Welcome To The
Jungle
- A collection of Navy stories and wayward tales
By GMG3 H.J. Peterson (’87-’95)
31 January 2022
30 January 2022
Welcome To The Jungle - Table Of Contents
FOREWORD AND INTRODUCTION
PART ONE: Decisions, Enlistments And Departures
CHAPTER ONE: THE DECISION
CHAPTER TWO: MEPS
CHAPTER THREE: PREPARATIONS
CHAPTER FOUR: MEPS AGAIN
PART TWO: Boot Camp
CHAPTER FIVE: RECRUIT TRAINING COMMAND, SAN DIEGO
CHAPTER SIX: TWO MONTHS OF HELL
CHAPTER SEVEN: GRADUATION AND BEYOND
PART THREE: Apprentice Training
CHAPTER EIGHT: WELCOME TO SEAMAN APPRENTICE TRAINING
CHAPTER NINE: TRAINING IN EARNEST
CHAPTER TEN: WEEKEND LIBERTY
CHAPTER ELEVEN: BELLA POBLATE
AND HOW I DISCOVERED BOOZE
CHAPTER TWELVE: END OF APPRENTICE TRAINING AND ORDERS
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: LEAVE AND
LEAVING
PART FOUR: Overseas And Underway – Welcome To The Jungle
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE FLIGHT
NOVEMBER 9-10
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: CLARK AIR
BASE TO SUBIC BAY NAVAL BASE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE USS FRESNO – WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE
Official Ship's Seal from USS Fresno (LST-1182)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: MY NEW HOME GIVES ME STITCHES
NOVEMBER 11
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: DAY TWO AND THE DECK PARTY
NOVEMBER 12
NOVEMBER 13
CHAPTER NINETEEN: BALUT, HONEY AND THE CHERRY BOY
CHAPTER TWENTY: THE BROWN BAG OF SHAME
NOVEMBER 14
NOVEMBER 15
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: WEEKEND LIBERTY
NOVEMBER 16
NOVEMBER 17
NOVEMBER 18
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: GOODBYE, P.I. AND OUT TO SEA
NOVEMBER 19
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: THE TYPHOON
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: GUAM
NOVEMBER 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: PEARL HARBOR
DECEMBER 6
DECEMBER 7
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: LONG BEACH AND THE END OF WEST PAC ‘88
DECEMBER 16
PART FIVE: Stateside – Faded Memories And Booze ('88-'89)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: STANDING DOWN IN LOS ANGELES
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: A COLLECTION OF MEMORIES (1988-89)
LONG
BEACH NAVAL STATION
MAIL CALL
FIELD DAY
JON HICKERSHAM
LOSING CAPTAIN WILBUR
A VISIT FROM LORI
TAKING LEAVE
GREATSHOUSE
SHAINA AND KAREN
A TATTOO
ANOTHER TATTOO
THE BREAKUP
JOHN JECHENOWSKI AND MONTEREY
THE CAMPING TRIP
P.B.S.
THE HO CHI MINH TRAIL
THE BANDSTAND AND THE SILVER BULLET
FOURTH STREET
BELMONT SHORE AND THE BAYSHORE SALOON
THE CITY CENTER MOTEL
THE LONG BEACH GRAND PRIX
STANDING UP FOR MYSELF
PART SIX: The Shipyards
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: SAN PEDRO SHIPYARDS
MESS CRANKING
SLUSH FUNDS
BEACH PARTIES
THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW
NEW GUYS
FLAG FOOTBALL
SOFTBALL
THE CONCERTS
THE SALUTE
THE STABBINGS
LEAVING SAN PEDRO
PART SEVEN: A Second Collection of Memories ('89-'90)
CHAPTER THIRTY: A SECOND COLLECTION OF MEMORIES (1989-90)
LEAVE AGAIN
CHER
STRIKING OUT
BM2 HOWELL
TRAINING
TIJUANA
STEROIDS & E.M.I.
THE DRIVE IN
THE SWIM TEST – PART II
THE LABOR DAY TRIP
THE LITTLE MERMAID
JON GRACE
CAGLE AND THE BASE CLUB
NADSAP
BENTON’S WEDDING AND THE MOVE
TEST TIME
YET ANOTHER TATTOO
THE SKI TRIP
THE CHRISTMAS PARTY
CHRISTMAS LEAVE
NEW YEAR’S EVE, 1990
PART EIGHT: The Farewell Tour - WESTPAC 1990 (Pt. 1)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: PREPARATIONS FOR DEPLOYMENT
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: UNDERWAY - WESTPAC 1990
JANUARY 12
JANUARY 13
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: AT SEA – CALIFORNIA TO IWO JIMA
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: IWO JIMA TO OKINAWA TO THE PHILIPPINES
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: PARTY TIME – FILIPINO STYLE
FEBRUARY 12
FEBRUARY 13
FEBRUARY 14
FEBRUARY 15
FEBRUARY 16
FEBRUARY 17
FEBRUARY 18
FEBRUARY 19
FEBRUARY 20
FEBRUARY 21
FEBRUARY 22
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: P.I. TO OKINAWA TO JAPAN
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: THREE WEEKS IN JAPAN
MARCH 4
MARCH 5
MARCH 6
MARCH 7
MARCH 8
MARCH 9
MARCH 10
MARCH 11
MARCH 12
MARCH 13
MARCH 14
MARCH 15
MARCH 16
MARCH 17
MARCH 18
MARCH 19
MARCH 20
MARCH 21
MARCH 22
MARCH 23
MARCH 24
MARCH 25
MARCH 26
MARCH 27
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: JAPAN TO OKINAWA TO THE P.I.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: THE TWELVE DAYS OF STUPIDITY
APRIL 6
APRIL 7
APRIL 8
APRIL 9
APRIL 10
APRIL 11
APRIL 12
PART NINE: The Farewell Tour - WESTPAC 1990 (Pt. 2)
APRIL 13
APRIL 14
APRIL 15
APRIL 16
ARPIL 17
APRIL 18
CHAPTER FORTY: P.I. TO OKINAWA BACK TO THE P.I. - THEN ON TO
HONG KONG
APRIL 22
APRIL
26
APRIL
27
APRIL
30
MAY 1
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: HONG KONG - 7-11 CAPITAL OF THE WORLD
MAY 4
MAY 5
MAY 6
MAY 7
MAY 8
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: HONG KONG TO SINGAPORE
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: SINGAPORE AND THE BIRD ZOO
MAY 15
MAY 16
MAY 17
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: CROSSING THE LINE
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: SINGAPORE TO THAILAND
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: PATTAYA BEACH, THAILAND – DON’T TELL MOM!
