Half a Century Later, Part IV: Cleaning up My Act

“Deck force” is a slang term for the division on a ship that mostly includes boatswain’s mates. Their responsibility is the maintenance of the ship, including upkeep of a ship's external structure, rigging, deck equipment, and boats, and, most memorably for me, holystoning the teak ceremonial decks. These are good hardworking men, and I don’t want to denigrate them in any way; still, one could hardly call them the intellectual giants on a ship. And me, being me, did not take well to manual labor.

After my captain’s mast, where I was removed from the administrative division and placed on the deck force, I had to endure some punishment: working in the engine room where the temperatures can reach well over 100 degrees; and a stint working in the paint locker, which was the only time I became seasick: the locker was in the bow and I was there during a storm. As the ship crashed up and down, the paint thinner fumes wafted up and I became violently ill. I left the paint locker so sick that I didn’t care if they keelhauled me; I just had to throw up and then lay down, preferably not at the same time. Nobody seemed to miss me, though, which was a good thing.

The most memorable event while on the deck force was holystoning. Look at the image: you bend over, broom stick inserted in a sandy brick, and you go back and forth 20 times on each of the teak boards (ships are metal, but the ceremonial decks have an overlay of teak). It’s brutal and backbreaking labor, it lasts for days, and I don’t remember ever working so hard and so painfully—and I was raised on a farm which required a lot of manual labor. I was miserable. If you’re interested, here’s a video on holystoning (on the USS Missouri, not my ship) which, for me, brings back painful memories:

Holystoning video: https://youtu.be/dktL8MdZWF8

I probably would have finished out my days in the Navy on the deck force had I not already taken the exam for advancement to personnelman 3^rd class before being kicked out of X Division. While on the deck force I found out I had passed the exam and would be made a PN3—X Division had to take me back. It was at that moment I accepted the fact that the Navy was going to win this battle; I became a model sailor, shoes always gleaming, uniforms crisp and clean, and my work, now in the personnel office, always perfect and on time. I became the perfect sailor.

And truthfully all that work at being shipshape made my life much easier. Mostly I worked in the office dealing with enlisted records (officer records were handled elsewhere). When we spent six months off the coast of Vietnam, using our six-inch guns to give support to troops ashore, we were at battle stations a lot of the time. For me that meant Damage Control Central. Since we were never damaged, that time was mostly spent reading. Occasionally I had duty on the bridge as either a watchman or as the man who transmitted messages on a sound-powered headset. War for me was more a battle against boredom than anything else.

After our tour in Vietnam we went on a goodwill tour. This took us down the Pacific coast, through the Panama Canal, up the east coast, and then on to the Mediterranean, with stops in Malta, Italy, Corsica, Spain, France, and Crete. “Join the Navy and see the world!” That turned out to be the case for me.

My four years ended while in Europe. Rather than having to fly back, I opted to extend my duty until the end of the cruise, which turned out to be another month. By then my commanding officers wanted very much for me to stay in the Navy. I had passed the exam for PN2. But I had had enough of the Navy. Within an hour of docking back in the United States, I was out of the Navy and headed home. It felt good.

Half a Century Later, Part III: USS Galveston, CLG-3

Since I had no “profession,” as far as the Navy was concerned, and had never been on a real Navy ship, arriving on the Galveston was totally terrifying. I struggled up the after brow from the ship’s boat with my duffle bag, trying to remember the procedure for getting on a ship, “Request permission to board, sir,” and trying not to look over the edge of the scary drop to the water (a guided missile cruiser is quite a large ship). After that it was all a blur for the next few days.  With no assignment, I was put on mess duty; what else could they do?

While on mess duty, someone came around looking for anyone who could type. I had learned already not to volunteer, but I checked around later and found out the request was legitimate. I presented myself, my typing skills, my year and a half or so of college (no mention of being kicked out, of course) and became a part of the administrative division, X Division, specifically the Training and Education Office. That was definitely a step up from mess duty.

My main job was handling GED exams; I also arranged for correspondence courses for the crew and other menial tasks. The T&E office was adjacent to the personnel office, and the T&E officer (I don’t remember his name) and I were under the direct supervision of the personnel office manager, Lt. Cato. It seemed a satisfactory arrangement.

