CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE:
PREPARATIONS FOR DEPLOYMENT
Our deployment date
for WestPac 1990 was set for January 12th. We were to be gone for six months, returning
on July 12th. This WestPac
was dubbed “The Farewell Tour”, as the Fresno, after twenty-plus years of
faithful service to her country, would be sent to the Reserve Fleet shortly
after her return. So, not only was this
MY last tour as an active duty sailor, but it was also the Fresno’s last tour
as an active duty ship. A more fitting
name than “The Farewell Tour” could not be found.
According to our official schedule, we were to make port
calls in the Philippines, Okinawa, Korea, Singapore, Hong Kong, Thailand and
Hawaii. We were also to stop at Iwo Jima
to help the Marines do a re-creation of their landing in WWII. There was no official word on if we were
going to be able to cross the equator and go through the Shellback ceremony, but
the rumors were quick to circulate that we would dip down and cross after we
left Singapore. Once the official
schedule came out, the whole thing seemed a lot more real to us. This was it – we were ready to head out for
six months on the open seas to go do what sailors do. Those of us who had been overseas before
spent our time telling the new guys what to expect and what kind of crazy
things were going to happen. The biggest
buzz on the ship seemed to be about going to Thailand. I had come on board about a month after the
Frez had been in Thailand in ’88, and all I heard about was how wild and crazy
the party scene was over there. I was as
excited as anybody about going.
Personally, the best thing about West Pac of ’90 was that I got out of
the Navy the day we got back. Actually,
my EAOS (End of Active Obligated Service) was July 11th, so I would
have to extend my enlistment for a day to make it back. It was a small price to pay, or so it
seemed. Besides - my Dad and my brother
were sounding excited about coming on the Tiger Cruise with us, and if I didn’t
extend, I would have been shipped stateside from Pearl Harbor and released from
there. I made the decision to go ahead
and extend and enjoy the entire ride.
Before we could leave on Pac, we had to get the Frez
ready. We had already passed all of our
training evolutions, and we were fully qualified and certified to head out. About the only problem we had during any of
our pre-deployment prep was the day we sailed down to the Weapons Station in
Seal Beach to get our ammo ration for the trip.
It was supposed to be just a quick half-day, sailing four or five miles
down the coastline to the ammo pier where the cranes would onload our
ammunition. We would then have working
parties put the ammo into our storage magazines, then pull out and head back to
Long Beach. It seemed pretty cut and
dried, and we left Long Beach with no problems.
When we got to Seal Beach, the tugs came out and tied up to the Frez and
helped guide us into the berthing slip.
That part was pretty much by the book. We pulled in, onloaded the ammo, then got set to leave. Then it all went south...
Either the tugs pushed too hard, or we didn’t crank the
rudder hard enough or something, because as we were supposed to push out from
the pier, it became obvious that something was very wrong. We were moving at the wrong angle, and as we
stood and watched from our perch by the gun mounts, we could see that we were
going to hit the pier – hard! We braced
for impact, as the Fresno tore into the pier and made mincemeat out of the wooden
bracing meant to cushion any such impact from the concrete pier. The sound was deafening as the ship tore into
the pier and you could hear metal and wood shriek as we continued on our path
of destruction. The tugs finally managed
to get us stopped, but not before we had torn all of the wooden timbers off of
the northernmost quarter of the pier. We
found out later that they had just rebuilt the pier, and we were the very first
ship to pull into the new slip.
Oops.
Years later, I got the story about what really happened from
one of the officers who had been on the bridge that day. Mr. Blackstock put it this way:
“I know
what happened at the ammo pier at Seal Beach when we hit the pier. I was driving
the ship!!. As we got underway we would put one engine forward and one engine
backward to twist the stern away from the pier, and then use the bow thruster
to push the bow off the pier. Basically walking the ship sideways. Well, the
bow thruster failed and wouldn't respond. We yelled at the tugs over the radio
to pull us off but they didn't respond quick enough... Broken pier facing!”
After we got back to Long Beach and assessed the damage, we
found a little dent and a lot of missing paint.
A little primer and a lot of haze gray later, and we were good as new –
can’t say as much for the ammo pier though.
I never did hear who they decided was at fault, but all of the Fresno
officers blamed the tug crews (and vice-versa, I’m sure).
The other big need the ship had before we left was
food. We had to pack on enough chow for
the 256 crew members and the 500 Marines we would be bringing on board. This wasn’t your ordinary food stores
onload. No, this was something special –
they loaded pallet after pallet of food onto the main deck via crane, and what
they couldn’t get on that way, we carried up from the pier. We spent the better part of a day taking food
down to the reefer decks and storing what we needed. Dehydrated milk, canned vegetables, frozen
meat – lots and lots of all of it. Food
was a definite priority for us – it was one of those things that you never
really thought about until you’d been out to sea for about 20 days and were
running out of fresh milk and fruits and vegetables. Everything got very bland and tasteless and
you’d have given your mother for a big glass of fresh, cold milk.
The onloads were soon complete. We were now full of ammo and groceries, and
we had topped off with fuel and oil in preparation of the big day. The time was flying by, and the closer we got
to the twelfth, the more nervous the crew got.
Especially the married guys, who were about to leave their families for
six months. You knew that everything was
going to be okay, but in the back of your mind, you were praying you didn’t
come back to the states to find out your wife had become a “WestPac Widow” –
one of the numerous gals who hung out at the base club, letting the guys buy
them booze and doing who knows what while their husbands were out to sea on
WestPac. I can honestly say, and with
some measure of pride, that I never once tried to hit on a WestPac Widow (well,
not in the States, anyway). I tried hard
to not fit into the old saying about sailors “You can trust ‘em with your
life, but not with your wife!”. I
had too much respect for my fellow sailors to try crap like that. Trust issues notwithstanding, leaving on a
six-month deployment had to be a very scary moment in any marriage. I guess that people who get married in the
service just have to know the deal going into it. I could have never done it – Hell, I don’t
think I could have even had a serious girlfriend and gone on Pac with a clear
conscience. My “girlfriend” Janet lived
in Wyoming, and as much as I wanted to think she was the one for me, I knew damn
well that there was no way I was going to stay faithful to her while I was
overseas. Life as a sailor was too
short, too fun and way too drunk to have to try to live with a conscience!
Ten days before we left on Pac, we finally got back the
results of our tests for Petty Officer.
They posted the results on the board by the Pass Office, and we all
crowded up the ladderback and into the p-way to look for our names. I was nervous, and really didn’t think I had
passed, but when I got there, and scanned the list I found my name. I trailed it over to the results and found
the word “PASS”!! That was it – I had
passed! I was now a Gunner’s Mate Guns
Third Class! I couldn’t believe it – I
had gone from an E-1 seaman recruit to an E-4 Third Class Petty Officer in just
18 months – the shortest possible time you could do it in the military. I was proud of my accomplishments – damn
proud. The other guys in my division,
Grace and Willis, passed as well. On
frocking day, after we left for Pac, the three of us would put on our crows at
the same time. The Fresno would have her
three new Gunner’s Mates, and Third Division would return to her glory
days. Or something like that.
Eight days before we were to leave, I was sent over to the
base dental clinic for a pre-deployment dental checkup. I was examined and they decided that I needed
to have a wisdom tooth pulled. Not just
one wisdom tooth, but possibly all FOUR of my wisdom teeth. Their thinking was, “If we just pull them all
now, he won’t have any problems with them later, while he’s out to sea”. I had never had any problems with my wisdom
teeth, but the dentist decided they had to come out anyway. Preventative Dentistry taken to the absurdly
extreme. They took my x-rays and made an
appointment for the next day to have my surgery.
When I arrived at the dentist’s office for my tooth
extraction the next afternoon, I was more than a little nervous. I had no idea what to expect, and I HATED
dentists! I had undergone more dental
work in the past year and a half than I had in the previous 18 years of my life
and was not terribly excited about yet another procedure. The dentist walked in and told me the
deal. He explained to me that of my four
wisdom teeth, three were coming in straight, while one was coming in crooked
and looked like it might cause me some problems. Unfortunately, he informed me, since it was
so close to closing time (and he had a tee time at 4:00), there would only be
time to pull three of the four teeth. He
decided to pull the three straight teeth and leave the crooked one to do later
– because it would take too long, and he might miss his golf date. I was a little perturbed, but with a mouth
full of Novocaine and various dental appliances, I had a hard time
complaining.
The dentist went right to work, and all I felt was my head
being jerked around as my teeth were rather forcibly extracted. Soon he stepped back and said,
“Huh – that went a lot quicker than I expected – I should
have numbed up that fourth one, I’ve got plenty of time”.
He then told me that I could just have it pulled after this
surgery had healed. I explained to him
that I was leaving on deployment in a week, and he told me,
“Well, then when you get back, come see me and we’ll pull
it.”
I informed him that I would be getting out of the Navy as soon
as I got home, to which he replied,
“Well then, just get a civilian dentist to do it – I’ve got
a tee time.”
He took off his gloves and walked out of his office, leaving
his assistant to clean me up. To this
day, I have three gaping holes in my jaw, and one crooked wisdom tooth that has
NEVER caused me any problems. You know,
I think there’s a reason that the military has free medical and dental care –
it’s because no one would ever PAY any of those doctors or dentists to work on
them! Regardless, I took my swollen and
bloody mouth back to the Fresno to rest for a couple of days, then got ready to
head out for WestPac of 1990.
The morning after wisdom tooth extraction surgery - January, 1990
Time was about up. We
were five days from leaving, and it was time to say goodbye to California and
the rest of the states for half a year.
We decided to say goodbye the only way we knew how – by getting
drunk. The Fourth Street crew
decided to get together one last time and head down to our old stomping grounds
and get good and drunk. We got a room at
a motel across from the City Center, drank a few primer beers, then headed on
down to The Mecca to tie one on. It was
a blast that night – the drinks, the friends, the parties. We had decided to leave Fourth Street and
head back to the motel, when who should come walking into the bar than Fat Moon
Rising and her ugly sister! I couldn’t
believe it! I tried to hide, but my
“friends” quickly pointed me out to her, and she came running over, like a dog
to a bone. I knew then that I had better
get really, really drunk to be able to deal with her, so I bellied up to the
bar and ordered up.
A few of the guys headed back to the motel, and some of us
stayed at the bar. Those of us who
stayed proceeded to get hundred-dollar drunk and were feeling absolutely no
pain come closing time. We were within
stumbling distance of the motel, so we lurched out of the bar and walked toward
our room. Fat Moon Rising and her sister
followed – as one of the guys had managed to get drunk enough to start hitting
up on the sister and had invited them back to party with us. I wanted to forget all about my previous
experience with the two of them, but that was not to be, as we found the room
and walked in. The guys who had left
early were in the midst of a card game, and there was plenty of booze to go
around, as we began to really tear it up.