JUNE 3
JUNE 4
JUNE 5
JUNE 6
JUNE 7
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: THAILAND TO THE PHILIPPINES
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: A FINAL P.I. GOODBYE
JUNE 13
JUNE 14
JUNE 15
JUNE 16
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: THE PHILIPPINES TO HAWAII – HOMEWARD BOUND
CHAPTER FIFTY: HAWAI’I – THREE DAYS IN PARADISE
JULY 1
JULY 2
JULY 3
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: HAWAI’I TO LONG BEACH – TIGER CRUISE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: HOMECOMING!! or, HOW NOT TO GET ON
BASE
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE: LONG BEACH TO SACRAMENTO TO LARAMIE – HOME AT
LAST!
PART TEN: The Reserves
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: SIGNING UP IN CHEYENNE…AGAIN
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: WEEKEND DUTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX: MY FIRST A.T. – ONCE A SQUID…
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN: GUNNERY SCHOOL IN CHICAGO
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT: MY SECOND A.T. – BACK HOME AGAIN
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE: THE SHELLBACK CERTIFICATE
CHAPTER SIXTY: NOT SO FAST – I’VE GOT A HERNIA!
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE: AUGUST 18TH, 1995…AT LAST!
PART 1182: Epilogue
29 January 2022
Welcome To The Jungle - Foreword and Introduction
FOREWORD (2015)
Who am I, you may ask? Who is the author, and why should I care
about his adventures and misadventures around the world? Is he famous?
A politician? An athlete? A rock star?
The answer to those is a resounding “no”. I am basically a nobody – just a regular
American kid who decided to do his duty and earn a little money for
college. I'm just a nobody with a flair
for storytelling, and a good memory. The
stories in this book were ones I told and re-told for years after I got out of the Navy, until one day,
the “you oughta write a book about it” statements finally won, and I sat down to type. I figured I'd have it finished in 10 pages
and a couple of days... imagine my
surprise when 400+ pages and 18 months later, I had a book.
I have tried to recall the
stories, places and names as best I could.
I kept a journal with some daily happenings during our last six month deployment, but other than
that, they are mostly recollections of a past life. Stories beget stories, and memories trigger
memories, and I hope I got them all
in there, and I hope you enjoy them.
A couple little housekeeping
notes before you proceed – first, I have added this foreword to a collection I
wrote some 15 years ago. I've gone
through it and made sure it was all in order, but at this point, we are talking about
things that happened nearly 30 years ago.
Time may have dulled some of
the memories, but it can never fade them completely.
The other point is the names of
the people in my story. Due to legal
ramifications, and the fact that
there is basically no way for me to contact everyone who was a part of our
crew, or my life, during those years and obtain express written consent to use
their name, I have done the prudent (and
far less legally liable) thing, and changed many of them. If you are lucky enough to have known
me, or known the crew of this ship,
you should still be able to figure out who was who, but in the name of 30 years of peaceful living, I
have offered my shipmates the gift of plausible deniability, and not named
names. It doesn't affect the story any,
but if you know who you are, then you know who you are – know what I mean?
INTRODUCTION (original)
I was raised in the town of Laramie, Wyoming. Laramie was a town of 25,000 – big by Wyoming standards, but small by national standards. My junior high and high school careers were nothing extraordinary. I was a decent student – nothing exceptional and nothing terrible, just average. I was in the band(s), and had played soccer for a couple of years. My biggest accomplishment came in 1986, when I received my Eagle Scout award. I went to church with the folks, and was a straight-laced, small-town boy. I didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, didn’t cuss much and I’d never so much as kissed a girl. I went on two dates my entire high school career – not exactly a Don Juan.
All of that changed the day I decided to join the Navy. A decision made to help pay my way to college became a decision that quickly changed everything about me. My attitude, my demeanor, my outlook – everything. It was definitely a case of “went in a boy and came out a man”. That seemingly simple decision to join the Navy created a new man. A more worldly, less naïve, and much more experienced man.
In the following pages, I have tried to recall as many of the stories and adventures of my Naval career as I could. In the almost 20 years that have elapsed since the day I decide to join, I’m sure that a few of the exact details of the stories have been forgotten. There are also probably several additions to the facts that have become inseparably intertwined with the actual events of the stories. I have tried as hard as possible to separate the facts from the fiction, but over the course of time, it becomes difficult to tell the two apart at times. There are also some stories that did not make the final edit for this collection. For one reason or another, I felt obligated to omit certain adventures from my work. Those of you who know me, and have heard the stories will wonder where they went, but I felt as though decorum would be better served without their inclusion. Decorum and certain legal ramifications. My hopes are that you, the reader, will get an idea of what military life was like for a naïve 18 year-old kid from Wyoming. It was an interesting time in my life, a time I would never want to forget, but also a time I would never want to live through again.
