspects of ship’s operation, maintenance, and administration. When completed, the inspection report, full of discrepancies, was handed to the ship and forwarded through the chain of command to our ultimate boss, Commander, Surface Forces, Pacific.

Hollister was required to correct all critical discrepancies immediately and report them to the chain of command. All other discrepancies were to be included in a following report, ninety days after the inspection, noting the corrective action taken and projected completion date.

Lieutenant Commander (LCDR) Kerry Kirk, our executive officer, was relentless in badgering the department heads to submit their discrepancy status reports. Kirk was responsible for putting them all together, editing the mess, and preparing it for the Commanding Officer’s signature. Then it would be sent to all of the ship’s superiors in the chain of command. The XO was driving us crazy. We all felt we had much more important matters to attend, for example, the upcoming six-month regular overhaul. But we all cobbled our parts together. LCDR Kirk spent untold late hours finalizing the thick document. It was signed by Commander (CDR) Phelps, and sent off.

At the noon mess, the captain, the exec, four department heads, the oncoming quarterdeck Officer of the Deck (OOD), Donnie Frahler, as i recall, and the next senior junior officer sat down at the wardroom table for the first sitting. As the meal ensued, CDR Phelps leaned back in his chair and related his tale:

You know, I remember when I was XO on the McKean, USS McKean (DD 784) when we had one of those discrepancy reports to submit.

I was busy and it was over a week late when I realized we had not submitted the report. I ordered the department heads to get their sections in ASAP. Of course, it took them nearly two weeks to get their parts to me. I did the editing and had to get a couple of changes from the department heads. By the time I finished, it was almost a month past the due date.

I started up to the CO’s cabin with the report for signature, I stopped and considered the consequences. If we submitted the report that late, our superiors were going to blast us for screwing, possibly worse than what the report would bring down on us.

So I went back to my stateroom, and put the report in my “pending” basket.

Six months later, when I was relieved to become the CO here, I took the report out and dumped into the to-be shred basket.

We never heard a peep about not submitting the report.

I learned my lesson. Reports to higher authority weren’t quite as crucial for the rest of my career.

Becoming CHENG on the USS Hollister (DD 788) gave me enough problems. i was responsible for running a tired engineering plant without any real engineering experience, on a tired ship, struggling to get to its regular overhaul (ROH). Losing one-third of my engineers due to being assigned as a reserve ship added to the difficulty.

Perhaps the biggest problem was not engineering, but all of this happening with the crisis of drugs in the Navy during my time on board, 1973-1975.

Looking back, it seems humorous. But it wasn’t humorous then. Here are some, but not all of the examples:

My chief Hull Technician (HT) was walking down the starboard side, main deck. one of his third class HTs was maintaining a hatch, doing some welding. The chief asked his sailor if he had a light so he could light his cigarette. The sailor raised his welding mask, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his lighter. Unfortunately for the sailor, his plastic bag fell out of his pocket onto the deck. It was filled with marijuana, weed. To Captain’s Mast he would go.

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Two firemen decided they would smoke a little grass while they had the duty. They cogitated about where they could enjoy their smokes. So, they climbed into a fan room, closed the hatch, and lit up. Unfortunately for the firemen, the fan in the fan room was providing ventilation for the main passageway. Soon, the unquestionable aroma of marijuana was permeating the main passageway. The duty master at arms began following the odor and opened the hatch to the fan room. To Captain’s Mast they would go.

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We were getting underway for ops in the SOCAL op areas. On the day we were getting underway, i came aboard at 0300 to be there for the BTs when they lit off the boilers. They informed me that someone had taken all of our sprayer plates (the plates sprayed the fuel oil into the boiler). My BT1s went to the other tin cans moored at the Long Island Naval Station and borrowed enough sprayer plates for us to meet our mission. The sprayer plates were never found. We ordered a new set, which arrived before our next underway period. We were pretty sure a sailor who knew enough about our boilers took them and threw them over the side. We were also pretty sure that sailor was high on drugs. We never found him either.

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Someone we never caught must have been pumped up on drugs. One night while in our home port, a sailor went up to the torpedo deck. On the bulkhead was a high pressure air connection. It was used to charge the torpedo tubes them into the water. The hatch to the HP air must have weighed several hundred pounds. This guy lifts it up and tosses it over the side. i remain amazed he could do that.

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i think the one that stunned me the most was when an Electronic Technician second class petty officer (ET2) went up to the bridge one night. He cut the wires and stole the bridge to bridge UHF radio, critical for communicating with other ships in piloting in close waters. He took it to a a pawn shop, and he pawned it for enough cash — a huge difference to what the gear actually cost — to buy some LSD, which i suspect he was on when he came up with the idea. He was caught and went to a special court martial, convicted and kicked out with a felony record.

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i never had possession or even a drink of alcohol on my ships. i have never used marijuana or other illegal drug. This was not so noble. If i had not been a Naval officer, i’m pretty sure i would have used drugs just as i used alcohol when not on my ships. But i just found it wrong to do something i had to enforce on sailors not to do. i am too old to make judgements about other’s decisions. This occurred a half-century ago. It’s history.

i think my tour as a chief engineer gave me a real understanding of what my primary focus had to be. My respect for those sailors whom i supported to do their jobs became clear. i believe dealing with those problems made me a better officer in the long run.

Time to stop the pontification and get on with sea stories.

i have been away from sea stories too long. But i had a lot of things going on. One was a trip to Utah for a week of golf with a SEAL i met in Hobart, Tasmania, Australia in 1979. i produced three posts around that adventure. If you would like to read them, you can go to my website, jimjewell.com. They will be the first ones listed after this one. Now, i’m back to the USS Hollister (DD 788) in Long Beach as we began preparations for our overhaul, which was scheduled for September 1974. i was CHENG and, consequently, the Overhaul coordinator.

One of the requirements shortly before entering the yards was a complete inspection of our four 600 lb. boilers’ interiors. The inspection was to be done by an boiler expert accompanied by me. He came aboard when the ship was moored along the quay wall at the Long Beach Naval Base. He was a big, gritty, old Navy sailor. i wish i remembered his name. I do remember vividly he was the first of the Boiler Repair rating i had ever met. He was a Boiler Repairman Master Chief (BRCM). Before we donned our coveralls to crawl through the interior of the massive boilers, we hit it off.

The inspection was critical. It was done thoroughly. i was a bit surprised the four boilers were in as good shape as they were. Of course, there was considerable work to be done on them in the yards. The BRCM documented the needs very well.

As we crawled through the stuffy and sooty boilers, the master chief didn’t really complain but decided to tell me what is was like in his Navy.

“You know, sir” (it seemed to me him calling me “sir” was almost silly, that i should be calling him “sir”), he said, “back in the old days, all the sailors on the ship were required to wear their undress blues everywhere on board except in their work spaces. The firemen had to change from their dungarees to their undress blues in the fireroom before they came out of the hatch in the ship’s main passageway.”

“Really,” i said with amazement. i knew it was a rough life but i was surprised dungarees weren’t allowed throughout the ship.

“Yes, sir,” the BRCM continued, “I was on one can assigned to the after fireroom. Our chief was a tough old goat. He would make sure all of his BTs conformed to the uniform requirement. When there was a change of watch, he would stand over the hatch in the main passageway holding a dogging wrench for the hatch. If a BT emerged still in his dungarees, the chief would whack him on the head with the dogging wrench, knocking the BT down the ladder back into the fireroom.

“We learned real quick,” he laughed.

i’m pretty sure my mouth was agape when he told me that. i wish i could have spent more time with him.

That, my friends, is the real “old Navy.”