Before you knew it, guys were passing out and just sleeping where they
fell. Before long the only people still
awake were me, Fat Moon Rising, and her sister, who was making out with the guy
who had brought her to the room (who, incidentally, was asleep and snoring as
she made out with him!). As much as I
drank, I could not get enough down to make me pass out, and before I knew it, I
had been talked into going into the bathroom with Fat Moon Rising, and wouldn’t
you know what happened next. I somehow
managed to perform my duties, and then I crawled out of the bathroom and passed
out, leaving her to sleep it off on the bathroom floor.
The morning sun came through the window and woke up nine
very hungover people. Eight sailors and
one ugly sister. The guys all asked what
happened to Fat Moon, and I told them that I honestly didn’t know. They asked me if I had done it with her, and
I told them that I didn’t really remember if I had or not, but I doubted
it. About then, the bathroom door
opened, and out walked Fat Moon, wearing nothing but a towel. Suddenly, it all became clear – and the howls
of laughter only added to my embarrassment.
As I stood there and tried to decide what to say to her, I heard Matt
Munderson starting up his truck in the parking lot, getting ready to
leave. I turned, bolted for the door,
sprinted down the stairs, and jumped in the back of his truck.
“Go! GO! GO!” I yelled.
And he went. I sat in
the back of the truck as we pulled out onto Ocean Boulevard and headed north,
toward the base – laughing at my good AND bad luck. Oh well, at least I knew I’d never have to
see her again. And this time, I was
right. I caught a lot of crap from the
guys I’d left in the room who had to try to get rid of her after I ran out, but
it seemed a small price to pay.
Two days before we were to leave port, Lusher, Haulin,
Powell and I decided to have a much smaller scale farewell party on our own. We got a motel room in the same neighborhood
as the City Center and made a run to Jack’s Liquor. We sat in the room and proceeded to drink
ourselves silly. I have two big memories
of this night, the first being the beer run.
As usual, we had run out of beer sometime around 10:00 that night and,
as usual, I was elected to go buy more beer at the grocery store down the block
because I supposedly looked the oldest.
I was drunk enough to agree and I headed out to the store to make the
acquisition. The problem was that I had
brought my camera with us that night, to get some pictures of our last night in
the States, and I had left it out in full view when I left the room. I made the purchase uneventfully and came
back to the room with our beer. As I was
putting the beer on ice, I noticed that my camera had been moved. When I picked it up and looked, there were a
few pictures missing.
Shots from our "farewell party" - Long Beach, CA January, 1990
“Who’s been screwing with my camera?” I asked.
No one would admit to anything, so I let it drop – no big deal, I thought. A month or so later, when I finally got the pictures developed, I was treated to snapshots of unidentified penises and rectums, courtesy of my friends in that motel room. I had just fallen victim to the world’s oldest party practical joke!!
The second memorable part was what happened the next
morning. As we woke up and crawled out
of bed, we found a few beers left. We
drank most of them before we left, but I ended up with two bottles of Beck’s
beer in my duffel bag when we packed up to head back to the ship. When we got back to our berthing area, I
stuffed the beers in my locker and promptly forgot all about them. It was illegal to have booze on the ship, but
I wasn’t too worried about it. I just
figured I’d drink them some night when we were out to sea and toss the empties
overboard. A week after we left the
states, I did just that, with the help of Jim Lusher.
Suddenly, there we were – January 11th,
1990. One day to go. The nerves and the excitement were electric,
as we hurriedly made our last-minute preparations. I went over to the base exchange and bought
some essentials – soap, toothpaste, shampoo, notebook paper and envelopes. Things that were cheaper there than they were
in the ship’s store. I made a few phone
calls to various family members to tell them goodbye, and then I called my
folks. I told them I would try to call
when I could, but not to expect much in the way of contact outside of a few
letters until July. It was an emotional
goodbye, but the sadness was tempered with the knowledge that in July, I’d be
coming home for good. Little was I to
know, that in six months’ time, there would be no way I could ever go home
again. From that point on, the address
I'd always had in Laramie, Wyoming would become “my parent’s house” and never
again my home. My transformation from
boy to man was a mere six months from its long and tumultuous completion.
The entire ship’s crew was to be onboard the Fresno by
midnight on the 11th, and muster was taken to ensure that we had everyone. We all made it to the ship, and that was the
first, and probably only, night in port I ever spent with the entire crew on
board. We all drifted off to sleep, with
the excitement of knowing that reveille brought with it the onset of WestPac
1990. And I, for one, was excited as
Hell about it!
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: UNDERWAY - WESTPAC 1990
From this point on in our story, I am relying on a daily
journal I kept for the entire six months of our deployment. I hung a calendar in the armory that one of my
Dad’s friends (and my old Scoutmaster), Dave Evans, had given me. It was a promotional calendar that Dave’s
company gave out, and the reason I liked it so well was that every month had a
different picture of Wyoming on it.
There were lots of shots of the Snowy Range mountains right above
Laramie, and it reminded me a lot of home.
A little piece of home was always nice to have when you were so far
away.
Every night (or the next morning…or if it was a particularly
drunk weekend – Monday morning), I would write down that day’s important events
on the corresponding space on the calendar.
I don’t know why I decided to do it, but as I write these memoirs, it
has become an invaluable tool. As I’m
finding from writing this story, the memory can play tricks on you –
rearranging times and locations, and inseparably intertwining fact and
fiction. Having this record in writing
is proof of all the stories, places and people I was involved with for the next
six months. Over the next section, I
will include those daily entries next to the corresponding dates, followed by a
bit more explanation when warranted. Let
us begin with the morning of January 12, 1990.
Friday, 12JAN90
ñ Bon Voyage!
ñ Not quite – try again tomorrow
ñ Water in oil of main reduction gear
The morning of January 12th dawned cold and
cloudy with a hint of rain in the air.
Not enough to dampen our spirits of impending adventure, however. We all got up at reveille, got dressed, ate
breakfast and headed out for quarters.
Once we had received our daily instruction, we went about our business of
securing for sea and getting ready to get underway. We were all so busy getting ready that we
didn’t have much time to think about the long trip ahead of us and being away
from home. We just did as we were
supposed to do and got ready to head out to sea.
Sea and Anchor Detail was set for 11:00 that morning. We were all to be wearing our Dress Blues,
manning the rails and standing tall for our departure. Several friends and family members of the Fresno
crew had come down to the pier to see us off and we were getting anxious to get
on with the show. Soon, it was 11:30, and
there had been no word to pull in the lines and have the tugs pull us away from
the pier. The sailors were getting as
restless as the friends and family standing on the pier, as we waited for the
word to be passed. Nothing
happened. And then, about a half hour
later, we got the word – they had found water in the oil of the main reduction
gear, and they were going to have to fix the problem before we could get
underway. WestPac ’90 had been delayed
for a day. Disappointed, we all went
down to our berthing areas and changed back into our dungarees and tried to
stay busy until liberty call.
The big debate was whether or not to let us leave the ship
that night. We waited and waited for the
word – we were ready to go have one last good drunk if they would let us
go. The ship’s officers must have
figured that out, because they decided that tonight would be just like last
night, in that everyone had to be back on board by midnight, and if we left the
ship, we had to stay on base. I went
over to Burger King for one last American meal, and then came back to the
Fresno like the rest of the crew, and went to bed, just waiting for January 13th. Leaving on the 13th – would it be
an omen for things to come? Most of us
just chalked it up to coincidence, but it languished in the backs of our minds
for the next six months.
Saturday, 13JAN90
ñ Finally, Underway WestPac '90
ñ Brought on AAV's
January 13th dawned much the same as the day before
– grey, cloudy and a touch of rain. They
called for Sea and Anchor Detail at 0700 and with no family and friends on the
pier to bid us adieu, and no fanfare of any kind, we threw off the lines and steamed
out of Long Beach Naval Station, finally underway for WestPac 1990. We steamed down the coast at full speed,
trying to catch up with our battle group, who was already one day ahead of
us. We steamed down to Camp Pendleton,
where we brought our Marine contingent onboard in their AAV’s (amphibious assault
vehicles).
Loading Marines and AAV's - Camp Pendleton, CA 13JAN90
Once we had a belly full of
Grunts, we pointed our nose out toward the open sea and opened the
throttle. We were finally fully loaded
and out to sea. There was absolutely no
turning back now – it was time to begin our WestPac deployment. The next six months would be full of
excitement – some planned and some not so planned! Nonetheless, it was exciting and fun – the
part of being in the Navy that makes it so different from any other branch of
service. This was where we sailors could
truly be sailors in every sense of the word.
So sit back, buckle up and come aboard, as we hit the open seas for
adventure! The first leg of our journey:
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: AT SEA – CALIFORNIA TO IWO JIMA
Headed out for open seas - 13JAN90
One last view of the California coast. 13JAN90
Six months of good times ahead - Haze Gray and Underway on WestPac '90 13JAN90
Sunday, 14JAN90
ñ GQ – Major fuel oil spray in #3 Engine Room
ñ First GQ on the gun mounts
ñ Class “C” fire in the bake shop
ñ Rough Seas!
Gloomy day at sea - 14JAN90
The next day, January 14th, was a rough way to
start off a deployment. The morning went
as any normal morning at sea would – breakfast, quarters and turn to. That’s when any similarities between this day
and any other day at sea stopped.
Sometime just before lunch, the General Quarters alarm sounded. At first, we thought it was just a drill like
the hundreds of time before, but it quickly became apparent that something was
really wrong. The cause of the GQ alarm
was determined to be a major fuel-oil spray in the number 3 engine room. Evidently, a line had ruptured, and the engines
were being sprayed with fuel. Luckily, a
fire did not erupt, but it was a scary moment for us. This GQ also marked my first General Quarters
on a gun mount. Up until this point, I
had been assigned as a member of a fire hose team, but since I was now
officially a part of Third Division as a Gunner’s Mate, I got to transfer to
the gun mounts as a gun captain during GQ.
It was an exciting change, but in actuality, GQ became rather boring, as
we just sat around on the gun mounts and waited for the other guys to put out
the fires or patch the holes or whatever – there just weren’t many GQ alarms
sounded for incoming aircraft or enemy ship sightings these days.
General Quarters was soon called off, as the spray was
contained, and things had been returned to normal. We all sighed in relief and went about the
jobs of securing from GQ – putting away the hoses and such. Once we got that all secured, we resumed the
day’s activities. The hours went by
quickly, and the excitement of the day was the topic of conversation all over
the Fresno. When the word was passed to
knock off ship’s work, we all retired to our berthing areas to watch a little
TV and write some letters or just veg out until time came for lights out. We all ate dinner, then were just relaxing
when the GQ alarm went off again. We
didn’t know if the problem was in the engine room again, and since our berthing
area was located directly over an engine room, we didn’t wait around to find
out. I grabbed my boondockers and lit
out for the gun mounts. On my way
through the p-way, they passed the word that the GQ alarm was for an electrical
fire in the bake shop. Once again, we
sat in the gun mounts while the guys below decks took care of the problem. The fire was quickly contained and GQ was secured. As we put things away – again – we began to
notice the rolling of the ship a little more. The seas were getting rougher,
and the Fresno and her flat bottom were beginning to take another pounding at
the hands of Mother Nature.