With those few cautions in mind, read on and enjoy the story of how I survived the Navy, or more accurately, how my liver survived the Navy!
Enjoy the stories, and may you have fair winds and following seas for the rest of your days.
- H.J. Peterson
Author - H.J. Peterson (2015)
28 January 2022
Welcome To The Jungle - Part One (Decisions, Enlistments & Departures)
HERE WE GO - ON WITH THE STORY....
CHAPTER 1: THE
DECISION
My introduction to the military came from my father. Dad had been an Engineman in the Navy during
the mid 60’s. He never went to Vietnam,
but he said that his repeated requests to get assigned there kept getting
denied by his ship’s officers. He was on
a troop transport, the USS Monrovia (APA-31). I
never really got too many detailed stories of his escapades, but I do believe
that there was plenty there to make up more than a few good books. My mom’s dad had been in the Navy as
well. I don’t know too much about his
naval career, but I believe he was a Machinist’s Mate in the sub
service. My stepmother’s dad had also been in the Navy. He was a shopkeeper on a supply ship in the
South Pacific during WWII. He never
really told me much about what he did, I just remember the big Navy certificate
which hung on the wall in his house for years.
I always thought it was his discharge certificate, but just prior to MY
Navy experience, he told me that it was his Shellback Certificate. He said that it was one of those things that
you never forget earning, and once you do, it becomes a source of pride
for life. I eventually joined my
Grandfather in this illustrious fraternity – one in which my father was denied
membership. Grandpa and I would always
be Shellbacks, while Dad would remain, forever, a Slimy Wog. As all three of them (my Dad and two of my
Granddads) had been sailors, it made me, as Jimmy Buffett sang, the “Son of a Son of a Sailor”. Because of that legacy, there never was much
choice as to which branch of the service I’d join.
High School Senior Picture - 1988
My decision to join the Navy came in 1987. I was a high school junior, and not a
terribly impressive student. About the
only thing I was good at was band. Since
I knew I wanted to go to college, and my folks weren’t the Rockefellers AND I
figured people wouldn’t exactly be throwing scholarships at me, I decided I had
to do something else to earn money for school.
It was during this period of personal revelation that the US Navy band
came to my hometown of Laramie, Wyoming.
They brought posters and flyers, which they put up all over my high
school talking about the benefits of joining the Navy band. I thought this sounded like an easy way to
pay my way through college, so I headed over to Cheyenne to talk to the Navy
Recruiter. This was the beginning of the
end.
Chief Melton was the recruiter at the Navy Recruiting Center
in Frontier Mall in Cheyenne. Little did
I know at the time, but Chief Melton also happened to be the only honest
recruiter in the country, thereby denying my access to ever getting a Top
Secret security clearance (more about that later). Chief Melton listened to what I had to say
about wanting to be in the Navy band, then politely informed me that before we
could go any farther, I had to take the ASVAB test (Armed Services Vocational
Aptitude Battery) to see if I would make it in the Navy. I made my appointment to take the test a
couple of weeks later, then went home to wait it out. I was nervous, but it soon became apparent
that I had nothing to fear.
Two weeks later, I drove back to Cheyenne, to an old Quonset
hut on the Air National Guard base, to take the ASVAB. There were probably a half dozen of us there
for the test, and the administrator told us we would have three hours to
complete it. He said we had to score a
minimum of 35 to gain entrance into the military, and that the national average
was 47. The highest possible score was
103. With this information, he passed
out our test booklets and set his timer.
Now, I had finished my junior year of High School, and had yet to begin
my senior year, so I anticipated having my ass handed to me on a plate by this
test. The administrator said “go”,
started the timer, and I opened my test booklet. I was absolutely amazed at how incredibly
easy the questions were. Thirty minutes
later I had completely finished the test, and handed it in to the open-mouthed
administrator. “Are you sure you’re
done?” he asked. I had checked,
double-checked and sat at my desk for five minutes waiting for someone else to
finish, so I knew that I was. “Sure
thing” I told him, then walked out of the room and waited for Chief Melton to
call and tell me how badly I’d flunked the thing.
A couple of days later, the call came in.
“Jerry? This is Chief Melton”
“Yes sir”
“I’ve got some news for you about your ASVAB test” – this
was it. I braced myself to hear how
badly I’d bombed it when he told me – “98.
You scored a 98. That is the
highest score anyone from Cheyenne has scored this year.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! “Alright!” I said – "What's next?"
Chief Melton then told me to come back to his
office the next week, and we’d talk about getting me enlisted and get the paper trail
started.
“See you next week.”
“See you next week, Chief”.
With that, I hung up the phone and felt the butterflies start to
build. I was on my way to becoming a
sailor!
CHAPTER TWO: MEPS
The paperwork went smoothly, the only minor glitch involved getting ahold of my mother to get info from her about that side of my family (my folks were divorced when I was three - I didn't know a whole lot about her side) Once that was wrapped up, it was just a simple
matter of answering questions. It was at
this point that my unfailing honesty kicked me in the butt. When Chief Melton asked if I’d ever taken
drugs, I thought long and hard. Then,
with my Mom and Dad sitting right next to me, I told him “yes”. I thought my folks were gonna have a heart
attack! I told the recruiter that once,
when I was twelve and at Boy Scout Camp, we found a bunch of ditch weed, dried
it on the side of our tent and tried to smoke it. All I got was a nasty headache because I didn’t
even know how to inhale right. NOW – any
other recruiter in the U.S. would have laughed and said “thanks for the
confessional, but I mean real drugs, like speed or coke or heroin.” Not MY recruiter, he made me sign a waiver
saying that I was an admitted drug user, thereby denying my access to ever
getting a Top Secret security clearance.
