If you grew up in the seventies, you can certainly remember the commercials for the U.S. Navy "The Navy, not just a job but an adventure." Well for a kid that was always curious and looking for a thrill, this was the chance of a lifetime. Living in the small town of Beaumont California was about as boring as it gets. Finding excitement was something that would probably get you jailed or dead. I knew that there was little future for me there. Joining the Navy opened up endless possibilities, a great career, travel, friends, education, and the promise of ADVENTURE.
Boot Camp was just a short two-hour bus ride away. In the morning I was saying goodbye, and by that afternoon they had sent us to have every crack and crevice on our person checked for lice, curved spine, bad eyes, and hemorrhoids. Before bedtime they had shaved our heads, sworn at us and sworn us in. Was this the adventure I had been expecting?
My unit was company 98. Our home the bottom floor of a concrete barracks with eighty single beds. Privacy was non-existent in the open shower bay, large enough for forty of us to simultaneously bathe in conveyor belt style. Walk in, get wet, soap up, rinse off, and get out, I will be scared for life.
Our Company Commander (navy for Drill Sergeant) was of Philippine descent, He stood only five foot two, spoke in a very thick accent, and paced incessantly smoking his cigarettes in a holder. Chief Magdaluyo made sure every recruit in his charge knew how to say his name MAG-DAH-LU-YOH, endless push-ups could help an individual learn real fast. I was experiencing international relations even before leaving San Diego.
My first assignment was what they call a pre-com. Pre-com stands for pre-commissioning detail, that is the three or four months when a ship’s crew is first gathered for the launching of a brand new vessel. The crew must be sent to school to learn how to fight fires (real fires). Besides fire fighting, we order the large inventories needed to feed and clothe the crew, repair the ship, and attend seemingly endless lectures on ship handling and leadership.
Our pre-com unit was assembled in Norfolk Virginia, a city that was rumored to place signs in the entrance of businesses that said, "No dogs or sailors allowed!" Nothing could be further from the truth; the people of Norfolk opened their hearts and homes to me. This was the first time for me to be away from home in a strange new city. Bars, wild women, and rowdy shipmates, what more could a young sailor need? My Mom thought that I was attending Sunday school every-week.
Oct of 79 the crew are flown to Seattle Washington to meet our new "Lady" the U.S.S. Frank Cable. Still under construction in the Lockheed shipyard, the noise from rivet guns and dust were nearly unbearable. It certainly provided me lots of excuses to "volunteer" for daily Field Days (cleaning). Seattle was the place I shed some of my small town ignorance, my mom told me to never eat snails but some older shipmates encouraged me to try escargot, been hooked ever since. Boots in your ribs and a couple of black eyes help me to understand fast why sailors shouldn’t call drunken shipyard workers "Sand Crabs".
Setting sail in December my theories were proved dead wrong. Prior to the last mooring line being pulled in, I convinced myself that a person could will themselves immune to the ravages of seasickness. Five days and countless packages of saltines later I gave up the idea of mind over matter! The Old Salts certainly had their fun ribbing me about my green gills. However once my "Sea Legs" were acquired, the strongest typhoon couldn’t make me hurl.
Shipboard Post Offices are like the ones on shore, except they’re often much smaller. The space on my second ship the U.S.S. Mars was no bigger than the inside of a pop-up tent trailer. Four of us clerks worked in that hole selling stamps and money orders, sorting letters and bagging parcels. Two of them smoked, two of us didn’t and that made for some heated exchanges. In spite of the tight quarters or maybe because of them, us clerks formed a close kinship. Our post office provided all the services of a hometown station with one small difference; it sailed around the world.
Depending on the contents of the mail, the ship’s postal clerk is often the most loved and hated person on board. Whether its the infamous Dear John letter or an invitation to a wedding, Mail Call is the one announcement that can send sailors running to the post office like dogs coming for their supper. I felt sorry for those shipmates that had little news from family and friends; a warm letter is like a great salve, it can carry a man for a month.
Blaring music from Jitney's, the shouts of street vendors hustling barbequed monkey meat on a stick, and bar girls trying to physically drag you into their dens of iniquity. These are just a few of the sites and sounds service people experience after leaving the front gate of Subic Naval Station in the Philippines. Growing up in small town America couldn’t have prepared me for the aroma of the meandering Oolongapo known locally as "S**t River". Children swim in its brown oozing stench; they beg pedestrians to pitch coins into the cesspool from the bridge above. Witnessing this let me know what culture shock is all about, not exactly a swim in the city pool.
Disaster drills and first aid training can wear-you-out, but it can and does save lives. From the time you enter boot camp to your first shipboard assignment and every other year or so, you will be heavily trained in damage control. What is that you ask? It’s the ship’s ability to keep its self-afloat and in fighting condition till help arrives. The ship at sea is a self-contained city; it must use all its resources to survive. A mine blast just below the water line can deluge a vessel in a matter of minutes; therefore it’s imperative that the damage be repaired immediately. When it comes to emergency repair, improvisation is the rule rather than the exception. Patching materials come in all kinds of shapes and sizes; mattresses, plywood, etc.
Flooding and fire are damage control’s primary concerns. You see, if a blaze breaks out onboard a ship at sea we can’t call 911 and wait in the front yard for the fire department to put out the fire. The ship has it’s own fire/flooding department- the whole of the ship’s personnel. The lives of everyone on the ship depend on our ability to get control fast. There is nothing more chilling than hearing "Flooding, flooding, this is not a drill" this announcement is followed by "General Quarters all hands man your Battle Stations." Short of conflagration nothing snaps you out of a deep sleep like the thought of your ship taking on water, especially when this alarm wakes you at one twenty five in the morning. I heard this harbinger of doom less than five times in my navy career, and that was five too many.
Hong Kong, Kenya, Jamaica, Cuba are just a few of the more than two dozen countries I’ve visited or made my home in. Long at sea deployments kept me away from my wife and children, missing birthdays, Christmases, and anniversaries. I’ve collected souvenirs, and filled countless photo albums. From the morning that I boarded that Greyhound till the day that they piped me ashore at my retirement ceremony, the Navy fulfilled it’s promise of ADVENTURE!