That night, as the ship rocked and rolled, I realized the
true bonus of being a Gunner’s Mate. The
guys in Third Division did not stand underway watches! Underway watch was a duty of the deck seamen
in First and Second divisions, so the Gunners in Third Division could sleep through
the night without interruption. I knew
there was a reason I had decided to strike out – I just hadn’t figured out exactly
what it was until now. Deployment began
to look even sweeter with the knowledge that every night would include an
uninterrupted eight hours’ sleep.
Monday, 15JAN90
ñ Zone Inspection
ñ Read “Topaz” by Leon Uris
ñ Registered for English 1301 & 1302
Tuesday, 16JAN90
ñ .50 cal shoot (Marines)
ñ P.O. Indoc started
ñ Started class – English 1301 - $37.00
The next few days were uneventful, as we became re-acquainted
with our at-sea schedules and routines.
Petty Officer indoctrination classes began for those of us who had been
promoted, and we received word that our frocking ceremony, when we became
“official” petty officers, was to be on the 20th. In addition to our Petty Officer classes, the
ship had offered us English classes for college credit. Through an educational enrichment program
with Central Texas College, our ship hosted an English professor, who sailed
with us for a couple of months and taught basic college English classes. If we successfully completed the classes, we
would get credit for our first year of college English. I was quick to enroll, and anxious to begin
my college career. The instructor was an
odd man with a huge mustache. He was
very much like a fish on a bicycle amongst the fleet sailors, but after our
first port visit to the P.I., he fit right in with the rest of us depraved
souls. His class was interesting, and I
did enjoy the chance to use my brain for something other than filling the space
between my ears. It cost me $37.00 to
enroll in the first semester's course – a relative bargain at today’s college
prices.
Wednesday, 17JAN90
ñ P.O. Indoc class
ñ English class
ñ Met up with Battle Group – USS Fort Fisher, USS Cleveland,
USS Peleliu, Samuel Gompers
Caught up to our battle group - USS Fort Fisher off the starboard beam - 17JAN90
On the 17th, we finally met up with the rest of
our battle group – the USS Fort Fisher, the USS Cleveland, the USS Peleliu and
the USS Samuel Gompers. They had all
left port on the 12th as scheduled, but our one-day delay took us
four days to make up for. When we met up
with them, we all steamed in formation on our way across the Pacific.
It was a really cool sight to see all of these ships along the horizon –
a show of Naval power that was an awesome sight to behold.
Thursday, 18JAN90
ñ Loaded SRBOCS
ñ Drove Mt. 32 for the first time
ñ Jim and I had one in the armory
Lusher having one in the armory 18JAN90
Might as well finish this one, too - 18JAN90
The following day was marked by a gun exercise in which I
got to drive the gun mount for the first time.
I had been moved from Gun Captain to LSO – which meant that I got to be
the one who sighted in on the target, elevated and trained the mount and pulled
the trigger. It was the job I had wanted
all along and couldn’t believe my lucky stars when they gave it to me. That night I celebrated in my own special way
– I had a beer in the armory. Okay – I
wasn’t alone, but I celebrated nonetheless.
Jim Lusher and I took those leftover Beck’s beers from our “farewell
party”, and went down to the armory where we locked the door and cracked the tops. We toasted our upcoming trip, and our recent
luck – Jim was striking out of Deck Department on his way to Third Division as
well – and we enjoyed two warm Beck’s beers.
They tasted great, and the complete illegality of our activity only
added to our enjoyment. Such was the
life of a sailor…well, a drunk sailor, anyway.
Friday, 19JAN90
ñ Unrepped with the USNS Cimmaron
ñ Unloaded SRBOCS
ñ English class
ñ Linethrower for unrep – didn't shoot
ñ Rained like Hell
Saturday, 20JAN90
ñ Frocking Ceremony
ñ I am now GMG3
ñ English Class
ñ Still Raining
Since we had left California, the seas had been getting
progressively worse, and by the 19th of January, we had sailed
directly into our first big storm. The
rains began to fall, and the seas got rougher and rougher by the minute. The next day, the 20th, the
weather outside could not dampen the spirits of the twenty or so of us who had
made rate however, as this was the day for our Frocking Ceremony. The Captain held a Captain’s Call on the mess
decks, and all of us new petty officers were front and center. The captain conferred onto us our new charges
as Petty Officers. We were proud new
PO’s and all sporting fresh crows on our sleeves. What we weren’t prepared for, however, was
what came immediately after the ceremony.
Because as soon as the Captain was done with his part, he turned us over
to the ship’s company, and all of the guys who were already Petty Officers
formed a gauntlet for us to walk through.
It was then that we were informed of the old Navy tradition of Frocking
Day.
BM3 Cravens on Frocking Day 20JAN90
It turns out that in celebration – and to make sure that the
crow stays put, and we never lose it – all of the other P.O.’s on the ship take
turns “sticking” our crow onto our arm.
This sticking could be more fittingly described as “punching the crap
out of” as we were bombarded with fists to the bicep. Every PO we walked past got one free shot at
our new crow, and they would wind up and let you have it as hard as they
could. After the first three or four,
your arm went pretty much numb, and most of the guys didn’t hit as hard as they
could. Everyone that is, except for MSC
Morell. Chief Morell has well known for
his frocking day prowess. It was no
secret that he would be the worst of the bunch, and as we made our way through
the gauntlet, we could see him standing there with a twinkle in his eye, just
waiting to administer a little pain. As
I got closer to the chief, I could see him wailing on the guys in front of
me. His punches were dropping guys to
their knees, and everyone was clutching their arm in agony after he would blast
them. As I got closer and closer to the
chief, I felt the other Petty Officers' blows less and less – just knowing that
true pain waited mere steps ahead of me.
I finally made it up to where the chief waited. He asked if I was ready, and I nodded a hesitant
“yes”. The chief wound up and hit me in
the arm. It was the most incredible pain
I had ever felt. That one punch to the
arm sent waves of pain through me that I had never imagined. His technique had obviously been perfected
after years of pounding on new Petty Officers and he was proud to display his
skill for all to see. I was seeing stars
and felt my knees get wobbly after the punch – it was absolutely
incredible. My arm went completely numb
and just hung limply at my side. I
shuffled through the rest of the gauntlet with no feeling in my newly-frocked
left arm.
GMG3 Peterson on Frocking Day - 20JAN90
The same could be said for the rest of the new PO’s, and as
we gathered in the berthing area, we were all sporting swollen red left arms. We were congratulating ourselves on making it
through, when another line of Petty Officers came into the berthing area. These were guys who had been on watch or
somehow unable to make it to the ceremony.
Tradition still held that every PO on the ship got the chance to frock
us, so we lined up again and took our medicine.
By this point, our arms were completely dead, and I was beginning to
fear permanent damage! I decided to stop
waiting for guys to come find me to hit me, and I went out in search of guys
who hadn’t frocked me yet. I would walk
up to them, bare my arm and let them have their shot. This plan reaped big dividends for me later
that evening.
The dividends came in the person of one of the Enginemen – I
believe it was EN2 Hammil. Horror
stories had begun to circulate that he had a shot that was every bit the equal
of MSC Morrel. Guys were trying
everything they could to avoid taking a second shot like that, so they avoided
the engine rooms, where he was on watch.
I knew that it was coming sooner or later, so I decided to take it like
a man, and went down to Main Control and proffered my arm for its final and
complete destruction.
“What are you doin’ down here man?”
“I came for you to frock me.
I heard you’re killin’ guys, and I want to get it over with – so go
ahead and finish the job”.
“You came lookin’ for me?”
“yup”
“That’s impressive – tell you what though, I’ll get you
later tonight, when I’m off watch. Don’t
worry, I’ll come find you…but thanks for lookin’ me up”.
I left the engine room disappointed that I wouldn’t be able
to finish my torture quite yet, and I searched out the rest of the men
qualified to frock me. By the time I had
made the rounds, my arm had swollen quite a bit. The once-roomy sleeve of my shirt was now
tight, as my engorged bicep throbbed with blood and bruised muscle. I made my way back down to my berthing area
and sat on my bunk, exhausted and in pain, but proud that I had finished what I
had started. About an hour later, EN2
Hammil came down into the berthing area, looking for all of us newly-minted
Petty Officers.
“Alright – here I am…on your feet”.
I wearily got to my feet and turned my arm toward him. Jon Grace, who had not followed me to find
Hammil earlier in the day, stood up as well.
Since he had been a S.E.A.L., he thought he was above it and that no one
could hurt him.
I winced and waited for the blow to come. Hammil wound up and let it fly. But the pain never came. He had stopped his fist a half inch from my
arm, and then he lightly tapped me.
“That’s for comin’ to find me – took a lot of balls, man”
and he shook my hand in congratulations.
Grace kind of chuckled and turned his arm towards Hammil –
“okay man, go ahead, show me what you got”
Hammil smiled, wound up and let it fly. Only this time, he didn’t stop a half inch
shy of the arm - he punched straight into it as hard as he could! The blow was amazing. Grace rocked back on his heels and howled in
pain as he got absolutely blasted.
Grace looked at Hammil,
“Holy Shit! – that hurt!”
Hammil looked right back at him “That’s for not
having the balls to come find me.”
And he turned and left.
Grace shot me a look of utter contempt as he rubbed his injured
arm. I smiled with satisfaction and a
certain amount of smugness, as I turned in for the night. The pain in my arm had faded immensely about
the time Hammil tore into Grace, and I drifted off to sleep proud that I hadn’t
run from anyone and that I had stood up for myself once again. I was now officially GMG3 Peterson, and it
felt good.
Sunday, 21JAN90
ñ Holiday Routine
ñ Passed Hawai'i
ñ My arm hurts like Hell!
ñ Rough Seas
Lucky for the new PO's,
the next day was Sunday, and they called a Holiday Routine, which mean
that we didn’t have to do any work. We
just kind of hung out and let our arms heal up.
It was on this day that we sailed past the Hawaiian Islands. It was still raining and the seas were still
rough, so we couldn’t see the islands, but we did notice the temperature
beginning to rise.
Monday, 22JAN90
ñ Did pre-fire checks on mounts
ñ 32 all dicked up
ñ Fired right gun, left will fix tomorrow
ñ English class – I'm lost
ñ Got a haircut
Monday, the 22nd of January, was much the same as
the other days at sea – they were all beginning to blend together into an
indistinguishable blur of day and night, to be told apart only by what they
were serving on the mess decks – oatmeal or hamburgers. Such would be the way most of the next six
months would go. Time at sea went quickly,
and unless you forced yourself to pay attention to what day it was, you would
lose track. Since there were no
“weekends” at sea, Monday was just the same as Sunday as was Thursday and so
on. I actually think this helped us to
forget exactly how long we were supposed to be gone. When you count day by day, six months is a
long, long time, but when you have no sense of time, it goes by rather quickly. I’ve heard that men in prison have a similar
concept of time, and I guess if you really think about it, there’s not much difference
between a man in prison and a sailor on a ship in the middle of the ocean. The only difference is the fact that we know
we can leave the ship when we get to port – there is no parole board for
us. During my time on active duty, I
found the similarities between military life and incarceration way too close
for my liking. Kind of scary, really.