When I finally got out to the fleet, I realized that I was about the
only one who had ever had to sign the drug offender waiver – and these were
guys who had been making crystal meth in their bathtubs before they joined the
service, guys who had needle tracks in their arms, and guys who had spent time
in jail on drug charges. None of them
had ever had to sign a waiver, so thanks to me and my honest recruiter, those
guys (most of whom scored under 50 on their ASVAB) could be entrusted with this
country’s most important military secrets, while I, a 4.0 student and Eagle
Scout, was deemed a “security risk” because I tried to smoke some Nebraska
Ditch Weed at Boy Scout camp. Funny
world, ain’t it?
Finally, after all of that hassle, Chief Melton processed my paperwork, and they got ready to send me off to the
MEPS (Military Entrance Processing Station) in Denver to get my physical and
become officially "delayed enlisted" in the Navy. I would enlist now, at 17, so that I could leave for basic right after my 18th birthday. Easy way to fill recruiting quotas - get 'em while they're young. A couple of days later, after the paperwork was done and a bus ticket was in my hand, I boarded the Greyhound bus in Laramie for a two hour trip to
Denver. I wasn't too worried about this trip, it was an easy down and back, no tearful goodbyes or anything, just get on the bus one day and come home the next. In preparation for this
momentous occasion, however, my mom had bought a new pair of pants for me to wear. This being 1987, stonewashed cargo pants were
all the rage. However, unbeknownst to me
at the time, if you didn’t wash them before you wore them, all of the excess
dye they use to create the “stonewash” look would bleed off onto your skin, and
no amount of scratching, scouring or scrubbing could remove it!
Some two hours later, after a bus ride from Laramie to Denver, and then a shuttle van ride from the Denver Greyhound
station to the La Quinta Inn, I was sitting in a motel room,
waiting for morning and my enlistment into the Navy. I could hear other military hopefuls partying
in the rooms next to me, but I was a 17 year-old, non-drinking virgin from
Wyoming, and too shy to go ask if I could join the festivities, so I went to
bed.
5:30 came really early the next morning. I stumbled from bed, and headed into the
bathroom to take care of my morning business.
As I stood in front of the mirror, and looked down, I realized that both
of my legs had turned a very unbecoming shade of light blue, courtesy of the
aforementioned stonewashed cargo pants I’d been wearing! I jumped into the shower, and scrubbed like a
madman, knowing that I’d be standing in a room full of guys in their underwear
while we got our physicals, and a guy with blue legs would surely be a target
for ridicule and undue negative attention.
Unfortunately, my vigorous scrubbing, scouring, and scratching did
nothing more than make my skin red underneath the blue dye. So there I stood, dripping wet, naked, and
the proud owner of the most patriotic pair of red, white and blue legs you’d
ever seen! Disheartened, I reached into
my duffel bag to grab the other pair of pants I’d brought, only to discover
that I had forgotten another pair of pants, and would be forced to wear the dye-leakers for another day. Resigned to my
fate, I grabbed my duffel, closed the door and headed down for breakfast in the
dining room.
I was too nervous to eat much of the greasy bacon or runny eggs,
so a piece of dry toast and a glass of warm orange juice later, I joined the
other hundred or so military hopefuls as we boarded the bus to the MEPS
center. For most of us, this was the
first time we had been around real military types. Inside the MEPS building, there were Marines,
Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen hustling and bustling everywhere. They herded us into a large waiting room and
we sat and waited. And waited. And waited.
While we sat, we watched the various military folks walking past
us. The Army guys were very uptight and
rigid, while the Air Force guys had an air of aloofness about them. The Marines were walking around like they
were God’s gift, and then came the Sailors.
The Navy guys were laughing, joking and throwing paper airplanes at each
other. I knew then that the Navy was
where I belonged!
They herded us from room to room, giving us hearing tests,
vision tests, writing and reading tests, and every other type of test you could
imagine. The entire time we were going
through this I was dreading the physical.
I was sure that my legs were, by now, completely blue! I was sure they weren’t going to let a Smurf
into the service! Finally, they took us
in groups of fifteen or so, into a private room. Once inside the room, they told us to remove
our clothes, down to our underwear. Here
it was – the moment of truth! I stripped
down and was astonished to see that my lightly-dyed legs were now a bright
royal blue! Evidently I hadn't toweled off well after my leg-scrubbing episode in the shower that morning, and the
water had reacted to the dye, creating the prettiest easter-egg blue pair of
legs you’d ever seen! I just knew I was
in for the ribbing of my life when I noticed that the guy standing to my left
was having a similar problem with his new red cargo pants! So there we stood - tan, black, red, white
and blue legs in a line waiting for the doc to come check us out. The actual physical went pretty quickly – on
the scale, off the scale, get measured for height, body fat and head
circumference. Then came the dreaded
“now, cough!” maneuver. I can only begin
to imagine the joy of the doc who had to grab 200 pairs of testicles a day
while listening to nervous guys cough.
Of all the worst jobs I can imagine, his had to be among the top five,
right behind the “now drop your shorts, turn around, bend over and spread ‘em”
guy. After being poked, prodded,
measured, weighed and listened to, they took us all into another room for lunch. Unfortunately for me and about five guys from
our group, we were the last ones into the room, and by the time we got there,
all of the box lunches were gone. I
managed to bum a package of saltines off of one of the guys, and along with a
paper cup of water from the cooler, I was eating like a king.
After lunch we were split into our four groups – according
to the branch of the service we wanted to join.