The ship spent most weekdays on maneuvers, cruising the Pacific. Once we took a group of new officers to Hawaii. While there I and some friends rented a car and drove halfway around the island of Oahu and then down through its center and the pineapple fields. On other cruises we fired our Talos missiles, which were capable of carrying nuclear warheads, although in my lowly position I never knew if we had them on board or not.

But weekends were the most fun. We weren’t allowed to have civilian clothes on board, so we rented lockers at clubs right off the docks. We would change into civvies and, at least in my case, head away from the nearby bars to those farther afield; i.e., those bars away from sailors. I became a regular at Reuben’s Roost, a kind of hangout for artsy types. I still have a book of matches from the place, although the bar is long gone (I checked!). Occasionally, I would splurge and go to the El Cortez, riding its outside glass elevator to the bar at the top.  I fear I saw myself as terribly sophisticated, which I surely wasn’t.

One weekend all this came to a halt, at least temporarily. It was late Friday, I was in a hurry and couldn’t find the T&E Officer to lock up the GED exams, so I just hid them in the bottom of my desk drawer. Big mistake. Unknown to me, Lt. Cato went through our desks every weekend. He found the exams, I was written up for violations of secure materials, sent to a captain’s mast (the level of punishment just below a court martial) and, you guessed it, was kicked out of the administrative division and assigned to the lowest of the low (at least as I saw it then): the deck force. But more on that in the next blog.

Half a Century Later, Part II: U.S. Naval School of Music

After a brief visit home, I reported to the U.S. Naval School of Music at the Anacostia Annex, Washington, D.C., sometime, I think, in September of 1963. I had auditioned prior to joining the Navy, so I was immediately assigned a major instrument: the piano.  No problem, or so I thought, since I had been playing and studying piano for many years. I was also assigned a “minor” instrument: the bass drum; after all, one can’t march with a piano. And I immediately begin classes in music theory.

Music theory was a breeze as I had studied that in college before joining. My memory is that I made a perfect score on all assignments (but my memory being what it is . . . ). The bass drum was simply a matter of practicing all the complicated rhythmic patterns. If one can read music, one can play the bass drum, at least on the level required here. But the piano became a problem: I was classically trained and knew nothing about playing popular music nor jazz. I still thought I could manage it, though, with a little practice and help from an instructor.  I was wrong.  The teacher would sit at the keyboard, whip through a jazz piece with elegance and skill—and then he would say, “That’s how it’s done; now, you do it.” And that was the full extent of my instruction in jazz and popular music. I didn’t learn a thing. And as the term wore on, I knew I was probably in trouble.

On November 21^st of 1963 I turned 21.  Great, except the drinking age at that time in D.C. was 18. But a friend took me out for drinks and an evening of soft-core porn movies; all I can remember of those were a lot of shower scenes and lots of women’s breasts bouncing around. I was not impressed, but I tried to put up a good front.

The next day President Kennedy was assassinated. I’ve chronicled my minor part in all the funeral activities previously in a blog and won’t repeat them here: http://garysworldinwords.blogspot.com/2013/11/my-brush-with-history.html.

By the end of the term, the school was making preparations to relocate to Virginia Beach; ten of us who were at the end of the first term were sent in advance to the new location to help with the relocation: moving pianos around, unloading instruments and music, and various other manual tasks.

Once settled in, my second term began.  The powers that be decided that piano wasn’t working out since I couldn’t (in their view) or wouldn’t (in my view) learn pop music and jazz, so they switched me to flute, an instrument I had picked up back in my music major days.  Again, no problem with this new major instrument. My minor instrument, however, was a sax, which I had never played before. Have you ever heard a beginning sax player? I couldn’t stand the sound, so I didn’t practice. The inevitable happened: I was kicked out of the U.S. Naval School of Music. After being there for over a year (including the move), I was shipped out to, where else: back to San Diego, this time to a guided missile cruiser, the USS Galveston. I had one more “kicked out” to endure, but I’ll save that for the next blog.