Tuesday, 23JAN90
ñ Today did not exist – it was merely a figment of your
imagination
The next day, January 23rd, 1990, did not
exist. Actually, we sailed across the
international date line, so we skipped right from the 22nd to the 24th. Conversely, on our way back across, we would
have two of the same day to make up for the difference. I just know that in my daily log, my entry
for January 23rd says “Today did not exist – it was merely a figment
of your imagination”. It was kind of a
cool deal, really – it was the first time I had ever crossed the international
date line, and yet another sign that I was real, honest-to-God sailor.
Wednesday, 24JAN90
ñ Crossed the Int'l date line
ñ Fixed Mt. 31
ñ Had GQ – couldn't do LSO, so I was a gun captain
ñ Figured out “Easy Cheese”
ñ Finished “The Wall”
ñ Calm Seas
ñ English Class
SN Ford mans the sound-powered phones - 1990
Thursday, 25JAN90
ñ Turned Mt. 31 over to Marines
ñ Had a Pac Fire drill
ñ Found out we're not going to Singapore
ñ Wrestled in the Tank Deck
GMG3 Peterson in the Armory - 1990
The next week at sea settled down into our usual pattern of
work, training and vain attempts to fill the remaining time. We watched a lot of movies on our Site TV
system – basically it was just a VCR tied into every TV on the ship. They sent a bunch of movies with us when we
left, and they would play them at night to give us something to watch if we
wanted. We must have watched “Top Gun” a
million times. When we got into port for
a couple of days, they would send us new movies to update our library, but for
the most part, the selection was very limited.
We watched things like the “Rocky” movies and old John Wayne
movies. Aside from movies, we did a lot
of reading and letter writing to pass our time.
The ship had a little library down in the Crew’s Lounge – our TV
room/Library/Weight room. It was small,
hot and cramped, and because of the gym equipment, it usually smelled pretty
gamy. But there were books down there,
and I availed myself to them on an almost daily basis.
According to my log, the big excitement of this week at sea
was figuring out how “Easy Cheese” worked.
We had an extended GQ drill one day, and those of us on the gun mounts
had nothing to do, so we sat and BS’d and ate cheese and crackers. After the cheese was gone, I asked Jon Grace
if he knew how the can of Easy Cheese worked.
He admitted he didn’t, so we broke out a knife and proceeded to dissect
the can. It was a pretty simple process,
really – they just use compressed air or gas under a plastic disc at the bottom
of the cheese. As you depress the
nozzle, the gas in the bottom of the can expands, and forces the cheese out of
the tip. We felt as though we had
uncovered one of the world’s Great Mysteries that day! The other excitement during the week was when
the Marines broke out their wrestling mats on the tank deck and invited us
sailors to come down and wrestle them. I
spent a couple of nights down there, but my severely limited athletic prowess
proved to be my undoing, as I got whomped in nearly every match.
Friday, 26JAN90
ñ Field Day!
ñ Fixed the mounts
ñ Wrestled Grace – got pinned
ñ English Class
ñ Getting warmer
Saturday, 27JAN90
ñ Loaded SRBOCS Again!
ñ Did sprinkler tests
ñ Got switched to Sec. II
ñ Found out we may cross the line after all
ñ English Class
Sunday, 28JAN90
ñ Got mounts ready for tomorrow
ñ Had a picnic on Steel Beach
ñ Showed “Rocky I-IV”
ñ Played Spades with Matt, Mitch & Kevin
Scenes from a Steel Beach Picnic 28JAN90
Monday, 29JAN90
ñ Quick Draw Gun Fire - 1st loader
ñ Soviet “Bear” Bomber flew over, observing
ñ English class
ñ Found out Denver lost Superbowl, 55-10
As we neared our first stop, Iwo Jima, it began to get noticeably warmer. Warm to the point where you definitely didn’t
need anything more than a T-shirt when you were topside, and the unventilated
spaces below decks became uncomfortably warm and stuffy. On January 29th, we were paid a
visit by the Soviet Air Force. A “Bear”
Bomber flew over us, checking us out. We
all ran topside to check him out. There
was no general quarters alarm, we just wanted to see what a Soviet plane looked
like. It was just a big silver plane
with a bright red star on the side. It
flew so close we could see the pilots inside.
I tried to take a couple of pictures of it, but my little fixed-focus
35mm camera just showed a silver dot in the sky. It was really pretty cool and was our first
run-in with the Soviets. It wouldn’t be
the last.
Soviet 'Bear' bomber overhead - 29JAN90
This was also the day I got
some terrible news from home. We finally
got the news, via radio, that the Denver Broncos had lost the Super Bowl 55 to
10. I was crushed – the Broncos are my team
and I’m a rabid fan. I had made bets
with guys all over the ship, just sure they’d win. I spent that evening making good on bets –
buying guys cigarettes and candy bars and sodas to repay my debts (yet another
similarity to prison life!). Damn Broncos,
anyhow.
Tuesday, 30JAN90
ñ Worked on mount 31 – finally got coms fixed
ñ Getting close to Iwo Jima
ñ Went on water hours – no fresh H2O
The day before we got to Iwo Jima, the ship went on “water
hours”. Evidently, we had begun to run
out of fresh water, and we couldn’t make enough to keep up with our
consumption. When you go on water hours,
it means that you use only the absolute minimum of fresh water – no excessive
toilet flushing or leaving the water run while you’re shaving or brushing your
teeth. Showering was limited to “Navy
Showers” – get wet, turn the water off, soap up, turn the water on, rinse off,
get out. As quick as you could – a
two-minute shower was the norm. Fresh
water was reserved for the mess decks – you gladly gave up long showers in
return for hot coffee in the morning. As
soon as they could, they would make more fresh water with the desalinization
tanks, and Water Hours would be canceled.
Either that, or you waited until you pulled into port and could hook up
to the potable water connections on the pier and fill up the storage
tanks. Since there was no pier in Iwo
Jima, we would have to wait until we pulled into Okinawa six days later, to top
off our tanks. The cooks quit making
kool-aid, and instead gave us canned fruit juices. All but a couple of the drinking fountains
were shut off, and the ship laundry was shut down. It got mighty stinky mighty quick on board
the Fresno, but sacrifices had to be made all the way around.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: IWO JIMA TO OKINAWA TO THE PHILIPPINES
Wednesday, 31JAN90 – IWO JIMA
ñ Debarked AAV's & LARCs
ñ Got put on hose team for flight quarters
ñ Medivac'd RM1 Young due to heart issues
ñ English Class
Iwo Jima on the horizon - 31JAN90
Mt. Suribachi barely visible - 31JAN90
Iwo Jima from the port bridge wing lookout - 31JAN90
January 31st 1990, our first real sighting of
land in almost three weeks. Even though
we wouldn’t be going ashore, just the sight of terra firma was a welcome relief
from the endless horizon-to-horizon blue we had seen since we left the
States. We arrived at Iwo Jima to deploy
our Marines for a re-creation of the WWII landings at around 8:00 in the
morning. As we neared the island, my
lifelong fascination with WWII history was playing Hell with my attempts to get
my work done for the day. I was
continually going topside to see what I could see. The closer we got to the island, the more I was
amazed. Iwo Jima was just a tiny, tiny
dot of land in the middle of the ocean.
It was just a mile or so wide, and seemingly just a couple of miles
long. It was totally flat, with the
exception of Mount Suribachi at one end of it.
We lost a lot of men taking this island during the war, for the purpose
of establishing an air base to refuel our bombers on their way to the Japanese
homeland. Mount Suribachi, the site of
the famous flag raising picture from WWII, was oddly out of place on this tiny
island – it stuck up like a big pimple from one end of the otherwise flat and
undistinguished hunk of land. The sands
were all black volcanic sand, and there was really no sign of the horrendous
fighting that had taken place on the island some 50 years earlier – at least
nothing that we could see from off the shore.
We dropped the stern gate and let the Marines out in their AAV’s so they
could “storm” the beach and try to re-create their famous landings.
One of the sailors got to go ashore as well. My good friend, MR3 Kent Pulling had taken to
hanging out with a few of the Marines down in the MR shop. It was the “redneck hangout” on the ship, and
I became part of that group a few months later.
Kent had decided that he wanted to go ashore with the Marines, so he and
his Jarhead buddies came up with a story.
They went and told the Marine C.O., who in turn told the Fresno C.O.,
that Kent’s Dad had been a Marine during WWII and had come ashore at Iwo
Jima. They said that his Dad would be so
proud of his son if Kent could bring him back a jar of sand from the
beach. Well, everyone bought the story
they’d cooked up, and Kent got to play Marine and go ashore. Captian Worrell even made the announcement to
the Ship’s Company that Kent was going ashore in memory of his Dad. Those of us that knew it was all BS tried our
best to maintain our composure, as everyone else marveled at how cool it was
that Kent could go do something like that for his Dad. Hell, during WWII, Kent’s Dad was maybe
five years old! Makes you wonder what
else guys got away with that no one ever knew about, doesn’t it?
We sat anchored off of Iwo Jima for two days. During the first day, and after we had sent
the Marines ashore, I got called into the Engineering office. They asked me if I would be willing to become
part of the Helo Hose Team. I was pretty
excited, really. The Helo Hose Team were
the guys who manned the firehoses during flight quarters. We were the guys who were supposed to put out
the flaming helicopters that crashed on our helicopter landing pad during
flight ops. They asked me to be the #1
plugman. My job would be to sit next to
the water pipe the firehoses were hooked to, and if a helicopter crashed, I was
supposed to turn the water on, and charge the hoses. The only problem with that was that I was the
closest man to the flight deck on the starboard side. If a helicopter crashed into the starboard
side of the ship, I’d be dead in about two seconds. That thought didn’t worry me too much, as I was
busy counting my bonus pay. They had
informed me that, as a member of the Hose Team (affectionately called the
“Crash and Smash” team), I would get an extra $110 a month in Hazardous Duty
pay, as long as we made at least 10 landings a month. We all loved the first 10 helo landings every
month, but after the 11th one got there, flight quarters got to be a
big drag! Money is a supreme
motivational factor, and the military is no difference – even when your life is
on the line.
Later that day, I got to record my first helo landing, as we
had to Medi-Vac one of our crew off the ship.
RM1 Young had heart problems or something (as a two-pack a day smoking
habit will do to you) and they had to call in the medics to fly him out to a
nearby ship with better medical facilities than we had. I got to don my red crash helmet, goggles,
fire-retardant shirt and safety vest for the first time. I crouched by the fire plug and watched a
helicopter fly straight toward me, on it’s way to a perfect landing. It was scary as Hell the first time, and I
wasn’t exactly sure that $110 a month was going to be worth it! But, as it turned out, the helo missed me,
and landed right where it was supposed to. My faith was restored, and I started
counting the money, and all the San Miguels it would buy when we got to the
P.I.