They then made us sing the theme song from our branch before we could
leave the room. We all knew and sang, “As
the Caissons go rolling along”, and “Up we go, into the wild, blue
yonder” and “from the halls of Montezuma”, but for some reason, I
was the only one who knew any of the words to “Anchors Aweigh”. They kept the Navy guys (about 10 of us) in
the room until we could figure out the rest of the song. Despite our best efforts, it was to no
avail. A chorus we weren’t. They finally gave up and sent us to the Navy
offices in the basement. Once we walked
into the offices, it became apparent that this was a different office than the others. We sat and watched “Stripes” and “Hot Dog:
The Movie” while we waited to go enlist.
The recruiters and their office staff entertained us with stories of
Filipino whorehouses and the live sex shows in Thailand while we waited to talk
to a detailer. Finally, they called my
name and I walked to the back. I sat
down and told the detailer that I wanted to be in the Navy Band. He said,
“Fine. Did you pass
the audition?”
“Audition?”
“Yeah, you have to audition for the Band to get in. Didn’t you know that?”
I could feel my world caving in. All I had wanted was to join the Navy Band,
earn some money for college, spend my four years and then come back for
school. It was all disappearing!
“ummm…could I audition AFTER we do this?”
“sorry, them’s the rules – now let’s see what else we can do
for you. A 98 on your ASVAB, huh? Did you ever think about the Nuclear
Program?”
And so it went for an hour or so, with him telling me all
about different programs the Navy had, and me telling him I wasn’t
interested. All I wanted was to join,
earn some money for college, get out and go to school. Finally, after an hour of his best sales
pitches, he reached into his desk, pulled out a single brochure, and said,
“Let me tell you about the Sea College Program.”
The Sea College Program, he told me, was something brand new
that the Navy was trying out. What it
entailed was two years of active duty out in the fleet, followed by four years
in the Active Reserves. I wouldn’t even
be required to do the weekend drill thing in the Reserves, just two weeks a
year. In exchange for this, the Navy
would give me $18,800 dollars for college.
It sounded absolutely perfect!
Why, I could do two years standing on my head! The only down side, he said, was that I would
be sent to an “Apprentice Training” school instead of a regular “A”
school. I didn’t really know the
difference, so I agreed, and signed on the bottom line.
I was now officially enlisted in the US Navy. Since I was only 17, and had one more year of
High School left, I was officially classified as a “delayed enlistment” for 11
months. I was to report to Boot Camp at
the Naval Training Center in San Diego, California on July 11th,
1988. I shook his hand, then walked into
the front of their offices to sit and wait for the next step. The contract I’d just signed was actually an
8-year deal. It stated that I would
spend two years on active duty, followed by four in the active reserves, then
two more on inactive reserves. I had
just signed away almost a decade of my life to the Navy. Even though I was only worried about the next
three years, I was now official government property, and would be until August
18th, 1995! It seemed like
such a long time away that I didn’t worry too much about it. What’s eight years to an overeager 17 year old
high school kid? Just a drop in the
bucket.
A couple of hours
later, they brought all 200 of us who had been through the MEPS that day into
another room full of desks. I took a
seat in the back, right by the window and spent the next half hour or so trying
to comprehend the stack of papers they’d given me throughout the day, as the
hot August sun beat on the back of my head through the window. Finally, they called us all into the
Induction Room. The Induction Room was a
large, formal room with dark carpets, dark walls and the seals of every branch
of the military hanging on the wall. In
the front of the room, an Army General stood before us to administer the Oath
of Allegiance to us all. All of a sudden,
and without warning, the lack of sleep, lack of food, and having my head baked
by the window-magnified sun took effect.
We all stood there, trying our best to imitate a proper “attention”
pose, when I began to get light-headed.
About two lines into the Oath, it hit.
I saw the white flashes, and felt myself go down.
Yes, I passed out during my Oath - flat on the floor, at the
General’s feet. Talk about your
impressive beginnings! They escorted me
into another room, where I regained my senses, and then the General came over
to me and administered the oath to me by myself. Once that was over and done, they sent me
back to the Navy offices in the basement.
Word of my less-than-impressive performance had already
reached the office before I got there. I
walked in to applause, catcalls and much laughing. They gave me a pillow and told me to just “go
ahead and take a carpet nap” while I waited for them to finish my paperwork. Ha Ha.
Very funny. A few minutes later,
they called me back to the detailer’s office, where he handed me a manila
envelope with all my enlistment papers, shook my hand and said
“I’ll see you in July.
Good luck.”
I turned and walked out of his office and went up to the
reception desk.
“Okay, I think I’m done.
What now?”.
The secretary gave me the strangest look.“What do you
mean? You’re done. Go home.”
“Go home? I live in
Wyoming. Are you at least going to give
me bus fare?”
The secretary just shot me a dirty look, then she rooted
around her papers and came up with a voucher for Greyhound and said,
“Here. Just give this
to them at the station.” With that, she
turned back to her typing. The look of
complete incomprehension on my face must have been evident, as my detailer came
walking out of his office.
“What’s the matter, recruit?
Are you lost?”
“Well, sort of” I told him, “Where’s the bus station?”.
“Oh, that’s right, you’re from Wyoming, aren’t you? Tell you what, give me about ten minutes and
I’ll take you down there.”
I went over and sat on the couch and waited for him. A couple of minutes later, he popped his head
in the room and said,
“C'mon, let’s go.”
I followed him back upstairs to the front door of the
building, then out onto the busy street.
I trailed him to his parking space, at which point he raised his arm,
pointing sort of North / Northwest and told me,
“The bus station is about three blocks down that way”
Then he got in his Camaro and drove off.
