There was one more big operation that occurred before i left the USS Hawkins (DD 873) in December 1969. In between at-sea time, it was party time. Oh, we worked and worked hard, but if we didn’t have the duty, it was liberty, fun.

One of my favorite escapes was when Andrew Nemethy, the Damage Control Assistant (DCA) and Rob Dewitt, Main Propulsion Assistant (MPA), and moi, Anti-Submarine Warfare Officer (ASWO) did not have duty on the weekends. i hadn’t had a vehicle since the wreck in ’68 summer Newport with Rob as my passenger who took a bigger hit than i did, and after my divorce when my former wife took our car home with her. So i was always a passenger. However, i took turns driving when the trio headed to the side of Virginia.

Andrew had a Fiat Spider and Rob had a powerful BMW road bike (Rob or Andrew, you will have to provide the details on that beautiful beast). We swapped off from driving the bike, to driving the Spider, and riding shotgun. i was more shotgun than anything else. Our target was to visit the hills with the primary focus of taking in women’s colleges. Mostly, we would just spend time in the elements of real Virginia. Rob had his banjo, Andrew had his guitar, and both were accomplished. Me? i played a very poor jaw harp. But i did stay in rhythm. Oh, i don’t think we met any of the students at those women colleges. But damn, it was fun.

And then, there was Naval Station, Norfolk; Amphibious Base, Little Creek, Naval Air Station, Oceania, and the Army’s Fort Story. Each of these, some with a couple each week, would open the gates to folks of the human persuasion and invite them to a dance or event at their officers’ clubs. Now today, this is politically incorrect and i’m guessing most females back then weren’t real pleased with us calling these gatherings “hog calls.” An officer could, if his body could tolerate it, attend a hog call every night of the week in the Norfolk area. In fact, the “hog calls” was pretty straight up, not like the “Westerner” in National City, close to the Naval Station, San Diego where sailors went with hopes of meeting up with “West PAC widows,” wives of sailors who were deployed to the Western Pacific and looking for some side action. i have several friends who met their wives at these so called “hog calls,” and they weren’t hogs at all but pretty, intelligent women. Think of the Richard Gere movie “Officer and a Gentleman.”

My favorite was the Tuesday and Thursday nights at the O’Club at the Amphibious Base, Little Creek. When you entered, you were handed a song book. “Pappy,” a rotund, old, bald, and great piano boogie woogie player would sit down at his 88 keys and begin. Every one sang along with all of the old piano standards. The favorites and oft repeated service ‘s song, the Navy’s “Anchors Away,” the Army’s “When the Cassions Go Rolling Along,” the Marine’s “Marine Hymn.” The favorite for everyone in Pappy’s place was when he would bang out the Air Force’s song. Everyone would raise their steins and lustily sing, “Off We Go Into the Wild Blue Yonder…Crash!” and the song would end.

Time at sea was work, hard, long work. We didn’t feel guilty when we hit the beach, hard.