JAN90:
Deployment day 1-20 Underway – 18 days In Port – 0 days
Thursday, 1FEB90 – IWO JIMA
ñ Got Mail – 2 letters from Janet, 1 from Kendrith, 1 from Mr.
H.
ñ Still getting
papers
ñ PAYDAY! $152.00
ñ Marines came back
Anchored off the coast of Iwo - 01FEB90
The next day, February 1st, we spent the morning
sitting off the coast of Iwo, waiting for the Marines to come back. We landed another couple of helos, and one of
them brought us mail – our first Mail Call since we had left the states. They carried bag after bag of mail off the
helicopter, and PCSN Bale went to work.
About two hours after the helo left, they passed the word for Mail Call
– it was like a cattle stampede, as each division sent a representative to pick
up their division’s mail. I was nervous
– I just knew that I would have a letter from Janet waiting for me. I had written her a couple of letters before we left, and was
anxiously awaiting her reply to see if she even remembered me.
When GMG2 Muna came down to the armory with the mail, there
wasn’t one, but TWO letters from Janet for me!
I was excited and dug right in to read them. I also go a letter from my friend Kendrith,
and one from my old high school band director.
In addition, there were still a few papers from my hometown. I had canceled my subscription, but
evidently, they hadn’t got it stopped before we headed overseas. It was kind of nice to read all the news from
home, though. Janet’s letters were even
better – not only had she remembered who I was, she was absolutely ecstatic to
have heard from me again! She told me
all about herself, and promised to write all the time, if I’d do the same. This was it – I finally had a
girlfriend! Well, at least as close as I
had ever come to one – any port in a storm, I guess.
This was also payday.
I got the princely sum of $152 for the two-week pay period, and was glad
to get it. I had begun a direct deposit
of $400 a month into my bank account at home, so I would have something
left when I got back for college, instead of spending it all on booze and
tattoos overseas! It turned out to be a
great decision, and I found that I could get by well on just $300 a month. I only had to turn to the slushers a couple
of times during our deployment. They
paid us in cash, so we all went and stashed our cash in our lockers and
returned to work, just counting the days until we could spend it on beer and
girls in the Philippines (just 10 more!).
After payday, we brought our Marines back on board and headed out to
sea, and on towards a quick stop in Okinawa before we got to the real fun in
the Philippines. Just another day in the
life of a sailor on deployment.
Friday, 2FEB90
ñ Did PMS on M-14's
ñ Made GMG stencil
ñ Approved for Helo hose team
ñ English class
Saturday, 3FEB90
ñ UNREP with USNS Passumpsic
ñ English Mid Term – Multiple choice part
ñ Line thrower for UNREP – Didn't shoot
As we turned the ship around and headed back to sea for a
quick three-day steam to Okinawa, you could feel the mood of the crew lighten a
bit. The sight of land, mail from home,
and the knowledge that there was liberty in Okinawa in just three more days made for a happy
crew. We were in high spirits as we
headed out to refresh our supplies, pick up mail and get drunker than
skunks. The three days from Iwo Jima to
Okinawa were uneventful – according to my log, about the only meaningful
activity we undertook was our first underway replenishment of deployment. The USNS Passumpsic came alongside, and we
topped off on fuel. Since I was now a Gunner’s
Mate, my job during UNREP was to stand by to send a line over to the other
ship. In order to do this, I was armed
with an M-14 rifle loaded with blanks.
Attached to the end of the rifle was a plastic container with a roll of
orange nylon cord (“shot line”) and a rubber plug. The gases from the discharge of the blank
would expel the plug a good distance – sending it over onto the deck of the
other ship, where their crew would pick it up attach another, much bigger line
to the cord. Our crew would haul the
shot line back over with the bigger line attached to it and tie the bigger line
off on our side. The ship we were UNREPing
with would then attach the fuel hoses or whatever they were sending over to
that line, and we would pull that over to our side, hook it up and fill our
tanks. It was a really neat process to
watch, and it was all accomplished while we were under steam at full
speed. According to what we were told,
the US Navy was the world’s only Navy who had truly mastered the art of the full-speed
UNREP.
GMG3 Peterson - UNREP line thrower ready to shoot 03FEB90
UNREP line tenders - 03FEB90
Hooked up to the Passumpsic with the USS Fort Fisher keeping an eye out - 03FEB90
UNREP with the USNS Passumpsic - 03FEB90
Usually, during UNREP, we received the shot from the other
ship, and I just stood there with my M-14 in hand, looking important. This UNREP was no different. The USNS Passumpsic sent over their line, and
I didn’t get to shoot. It’s okay though,
because if you miss the other ship with the plug, you end up the target of
endless ribbing from your crew. If you
don’t shoot, you can’t miss – that was my philosophy on the whole thing,
anyway.
At the end of our UNREP, as we pulled away from the
Passumpsic, our break away song came blasting over the speakers – “Welcome to
the Jungle / we got what you need / you can have anything you want / but you
better not take it from me….” Ahh yes,
the Fresno’s break away song – what a fitting composition!
Sunday, 4FEB90
ñ Shot the M-14 with the Captain
ñ Safety Stand down – VD Films!
ñ Holiday Routine
ñ Rained all day
The day before we got to Okinawa, the C.O. decided to do a
little target shooting from the bridge wings.
He broke out his M-14 and some ammo and started taking potshots at
garbage that one of the ships ahead of us had dropped over the side. I ran up to the bridge to find out where the
hell the gunshots were coming from.
Captain Worrell saw me about the time I saw him, and he just smiled.
“Grab a rifle and come shoot with me” he said.
Well, you didn’t have to ask me twice – I spun around and
double-timed it back to the armory where I grabbed another M-14 and a box of
ammo. I went up to the bridge, loaded my
rifle and spent about a half an hour shooting with the Captain. It was a blast, and a real flashback to the
countless hours I spent shooting cans with my Dad when I was a kid. I don’t think I had ever been happier at sea
than at that particular moment. We
finally had to call an end to our target shooting as a light rain began to turn
into something much heavier. I took the
C.O.’s rifle down to the armory for cleaning and then headed down to the
berthing area for what they called a “Safety Standdown”.
The Safety Standdown consisted of an hour of watching VD
films over the Site TV system. Since we
were getting near the P.I., the ship’s medical crew thought they’d take the
precaution to warn us all about what to expect when we got there. The memory of my last experience in the P.I.
hadn’t completely faded from my mind, and I was more than aware of the danger
of going out unprotected. I guess the VD
films were a good scare tactic for some of the booters, but I was pretty much
scared straight by personal experience!
There would be no ungloved love for this sailor!
Monday, 5FEB90 – Okinawa (Duty)
ñ Got signed off for Aftersteering
ñ Mail Call – box from home
ñ Didn't get to leave the ship
The next morning was bittersweet. I was excited at the prospect of finally
getting to set foot on terra firma, but before I could get too excited, I
realized that I had switched duty sections with Jon Grace a week or so earlier and as a result, I had duty that night, so I wouldn’t be leaving the ship after
all! Shit. Oh well, it was only another week at sea
before we made it to the P.I., and since I had duty on this day, I would have
the first two nights of liberty in the P.I. to raise Hell. Besides, they had told everyone that they
weren’t allowed to leave the base on liberty that night since we had to leave
early the next morning. I kept telling
myself that the base club in Okinawa couldn’t be that different from base clubs
anywhere else we’d been. I kept telling
myself that, but inside, I was jealous as Hell!
Okinawa from Buckner Bay - 05FEB90
When we finally got to Okinawa, it was a gray, overcast
day. We sailed into Buckner Bay and then
on towards the pier. We tied up pierside
and took on food stores and a lot of other consumables that we needed. We had mail call again, and I got a box from
home – there is nothing like a care package from your Mom to make your
day! As ship’s work came to an end and
they passed the word for liberty call, I watched guys literally run to the
berthing area to get dressed and head off the ship. The guys in my duty section just sat and
watched them go, wishing like Hell that is was us. At this point I had not left the ship in 23
days.
I stood a quarterdeck watch that night and got to watch a
lot of the guys stumbling back from the base club. Nearly everyone was completely drunk, and
those who weren’t were carrying those who were unable to walk. It was pretty funny, really. I just laughed and helped them aboard, just
knowing that I’d be in the same shape in about a week, after our first night of
liberty in the Philippines. I turned in
that night and fell asleep listening to the drunken snoring and sounds of
severely inebriated men trying to find their way into their racks in the
dark. My time was coming, and I fell
asleep just counting the days until we hit port in the P.I..
Tuesday, 6FEB90
ñ Did PMS on .50 cals
ñ Flight Quarters – on hose team, but not really
ñ read “High Lonesome” and “Buckskin Run”
The next morning, we left port and hit the open ocean headed
toward the Philippines. The crew was
strangely quiet and slow-moving, as the first hangover of deployment reared her
ugly head for two-thirds of our crew.
Those of us who had stayed on board that night carried the majority of
the load that day, as we knew that one day it would be our turn to need a
little “help” after a night out on town.
That’s the way it was with our crew – you stood up for your shipmates
and did whatever you could to help them out, because you knew they would return
the favor to you next time around. The
Fresno may have been old, and she may have seen her better days, but her crew
was a family and we knew we could count on one another for anything. Most of the other ships knew this, and to my
surprise, the word was out at a lot of the ports we pulled into as well. Some of the bars overseas threw their doors
open to us and welcomed us with open arms, while others wanted nothing to do
with the Fresno or her crew. We worked
hard, we lived hard, and we partied even harder. That’s just the way it was – and we were
proud to be part of it.
WestPac '90 Battle Group off Okinawa
Wednesday, 7FEB90
ñ GQ Drills – Abandon Ship
ñ Passed the island of Bataan
ñ Flight Quarters
ñ English Class – got assignment for Mid Term
The next six days were as packed full of training as any
week of our deployment would be. Our
steam from Okinawa to the Philippines only took three days, but we spent
another three days there doing training operations before we pulled onto Subic
Bay. Along the way from Okinawa, we
passed the island of Bataan – yet another key island in the Pacific Campaign of
WWII. I found it to be really amazing to
actually see the places I had heard so much about in the history books and seen
in the old films. It was really hard to
imagine the horrors that had occurred during the war – things like the Bataan
Death March and such. It really did make
you appreciate all of the freedoms we appreciate and take for granted. Those guys 50 years earlier had sacrificed
more than I can imagine in hot, steamy jungles half a world away from
home. I was overcome with a newfound
sense of respect and admiration for our WWII vets as I watched the islands pass
by.