I just kind of stood
there and stared for a moment, Sighed, then set off walking in the direction he had
pointed. About three blocks down the
road, I turned the corner and found the big “Greyhound” sign! I had found the bus station! I walked in and up to the counter, where I
presented them my voucher.
The lady looked at it, looked at me and said “Oh great,
another one of YOU.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant by that until she put my
voucher on a stack of literally hundreds of other military vouchers on her
desk. I’m sure they had some kind of cut
rate deal worked with the military and they hated to see all that lost revenue
come through their doors. She then
plugged some stuff into her reservation computer, and printed me out a
ticket. She looked up at me with great
disdain and said,
“You can wait here or do whatever. The bus leaves at 9.”
“9 ?” I asked
“Yeah, 9pm – that’s the next bus to Wyoming, take it or
leave it. Next!” I looked at the clock on the wall – 4pm. Five hours to wait. Five hours to wait, and all I’d had to eat
that day was a piece of toast and two saltines.
Luckily, I had been to downtown Denver a year or so earlier
for our church youth convention, so I knew there were places to eat a couple of
blocks away, and I was starved!! I
headed out of the bus station, and walked a couple of blocks down the street to
the 16th Street Mall. I
remembered there being a Burger King in the food court, so in I walked. I got up to the food court, and there were
probably thirty guys carrying manila envelopes just like mine! Evidently all of the other MEPS guys had
found the mall as well. I walked over to
Burger King and reached back for my wallet to grab a five and get a Whopper or
something. It was then that I remembered
I had put my money in my front pocket - but when I reached in to get it, all I
found was an empty pocket. Somewhere in
all the activity of the day, my money had fallen out, and I was now broke,
starved and lost in Downtown Denver!
About then, the guy standing next to me said,
“Hey, ain’t you the guy who passed out?”
A little unsure of his
motivation, and a little unhappy about my newfound fame I said,
“Yup, that was me”
“Looks like yer a little low on funds” he said.
“Yeah, my money fell out of my pocket, and I’m
starved”.
He just told me to order whatever I wanted and he’d pay for
it. I thanked him profusely for his
generosity and he told me to forget about it – he was going into the Marine
Corps and he knew that one day he’d be needing the Navy to save his ass, so he
just wanted to be sure he kept in good standing with “you squids”. I thanked him again, wolfed down a Whopper
and headed back to the bus station, full, exhausted and completely blue-legged
after my MEPS experience. The bus got me
back to Laramie around midnight, where Dad picked me up and took me home. I slept until noon the next day. Little was I to know that this crazy
experience was a fitting taste of what was to come as my military life had begun.
CHAPTER THREE: PREPARATIONS
The first couple of
months after my return to Laramie went smoothly. I talked to Chief Melton every month, and
everything seemed to be going as planned.
It was actually kind of nice to not have to worry about what I was going
to do after graduation. While my friends
were stressing out about college applications and acceptances and the like, I
already knew exactly where I was headed.
This calm and relaxed attitude showed itself in my scholastic
performance, as I 4.0’d my senior year.
Here I was, a previously mediocre student with no prospects for college
scholarships, suddenly a 4.0 honor student, the Wyoming State Business Law
Champion, which got me an invite to Cincinnati to compete in the FBLA National Finals. I had two or three scholarship offers
waiting, and by virtue of graduating from a Wyoming high school, I had been automatically accepted at the University of Wyoming. Joining the Navy early had proven to be both
a blessing and a curse.
Sometime along about October, Chief Melton called me.
“I’ve got some good news and some bad news – what do you
want first ?”
“Oh great” I thought, “Here it comes, I knew that whole
enlistment thing went too smoothly. Here
comes the part when I find out I REALLY enlisted for eight years on Active Duty
or something!!”
With my heart beating
through my chest, I told the Chief,
“Give me the bad news first”.
“Well, it turns out that Congress realized the other day
that they’d never officially approved the Sea College program, so they
eliminated it.”
My heart sank. The
world as I knew it collapsed. I had
visions of years of indentured servitude in my head, just knowing I’d spend the
next six years of my life mopping the decks of some rusted-out tub in the worst
port anyone had ever heard of!
“Okay, then what’s the good news?”
“Well, since they had already promised the program to you,
they have to live up to it. You did sign
a contract after all.”
I felt the weight instantly lifted from my shoulders. The angels sang, and all
was right with the world once again.
“Imagine that” I said, “The Government actually lived up to
their promise.”
“I know” said the Chief, “Blew me away, too! Congrats.
We’ll see you in July.”
With that, I hung up the phone and didn’t talk to the Chief
again until my little run-in with the local law authorities in May.
My agreement with the Navy, and my acceptance into the Sea
College Program, was contingent on the fact that I have less than three tickets
or incidents involving the police. I was
a pretty low-key guy, and didn’t worry much about this clause until May of
’88. I already had two tickets when I
enlisted, a curfew violation in ’85, and a car accident in ’86. All was going well until Graduation Weekend. My friends and I were set to graduate on
Saturday, so Friday night, we decided to have a little fun. As I mentioned earlier, we weren’t exactly a
wild crowd, and the party we went to on that night was the first one any of us
had been to during our high school careers.
We got to the party around 9:00 that night, and the people there had
already started into the drinking and hell raising. My buds and I weren’t drinkers, but that
night for some reason, we thought it might be fun. We walked over to the keg and poured
ourselves a cup. We then proceeded to
walk around the party, trying to look like we’d been to one of these things
before.
We spent about an hour walking around, talking mostly
amongst ourselves, when we decided to leave.