Thursday, 8FEB90
ñ Flight Quarters
ñ Landed a Cobra
ñ Did DC
ñ Had Refugee Drill – manned shotgun
ñ Getting really hot
SN Judson uses a handy AC vent to keep cool in his rack - 08FEB90
Friday, 9FEB90
ñ In P.I.
ñ 2:30am reveille
ñ Debarked AAV's
ñ Mail Call – Helo'd on – got an AT&T bill
ñ Gun Shoot – first time as LSO – right on target
ñ Got Flight Deck PQS
Saturday, 10FEB90
ñ Did 2 beachings
ñ Embarked AAV's – let them go, and picked them back up
ñ In Subic Bay
ñ Locker search for Judson's $$
ñ Wrote lots of letters
Beaching Ops - Philippines
As we got closer and closer to our goal – Subic Bay Naval Station, the
temperature began to get hotter and hotter and the humidity rose to stifling
levels. The seas were smooth and the
breezes began to die down. It was hot
and sweaty work just to climb a set of stairs on the ship. Welcome To The Jungle, Baby! Literally.
The inescapable theme of our story had chased me down once again. During our week of training, we did things
like abandon ship drills, refugee drills, gun shoot exercises, beachings, AAV
unloading and loading and causeway marriages.
Basically, every evolution that our ship could possibly accomplish, we
did. We landed a few helicopters,
including a Sea Cobra assault helicopter (which was really cool!) and we stood
planeguard as the USS Peliliu sent her Harriers and helicopters through their
paces. It was a very busy week, and by
the time we had finished, we were more than ready to pull in for a little
R&R.
SN Powell, SN Ford and BM3 Hickersham try to keep cool during night ops - 1990
Sometime during all of the training, we got an itinerary for
our port visit in Subic Bay. On the
itinerary was a listing of all of the activities available on base, and one of
the activities was an all-ship soccer tournament. I had been a soccer player since about 3rd
grade, so I set out to find enough other guys on the Frez to make up a
team. It took a couple of days, but we
finally put together our team, with me as the coach. We really thought we stood a chance with no
place to practice and no soccer balls to practice with. We just figured we’d show up and kick a
little ass. Our first game was three
days after we docked, and that’s exactly how long it took for reality to sink in
about team’s chances. Well, actually the
other team didn’t show for that game, but the game after that taught us
our lesson!
Sunday, 11FEB90
ñ Did causeway marriages
ñ Downloaded .50's and SRBOC's
ñ GQ Drill – Kamikaze Helo
ñ Plane guard
ñ Started soccer team
It was now February 11th, 1990 – almost one month
to the day we were supposed to have left the states. We were five months away from home, and about
ten hours away from our first port visit to the Philippines. Sleep did not come easy that night, as those
of us who had been there before knew what to expect, and those of us who had
never been there kept hearing the stories from those of us who had. Any way you sliced it, everyone was excited
for one reason or another as the next day would begin an eleven-day port visit
to Subic Bay! It was party time for the
Fresno Crew, and believe you me, party we did!
We partied like rock stars – we partied like it was 1999 – we partied
hearty – we…well, let’s just say we partied until we were stupid – and that didn’t
take too damn long! The real exciting
part of our story begins here, January 12th, 1990 and our first
Liberty Port of Call – Subic Bay, P.I.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: PARTY TIME – FILIPINO STYLE
Monday, 12FEB90 – P.I.
ñ Got PO3 ID card
ñ Mail Call – 2 from Dad
ñ Got extremely drunk – Cal Jams
ñ Only 5 months left
We pulled into the Subic Bay Naval Station at around 9:00
that morning. Contrary to the crew's popular
belief, they did not give us liberty as soon as we tied up – instead they made
us work a full day, rather than sending us straight for the lights of
town. In retrospect, it was a good
decision, as there was a lot of work to be done when you got to port after an
extended stint at sea. While the crew
kept busy with the work that needed to be done, they sent all of the new Petty
Officers over to the I.D. office on base to get our new PO3 I.D. cards. They wanted us to have official
identification before we all went off base that night, so they took care of
that little piece of business right away.
For most in Duty Section III, this was the first time to set foot on dry
land in 30 days – and it felt damn good!
This was also the first time I realized that I had acquired “sea
legs”. I was walking down the pier in a
drunken, side-to-side stagger, affected from a month of walking on a
constantly-pitching deck. Yet another
sign that I was now fully entrenched in the Navy life, and like it or not, I was
a sailor. It felt good to finally have
that green ID card in my hand that said I was officially a 3rd
Class Petty Officer! I had arrived at this point – I was now a PO and much more worldly and important than I had been
the last time I was in the Philippines (or at least that’s what I thought!). We headed back to the ship in time for lunch, and then did some mindless work while we waited for liberty call
to go down.
Finally, it was 16:00 and they passed the word – “Liberty
Call, Liberty Call” They didn’t have to tell us twice as we sprinted for the
berthing area to change into our civilian clothes, then filed off the ship as
fast as we could get to the pier. Our
pier was as far away from the main gate of the Naval Station as possible,
and the mile or so that we had to walk seemed more like ten, as the
anticipation built with every step towards town. And then, suddenly, we turned the corner and
there was the Main Gate! Beyond it, we caught a glimpse of the hustle and
bustle of Magsaysay Boulevard. The
smells of barbecue and truck exhaust and the sounds of the music and the crowds
were strong and loud. It brought back thousands of great memories from our last
trip to the P.I., and the knowledge that there were thousands of great memories
out there waiting to be made. In some strange way, it felt like coming home
again. Over the next five months, we
would spend enough time in the P.I., that it became just that – our home away
from home. And we loved every second of
it. I took great pride in the fact that,
this time, I knew what I was doing.
There would be no more manicure scams, no more catching the clap and no
more puking on my friends. I was an old
hand, and I could handle my drunk this time!
Headed from the Main Gate, across Shit River to Magsaysay Boulevard in Olongapo City, Philippines - 12FEB90
The large contingent of Fresno sailors walked off base, en
masse, and made a beeline across Shit River, onto Magsaysay Boulevard and then
into the first bar we found. A few guys
peeled off and headed to their old favorite haunts from the last time they were
here, but the majority of us piled into the same bar and ordered up an ice-cold
San Miguel. A cheap, nasty,
formaldehyde-laced beer never tasted so good!
A month without any form of alcohol at all had made me a mighty thirsty
man, and when the first taste of the liquid gold hit my lips, I knew what I
would be doing for the rest of the night.
I would be getting drunk. Really,
really drunk. It sure seemed like a
great idea at the time, and to prove to myself what a great idea it would be, I
ordered two more beers – after all, I had two hands, so why waste time? Most of my shipmates in the bar had roughly
the same idea, and the beer was flowing freely.
About an hour into our assault on the bar, we heard a ruckus
in the back of the room, near the pool tables.
When I turned to look, I was shocked!
When I saw who was raising the ruckus, I wasn’t quite so shocked
anymore. What I saw was Jim Lusher on
top of a pool table in the back of the bar with one of the bar girls, and he
was in the act of making her intimate acquaintance. All of the Fresno sailors were cheering and
yelling and raising Hell, as the bartenders and the Mama-san tried in vain to get
him to stop, or at least pay her barfine.
A few of the guys chipped in and paid the barfine, and then we all sat
back and enjoyed the show. Jim carried
on for a bit longer, and when the fact that someone was having sex on a pool
table behind me was no longer interesting, I turned back to my beer and
continued with my mission to get stinking drunk.
GMG3 Peterson at the bar in D'Office - Olongapo City, P.I. - 1990
I had polished off about a dozen beers in that bar when I
decided I was ready to leave and try somewhere else. Suddenly, I realized I had forgotten one very
important task before I began the party – I had no Filipino money! I had forgotten to get any Pesos before I
left the base. I tried to explain my
predicament to the bartender, but he wasn’t interested in my
absent-mindedness. All he cared about
was the 150 pesos I owed him (about $6.00).
In my somewhat altered mindset, I put the exchange rate at around
$20.00, so I reached in my wallet, pulled out a twenty and gave it to him.
“Keep the change” I told him.
He looked at me, shocked, and then smiled and handed me
another beer
“No charge” he told me.
I was drunk enough to think I’d just pulled a fast one. In reality, the bartender took that American
$20 bill and probably exchanged it for around 600 pesos – much better than the
150 pesos that I owed him. Such was the
way it went, and would continue to go, for the next few months. Get drunk, blow some money and then bitch
about how we got ripped off when we sobered up.
Eventually, I managed to walk out of that bar and find my
way to an exchange booth, where I exchanged $50 US for 1250 pesos. I found myself alone, but wasn’t too
concerned about it. After being crammed
into a tiny area with the same 600 sailors and Marines for a month, it was
actually rather nice to get away from them and spend an evening by myself. Occasionally I would run into one of my
shipmates, and exchange a smile or a “Hi”, but for the most part, I spent this
night on my own just enjoying the space.
I began to make the rounds, checking out the new bars that had opened since we were there last, and a few of the old familiar ones. I didn’t make it much past the first block of
Magsaysay that night, as the number of beers in my stomach began to mount,
making travel of any distance farther than a city block almost impossible. I did manage to find my way to a streetside
barbecue vendor where I bought myself dinner – 20 skewers of monkey-on-a-stick
smothered in banana catsup and Tabasco.
Yum.
"Monkey-on-a-Stick" vendor in Olongapo City - 1990
Belly full, and taster set on full tilt, I headed back to
the bar. I settled on a nice booth in
the back of a bar called Cal Jams. Cal
Jams was a favorite of the brothers, as they played all of the latest dance and
R&B tunes. I chose Cal Jams that
night mostly because I was too drunk to go any farther. I sat down at a booth where I was soon
joined by one of the Cal Jams bar girls who came and sat with me and tried to
get me to buy her girl drinks for 100 pesos a pop. I resisted as long as I could, and I kept
making her run to the bar for me to get me more beer. Finally, around midnight, I was drunk enough
to think that maybe buying her a girl drink was a good idea. It had also dawned on me that I hadn’t had
sex in awhile, and that might just make this night of debauchery
complete.
Angie - bar girl from random bar in Olongapo City - 1990
I finally told her to go get a girl drink and bring me a
beer and that I would pay her barfine for the night. She was happy and scooted off to the bar to
get the order. While she was gone, I
grabbed my wallet and opened it up to a most unwelcome sight – I had no more
pesos! I wasn’t sure what to do, and
when she came back to the table with the drinks and a bill, I had to stop and
think a minute (no small feat considering the amount of booze I had consumed in
the previous seven hours or so).
Remembering the reaction of the bartender I’d given the $20 bill to
earlier that night, I reached into the other side of my wallet and produced
another $20 bill. Her eyes lit up, but I
wasn’t ready to give it all to her.
“Here – go get me some pesos with this” I told her.
“Okay Sam, I be back”,
With that, she took the money and headed for the
door.
“Sam?” I thought – “why did she call me Sam?”
I had forgotten that I had told her my name was Sam – I have
no idea why I felt I had to lie about my name to a Filipino bar girl, but like
most things I did in the P.I., it just seemed like a good idea at the time.
I sat back and waited for the girl to get back with my
pesos. I waited…and waited…and
waited. The mama-san came over to my
table a couple of times and asked for the money for the beer, the girl drink
and the barfine, and I kept telling her it was on the way. The girl kept taking longer and longer – I
had soon finished the beer, and still no girl.
I then tried to drink the girl drink, but I spit the first taste out in
disgust – it was pure orange juice! Girl
Drinks, which cost about $5 apiece, were nothing more than orange juice! I was pissed!
I threw the drink away and slumped back in my chair. The third time the mama-san came to my table
for the money, if finally dawned on me that I’d been had. The girl had taken my money and run! I got pissed – really pissed. I screamed at the mama-san about her “lying,
thieving whores” and tipped my table over as I stumbled for the door. The mama-san tried to give chase, but some of
my fellow sailors blocked her path so that she couldn’t catch me before I made
it to the door (we all took care of each other like that!) I stumbled down the stairs and out onto
Magsaysay once again. There was no sign
of the girl, or my money. I tried to
make up my mind what to do, and finally decided that it was after midnight, I
was pretty well polluted, and by my calculations, I’d just spent over half of
every dime that I had. Being a long three days until payday, I decided to call
it a night. I stumbled back to the base, and back to the Fresno.
It was a great night of liberty for my first one of
WestPac. I had lost $20, but I also got
drunk, didn’t puke and didn’t catch the clap.
All in all, a success! I climbed
up into my rack and fell into a deep, alcohol-induced, coma-like sleep until
reveille the next morning.
Tuesday, 13FEB90 – P.I.
ñ Mail Call – nothing
ñ Got up at 4:00pm
ñ Have no money
ñ Partied in Barrio
ñ Steak & Lobster - $6.00
ñ Boodles – Rose Twins
In anticipation of what the majority of the crew would be feeling
like the morning after our first night of P.I. liberty, the Captain
called “Holiday Routine” for the 13th. It was a good thing, too, as I slept until
4:00 that afternoon! When I finally woke
up, I walked up to the head and took a shower, then got dressed and headed up
to the mess decks for a cup of juice and a piece of bread. That was about all my stomach could handle,
as the hangover was one of the worst that I could recall having. That was the thing about San Miguel and me –
the hangovers were absolutely devastating!
It didn’t take me long to make the connection and I soon switched to Rum
and Coke to avoid them. As I choked down
the bread, I walked over to the ship’s post office and picked up my mail from
the past couple of days – a couple of letters from my Dad was about it. I took them out onto the foc’sle, and sat and
read the latest news from home, as the tropic breeze did wonders to clear my
head.
After reading my letters, and getting a head full of fresh
air, I felt much better, and decided I had better go down and get ready to head
out to town once again. Since I had
slept so late, most of the others had already left the ship, so I was left to
my own devices once again. I was
actually pretty happy about this, as I looked forward to spending another few
hours away from any of the other crew. I
grabbed my wallet to head out and opened it to double check my financial
status. I was shocked to find that I was
completely broke! I could have SWORN
that I had over a hundred bucks before I had left the night before. Evidently,
I had spent waaaay more than I had remembered, and was now in a fix. I had promised myself to avoid using the slush funds at
all during deployment unless it was an absolute emergency. Our second night in port after a month at sea
pretty much meant “emergency” to me, so I went off to find a slusher. I found my friend, Dave Benton, and borrowed
the usual $20 for $40, and headed out to see what kind of trouble I could get
into for 20 bucks.
I left the ship around 5 and headed for the gate. A quick stop at the money exchange inside the
gate, and I was ready to go. I made my
way off the base, and across Shit River, and out onto Magsaysay. I stood and
tried to figure out where I would go that night. Since financial frugality was of the utmost
importance, I quickly decided to avoid Magsaysay, where the drinks were more
expensive. I had almost decided to go to
D’Office, our hangout from the last WestPac when a nearby jeepney blew his horn
and startled me.
“You go to Barrio?” the driver asked me.
“What? No,
I….uh….yeah, sure – hang on!”
I jumped in the back of the jeepney, gave him two pesos and held
on for the twenty-minute ride out into the jungle to the jumpin’ little town of
Barrio Baretto. I knew that things in Barrio
were much cheaper than they were anywhere in Olongapo City, so I would get a
lot more bang for my buck there. I had
no idea just how much “bang” I would get!
When we got to Barrio, I jumped off the jeepney and headed
into the nearest bar. I had partied in
Barrio a couple of times in ’88 on our way to Subic City, and was anxious to
see if it had grown at all since then.
It hadn’t changed as much as I thought it would, as most of the bars I’d
remembered were still lining the highway.
I made it through ten or so beers, when I decided I was hungry. There were no monkey meat vendors on the
street in Barrio, so I asked one of the bar girls if there was any place to eat
in town. She directed me to a little
restaurant in the back of one of the bars across the street, so that’s where I
went. When I walked in, I was the only
person in the place. It was around 8 or
9pm, and I imagine that they were about to close up when I came in. It was a neat little restaurant, complete
with red and white checked tablecloths and candles on the tables. It looked like a little Italian place I
thought. Eating Italian food in a back
street bar in the Philippines didn’t strike me as odd at the time, but any
concerns I may have had disappeared when the menu appeared. It wasn’t an Italian restaurant after all, it
was a steak and lobster joint. I was
immediately worried, because I was starving, and I knew I couldn’t afford steak
and lobster! Then I looked over at the
prices, and my jaw dropped! Two lobster
tails and a steak were all of $6.00!! I
quickly ordered before they changed their minds and sat and awaited my
feast. About ten minutes later, a plate
filled with two lobster tails, a twelve-ounce steak, baked potato and
vegetables arrived in front of me. I ate
like a man possessed. To this day, I
don’t think I have ever tasted a better example of surf and turf. After a month of ship food, eating steak and
lobster was absolute Heaven! I gobbled
down my dinner, paid my bill, and wandered back to the bar, full and happy.
I ended up in a bar called Boodles, where I soon found
myself not feeling any pain. I met and
hooked up with a pair of bar girls who were sisters. They both told me that their name was Rose,
so they are forever immortalized in my log as “the Rose twins”. I partied with them until the bar decided to
close a little after midnight. After
closing, the twins took me with them, and we walked a couple of blocks to their
little house behind the bar. It was a
small place with cement floors and a bare light bulb hanging from a single wire
in the middle of the room. The house
consisted of one main room, which contained the kitchen, a couch and their
bed. There was a large enclosed patio entryway
by the door, and from the looks of it, it had been converted into a bedroom or
storage room of some sort. As we walked
in, the girls were talking amongst themselves in hurried Tagalog and I sat down
on their bed waiting to find out what would happen next. A couple of minutes later, the girls came over
and one of them told me,
“you come with me – we take soft bed, give her hard
bed”.
I was confused – “hard bed”, “soft bed”?
She then grabbed the mattress off of the box springs and
motioned for me to follow her. Then it
dawned on me – the mattress was the “soft bed” and the box springs were the
“hard bed”. The other sister grabbed a
blanket and curled up on top of the box springs as the two of us laid the
mattress in the entryway/bedroom. We
turned off the light and got down to the business at hand. In a few minutes we were done, and I stepped
outside to take a leak. When I came back
into the house, I went to crawl back onto the mattress, and the girl I had just
been with said,
“No – you go in there now”
and she pointed toward the other room where her sister
slept. Who was I to disagree with an
order like that? I got up and walked
into the main room, where I crawled onto the “hard bed” with the other
girl. She giggled and snuggled up to me,
and then we got down to the business at hand.
Oh, to be 19 again! A few minutes
later, we finished, and I realized that it was getting very, very late.
I knew that I had to be back on board the ship by 7:00 that
morning, and a check of my watch told me that it was almost 5 am! I quickly found my clothes, thanked the girls
and dashed out of their house, leaving as quickly as I had come (no pun
intended!). I hiked the block or so to
the highway and waited for a jeepney to come down the road. My wait was short, as ten minutes later, here
one came. I jumped in the back as he tore
off for Olongapo City and the base. I
hadn’t asked how much the trip was going to cost, and I wasn’t too concerned,
because I knew that I only had ten pesos on me and if he tried to charge me any
more than that, he was S.O.L.. When we
got back to Olongapo, he took us right to the main gate and then told us that
it was going to cost us ten pesos each.
A few of the other guys on the ride started to gripe a bit, but I just
tossed the driver my very last ten peso bill, and headed onto the base, and
toward the Frez. I had to hustle to make
it on time, and I stepped onto the quarterdeck at 6:50am – ten minutes before
the expiration of liberty. I’d be tired
that day, but it was all worth it!
Wednesday, 14FEB90 – P.I. (Duty)
ñ Mail Call – nothing
ñ Did not sleep last night
ñ First soccer game – won by forfeit
ñ Taped “Great Gonzos”
February 14th –
Valentine’s Day. A very sleepy
Valentine’s day. I hadn’t slept at all
the night before, but I knew that I had to stand duty, so I’d get a full night’s
sleep that night. I made my way through
the morning very carefully, not moving any too quickly, and being careful to
avoid any loud noises. My head hurt, my
stomach was upset and my eyes were bloodshot as all get out. On the 1 to 10 headache scale, this one rated
a good, solid 9. I felt like crap. I was ready to get over with the day’s work
and get right to bed when our Postal Clerk, Scotty Bale, ran into me in the
p-way.
“Hey, Pete – you ready for the
game?”
“unnh…what game?”
“The soccer game – don’t you remember?”
I had to admit that I had
completely forgotten. Our ship’s soccer
team, of which I was the coach, had their first tournament game at 2:00 that
afternoon. In all the excitement of the
past couple of days, it had completely slipped my mind. I groaned and took another long pull from my
umpteenth cup of coffee that morning.
Lunchtime came, and after forcing myself to eat a bit, and
taking about an hour-long nap, I began to feel almost human again. Soon, 1:30, and time to head over to the
soccer field came, and I was rarin’ to go.
Our team headed over to the field as a group, and we sat and watched the
USS Peleliu’s team beat some really bad team from another ship by about ten
goals. We all laughed about how bad the
other team was as we broke out the balls and started warming up. As we were getting ready, we noticed that
there was no team on the other side of the field. 2:00 neared, then finally passed, and still
no opponent. Around 2:15 the ref called
me over and asked if I knew where the other team was. I told him I didn’t, and he then called a
forfeit and gave us the victory! I told
the guys and a great cheer went up – we were 1-0, undefeated and we were tied
for first place! As we left the field a
wave of immense relief washed over me, as I had somehow managed to get away
without having to run or sweat. My
still-pounding head and queasy stomach thanked me profusely.
We got back to the ship as liberty call was going down. Guys filed down to the berthing areas, got dressed
and headed out for town. I bid them all
a fond farewell, then went straight to my rack, stripped down to my boxers,
crawled in and fell fast asleep. It had
been a long, hard, hungover day and I was glad to have it over with – so what
if it was only 4:00 in the afternoon – I was done with it!