Funny thing was, none of the five of us had taken a single drink of our
beers. We just walked around with them
in our hands, trying to look cool. We
sat our untouched beers on the kitchen table, and walked out to our cars. No sooner had we started up the two cars and
pulled away from the house, than three cop cars, lights blazing, pulled up in
the driveway of the house. We laughed
about our good luck and headed towards home.
Justin was in the lead, in his mom’s Camry, and I was following him in
my ’80 Granada. As we drove down the
dark road past the golf course, I decided to see just how fast the Granada would go. I floored the accelerator, pulled out and
passed him as my car hit 60 in a 30mph zone.
The road then went down a steep hill, and made a sharp left. I topped the hill, and was going close to 70,
when I looked in the rear view mirror to see if Justin was still behind
me. There he was, headlights
blazing. I led him on a good-spirited
chase to my house at around 75mph. When
I squealed to a stop, I looked into the rearview mirror again, and saw -
headlight…big grille…headlight.
“Funny” I thought, “Camrys don’t have grilles.”
Then the cop turned
on his overhead lights. Shit.
The policeman was actually fairly nice to me, once he
realized I wasn’t drunk. He congratulated
me on graduation, and wrote me out a nice $100 ticket for 68 in a 30. During this 30 minute ticket-writing ordeal,
he was nice enough to leave his overheads flashing, and woke up our entire
neighborhood. One by one, I watched the
lights go on in the houses, as all of our neighbors woke up to see who was
getting busted in their own front yard.
Every house that is, except mine.
I couldn’t believe my good luck!
My grandma was even visiting from Nebraska for my graduation, and she
stayed asleep! The officer finished
writing my ticket, and I quietly snuck into the house, checked for any notes on
the kitchen table, then went downstairs and fell asleep, wondering how I was
going to get out of this. At least, I
thought, my Dad wouldn’t find out until after Grandma left. I didn’t have to tell him for a couple more
days.
The next morning I woke up around 9, then stumbled upstairs
for breakfast. There was Mom, Dad and
Grandma sitting around the table having a cup of coffee. Nothing unusual about that – then I saw the
ticket. On the table, next to my
father’s coffee cup, sat the pink copy of the ticket I had been given the night
before. Evidently, I had left the damn
thing laying on the table when I came in.
Dad just looked at me and said
“Mornin’…Lead Foot”.
I was feelin’ lower
than a snake’s belly, until Grandma said
“The only difference between him and you, son, is that HE
got caught!”.
I loved my Grandma.
Ordinarily, this would have been one of those “Don’t do it
again” learning experiences, but this ticket carried with it a very serious
connotation. This would have been my
third run-in with the law, thereby negating my Sea College contract. I hadn’t thought of that until Dad mentioned
it. Ain’t it funny how Dads always know
just the right thing to say to make you feel even worse about things like
that? We talked about what exactly to do
next. We agreed that the first thing I
needed to do was call Chief Melton to find out if I still qualified with three
tickets, or if the third one was the killer.
Now I had to sit and sweat it out until Monday.
Monday morning, after Graduation Weekend, I put in my call
to Chief Melton.
“Chief – How are ya”
“Good, what’s up?”
“Umm, Well – had a
little problem this weekend…”
“Hey, no problem. As
long as you didn’t get a ticket, we don’t have a problem.”
“Well, that’s the thing.
I did.”
“Shit.”
“Kinda what I was thinkin’, Chief.”
Chief Melton went on to explain that since Congress had
stopped the Sea College Plan, they were looking for any and all ways to get out
of having to pay for it. I asked if this
meant that they would void my enlistment contract entirely, but no such
luck. The Chief told me that I would
still have to go to the Navy, but now, instead of two years active duty, I’d
have to do the full four, and since I hadn’t signed up for an “A” school, I
would go in as a non-rate deck ape.
Things were just not looking good.
“There is one way we could get around this” He said, “Do you
have a lawyer?”
“Not really, but I know one.” My Scoutmaster just happened to be a federal
prosecuting DA, so I figured he could do something for me.
“Well, if you can find a way to get the charges dismissed,
then I think we can still get you in under the Sea College Plan. See what you can do and let me know”
With that, he hung up.
Dad and I turned around and called my Scoutmaster, and through some
intense legal wrangling and schedule pushing ( I was supposed to report to boot
camp in a little over a month), we managed to get the ticket dismissed. Instead of paying the fine and having it go
on my record, I signed an agreement with the City Attorney and agreed to do 20
hours of community service. Funny thing
is, my Scoutmaster/Lawyer found a way of having the next scout campout we had
count as “community service”. To this
day, that man remains the only lawyer I’ve ever met that I trusted. Probably why it didn’t take me by surprise to
find out, a few years later, that he had quit the law profession to go to seminary to become a minister. Explains
a lot. The end result of all this was
that the ticket never hit my record, and I was still free and clear to go into
the Navy under the Sea College Program.
My eighteenth birthday came exactly one week before my first
day of Boot Camp. I decided to have a
birthday/going away party, and asked my Dad if he would let my friends come
over, and if he would buy us some beer.
To my immense surprise, he said
“Sure – but only if I can drink with you.”
Not a problem. I
readily agreed. That night, the four
guys I regularly hung around with and I went out and rented some bad “R” rated
movies, and headed over to my house for the festivities. We had invited some girls over, but since we
were such a bunch of nerds, none came.
Dad was true to his word. When we
all went downstairs to the TV room, there was a big washtub full of ice and
beer. The only problem was that Dad had
bought beer like he would have for he and his friends when THEY were eighteen,
and didn’t take into account that my friends and I didn’t drink, and I don’t
think any of us had ever had more than one beer at a sitting in our lives. Dad had three cases of beer iced down, and
told us he’d make a beer run if we needed later. We all kind of looked at each other, then
grabbed a can. By the time I finally fell asleep/passed out, I had thoroughly
disappointed my Dad.
I was the big drinker for the evening – I had put down six
whole cans!! Two years later, when I
came home from active duty, I was drinking a six-pack for breakfast! Ain’t it funny how times change?
One week later, the waiting was over. It was time to head off to face my future
head on.
CHAPTER FOUR: MEPS AGAIN
July 10th, 1988 – the day I was to leave for boot
camp. I had said my goodbyes to my
friends, packed my bags, and driven to the bus station with my Dad, where we
sat and waited for the bus to take me to Denver. Dad and I had always been close, and this was
the moment every father dreads. The
moment he has to realize his son has grown up and it’s time for him to leave
the nest. This is also the first time I
can remember ever seeing my Dad cry. The
bus pulled into the station, we hugged, said goodbye, and I got on board. There were tears in my eyes as well, as the
bus pulled out and rolled off into the great unknown. As I watched my hometown disappear in the
distance, the wide-open prairies of Wyoming that lay ahead of us seemed to me
like the oceans I was about to be sailing across. I was both terrified and excited of what lay
ahead.
I was headed to Denver to a motel for the night, then back to the
MEPS center again where I would be given my final orders sending me to
boot camp. From the MEPS center, it was a bus to the Denver airport, then a
plane to San Diego to report to the Recruit Training Command. There was no turning back now – all of the
preparation and anticipation was over. I
was officially an employee of the US Government, and shy Jerry Peterson, the
high school band geek nobody was about to be replaced by US Navy Seaman
Recruit H.J. Peterson.
The bus trip to Denver was the longest two hours of my
life, as I sat and wondered about what was to come, and what to expect. Of course I expected the worst, but I really
had no idea what lay ahead of me. I unloaded at the Greyhound station in Denver, then found my way over to the shuttle van headed to the La Quinta Inn. An hour later, I was once again laying in a motel room bed listening
to the parties rage in the rooms around me as I tried in vain to find
sleep. I remember watching the clock hit
3:00am, and buried my head under my pillow, knowing the wake up call came at 5. When it did, I drug myself out of bed, took a quick shower, got dressed and headed
down for breakfast. This time, I had
brought a comfortable old pair of Levi’s – no stonewashed dye-leakers this
time!! Breakfast was exactly the same as
last time, greasy bacon, runny eggs and warm orange juice. Remembering the lesson I learned on my last
visit, I forced myself to eat a full breakfast.
I wasn’t really sure when my next meal would be. After we ate, it was back on the shuttle van, and
off to the MEPS center.
Our group from the motel was split into two – half of us were off to boot
camp, and the other half were the brand new enlistees on their first visit to
MEPS. Since we were the “vets”, we took
pleasure in teasing the new guys about how bad the physical was going to be,
and telling them how mean everyone was.
We did a pretty good job psyching them out, and by the time we actually
got to the center, they were just as wide-eyed as we had been on our first
visit.
Once inside the MEPS, all of us who were headed to boot camp
were immediately sent down to our respective branch offices. There were about 20 of us going to the
Navy, so downstairs we went. Inside
the Navy office, we met with our detailers and were given a manila
envelope with our official orders inside, then sent back upstairs to the swearing-in room where we
took the Oath of Enlistment again. I actually
made it through this time – no passing out for me! When we were officially sworn in with orders
in hand, they split the Navy group into three smaller groups according to which
boot camp we were headed to – San Diego, Chicago or Orlando. There were seven of us from Denver MEPS
headed to San Diego together – Myself and six guys from Colorado. There was a kid from Pueblo, one from Colorado
Springs, a couple of guys from Longmont, one
from Nucla, and one from Craig. I
was the only one from Wyoming. The
seven of us were then sent outside to a military bus, which took us to Stapleton
International Airport to wait for our plane to San Diego.
We had a couple of hours to kill in the airport, so we went
and found the USO lounge where we talked to some guys who were already on
Active Duty, and listened to some war stories about boot camp. Suitably scared out of our minds, we left the
USO lounge and went to the gate to sit and talk amongst ourselves. We all seemed to get along well, and we hoped
we would be put into the same company when we got to boot camp. Mark Firman seemed to be the quintessential
“preppy”. His clothes, his attitude and
his talk all marked him as the leader of our little group. He was full of confidence, and seemed like
the most fit of all of us to face basic training head-on. How wrong we were. The change to come in Mark was one of the
most amazing things I have ever seen
As they readied our plane for boarding, I made a quick call
to my folks to tell them I was ready to leave.
Dad wished me luck and told me he loved me – something I knew, but had
rarely heard him say. Tears in my eyes,
and fear in my heart, I hung up the phone, took a deep breath and headed for
the plane. I was seated next to Mark,
while the other guys sat in the rows directly behind us. We spent the first half of the flight in good
spirits, laughing, joking and teasing each other about how we were going to get
kicked out of boot camp. The pilot came
on the loudspeaker and told us we were about a half hour away from San Diego,
and the mood became instantly somber.
Mark began asking questions – a torrent of questions.
“Can I do it? What are they going to do to us? How mean
are they going to be? Are they going to hit us? What if we can't do it?”
I looked over at this previously ultra-cool preppie and saw
in his stead, a shaking, teary-eyed, terrified kid. I forgot my own trepidation as I tried with
all my might to calm him down and assure him that everything would be
okay. By the time we landed, Mark didn’t
look like he was on the verge of tears anymore, but still wasn’t looking
terribly comfortable. It was too late to do anything about it, because we were in San Diego, and it was time to get on with the business of Boot Camp.
That story comes in Part Two.....Boot Camp
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