Thursday, 15FEB90 – P.I.
ñ Pay Day - $152
ñ Mail Call – nothing
ñ Soccer Game – lost to Peleliu, 10-1
ñ Partied with Benton
ñ Kay – D'Office
ñ Rode Bull at Red River Saloon
The morning of the 15th was a wonderful one. As I awoke from my 15-hour power nap, I felt
good…amazingly good. I actually
remembered what it felt like to be a human being again! And to top it all off, it was payday, AND I
had liberty that night. It was shaping
up to be another memorable evening! I
got dressed and headed up to quarters to get my assignments for the day and
begin the day’s work. Time moved quickly
towards lunch, as they called us, by social security number, to the mess decks
to get paid. I filed in and picked up my
$152 in cash, put it in my pocket (after paying Dave Benton back his $40, of
course) and went back to work. I was
feelin’ good – a full night’s sleep, a pocket full of money and a powerful
thirst. Oh yeah, it was gonna be a fun
one!
Before we could let the good times roll, however, we had to
play our second soccer game (or our first depending on how you looked at
it). When we got to the field, we were
glad to see that our opponent had already shown up and were getting ready for
us. What we weren’t so glad to see was
that our opponent was the USS Peleliu.
We told ourselves that the last game we had seen them play had been a
fluke, and there was no way we could be as bad as the team who had lost to them
10 – 0. We were right – WE only lost
10-1! At least we scored one goal! We were pretty awful, actually. I’m sure that some of the guys on our team
had never played soccer before, a fact they had neglected to tell me when they
signed up to play. Oh well, it was fun
to go play a bit, and getting our asses kicked like that gave us a justification
for getting stinking drunk that night!
(like we needed another reason!)
We made it back to the ship after the game, showered up and
got dressed to hit the town. Payday
happened for everyone in the fleet on the same day, so newly-wealthy sailors
were flocking to Olongapo to raise a little Hell. I joined the mass exodus to the watering
holes, and this time I stayed with the gang from the Fresno, deciding to party
with some of my buds and see how much more trouble I could get into than I did
when I was by myself. The first bunch of
Fresno guys I found was A-Gang and the Engineers. They were sitting in their favorite little
open-air bar playing the old, “Toss A Peso Into Traffic And Watch A Kid Chase
It” game which I had been first introduced to back in ‘88. I sat down and
joined them for a while. We put down a
bunch of beers and had won more than our money back by taking bets on which
peso-chasers would get hit by speeding jeepneys. That was our idea of a good time – no wonder
the Filipinos were so anxious to kick us out of their country!
EN3 Dave Benton and I took off and headed over to another
bar nearby. The bar was D’Office – I
remembered that it was the big hangout for Deck Department during the last Pac,
and I wondered if it would be their gathering spot again this time. We found our way to the bar and walked inside, and my questions were immediately
answered. It was like walking into the
Deck Office on the ship – everyone from our Deck Department was there! It was definitely a party in progress! I ordered up a Rum and Coke, drained it in
one swig – a particularly impressive feat when you consider that the drink was
roughly the size of a 7-11 Big Swig! I
grabbed another and we let the party begin.
We drank, and we drank and we drank – then we drank some more. We began to flirt with the bar girls and let
them flirt with us. One in particular,
named Kay, caught my fancy that night, and I proceeded to make her acquaintance. I tried all of my best moves and by 8:00, she
was putty in my hands. Or so I
thought. I was about ready to pay her
barfine and go find a hotel when Dave came up to me and said,
“Come on Pete – let’s go ride the bull!”
I don’t know why, but this suddenly sounded like the best
idea I had ever heard. I told Kay I’d
come find her later, and Dave and I left the bar and headed for Bogart's Bull Pen to ride the mechanical bull.
It took us longer than expected to find it because since we were last there in '88, Bogart's had changed it's name to "The Red River Saloon". In our somewhat-altered mental condition, it threw us for a loop. The name and the sign may have changed, but the bull and
the shoddy foam rubber in the buck-off pit were still the same. Bogart’s/Red River was packed full of people,
and the line to ride the bull was long and full of drunken Marines. I took my number and bellied up to the bar to
watch all of the Marines get flung across the room. Dave and I continued on our drunkfest, and
before I knew it, they had called my number.
I staggered down to the pit and climbed up on the machine. I strapped myself on, and nodded to the operator
“Go ahead and turn ‘er on!” I yelled.
The guy running the thing didn’t mess around – he kicked it
up to 7 or 8 and let ‘er rip! I made it
about two spins and two bucks, and then suddenly found myself looking down at
tables full of drunken, cheering Marines.
I somehow managed to miss the tables, and I landed on the mats they had
placed on the most popular landing spots. I jumped up, threw my hands in the air and
basked in the applause and wild cheering that was coming my way. I strode to the bar, ordered up a longneck
San Miguel (this was the only bar in the Philippines I had ever seen them at)
and turned and leaned against the bar in my most bull-riderish pose. I was feeling full of testosterone and beer,
so I decided it was time to go find me a little filly for the evening. Dave and I took our leave of The Red River
Saloon, and stumbled back to D’Office.
As we walked in, I saw the girl I’d been talking to earlier
sitting with John Hickersham, Kenny Arrington, Jon Sorby and a couple of other
guys. I walked up to the table and tried
to claim what was mine. Kay pretty much
ignored me, but the guys were cool enough to realize what the deal was, so they
let me try my best. I used every trick
in my book to get her interested in me, and when none of that worked, I just
went ahead and paid her barfine. That’d
do it, I thought, she’d have to be interested in me now! Unfortunately, she had forgotten to read the
rules of being a bar girl before she’d taken the job, and she continued to
ignore me. There is nothing more
humiliating to a guy than being ignored by a prostitute, let alone one that he
had already paid for! I figured that if
she wasn’t going to pay any attention to me, the least she could do was watch
me get drunk, so I turned up the dial on the “consumption-o-meter” and
proceeded to get ripped up. Somewhere
around midnight, we decided we should go play pool, so I grabbed Kay by the
hand, then we left D’Office and headed for the pool hall down the block.
Kay - bar girl from D'Office in Olongapo City - 1990
Hick, Arrington, Sorby and I played pool for a couple of
hours while I tried my best to convince Kay to come to a hotel with me. It was really embarrassing trying to talk a
bought-and-paid for prostitute into having sex with you, but there I was, begging and pleading with this girl.
Finally, and mercifully, Kay decided she’d had enough of me, and she led
me back to D’Office where she got me my barfine money back. She handed me my money and told me that she
just didn’t like me. I took the money
and shuffled out the door, dejected.
Talk about the ultimate in rejection!
Having a Filipino hooker give you your money back had to be about
it.
I slunk back towards the base, and then on towards the
Frez. I was drunk, dejected and pissed
off. I still had a little money left, so
I knew I could go try it again tomorrow night.
I found small solace in that solution, but it was enough to keep me
ready to try it one more time. I ambled
to the Frez, climbed aboard, then fumbled my way down to my rack and climbed
in. I fell asleep/passed out just
knowing that tomorrow night would be a better night – Hell, I might actually
get laid! With that promise in mind, I
let sleep overtake me.
Friday, 16FEB90 – P.I.
ñ Mail Call – letters from Paul and John & Sandy
ñ Fire in laundry – clothes burned
ñ Jane - D'Office
The big excitement of February 16th happened not
on Magsaysay Boulevard, but in the ship’s laundry. Around noon, as we were finishing up our work
and getting ready for lunch, the General Quarters alarm went off. Had we been out to sea, it wouldn’t have fazed
us, but this was the first time I had ever heard a GQ alarm in port. I felt kind of silly running up to the gun
mounts, but that was my station, so I went and stood there dutifully. About fifteen minutes later, they secured
from GQ, and we all went back to our work.
Word quickly spread about what had happened – evidently, someone had
left a load of clothes in the ship’s laundry dryer for too long, and they had
caught fire! To make matters worse, the
clothes that had been burned to a crisp were from First Division Berthing. Guys lost skivvies, t-shirts and socks as
well as a few pairs of dungarees – all up in smoke. They salvaged some of the more
lightly-toasted items, and when they brought them back to the berthing area,
the smell of burnt clothing was enough to run us all out. I didn’t lose any clothes personally, but
there were a lot of pissed off guys who were suddenly a couple of uniforms
short. I don’t recall what happened, but
I imagine that the ship replaced their burnt clothes…however, I could be wrong
– it’s been known to happen.
That night, as liberty call went down, I made my way back
out to Olongapo with one mission in mind – to correct the egregious wrong I felt
had been done to me the night before.
Basically, I was going to go straight to D’Office, find Kay, and take
her straight to a hotel and prove to her what a mistake it had been to blow me
off like she had. I was single-track in
my purpose, and I strode through the streets with my head held high, just
knowing I was going to reclaim my manhood, and prove to the world that I was
NOT the geek some Filipino bar girl thought I was.
As I reached D’Office and threw the door open, I quickly
scanned the room looking for my target.
I spotted her, sitting in the back of the room, talking with a group of
other sailors. I ordered up a Rum and
Coke…then another…then one more just to be sure, and I walked over to where
they were sitting.
Kay and Jenny - bar girls from D'Office in Olongapo City - 1990
“Hey guys, hate to interrupt, but I need to talk to this little lady here – this’ll only take a minute”
They all shot me a dirty look as I took Kay by the hand and
walked her to the bar.
“What you want, sailor?”
She said.
“I want the chance to prove to you that you made a mistake
last night.”
“What?”
“I said…oh, never mind – I want long time…to pay your
barfine”
“Oh no, Joe, you no pay – he already paid”
and with she pointed at one of the guys sitting at the table.
“Oh” I said, dejectedly.
I hadn’t figured out a reply to that scenario – who’d have
thought that a bar girl would have been paid for by ANOTHER sailor ! I apologized and turned to walk her back to
their table, when she tugged on my hand –
“Here you go, Joe – here my sister, her name is Jenny”
I turned to look and saw the girl Kay was pointing
towards. She looked like Kay only
younger and cuter. My pain and
humiliation was immediately forgotten as I sat down next to Jenny and ordered
up another Rum and Coke.
As I sat and drank and talked to Jenny, and drank some more,
I decided that I would just have to prove to someone in their family
what a man I was, so I motioned for the Mama-san. When she came over, I asked her how much
Jenny’s barfine was.
“She not for sale – she only for talking”
“What?”
“She no go with you – you drink and talk to her. You go with sister.”
I wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about, but
evidently they had some kind of a policy about not dating a girl’s sister if
you had already been with a girl. Or
something like that – my grasp of Tagalog and pidgin-English only got fuzzier
the more Rum and Coke I drank, and I had already had quite a few of them. I ignored the Mama-san’s warning and I spent
another hour or so talking to Jenny, trying to convince her to leave with
me. Finally, way after midnight, I
convinced her to meet me outside after she got off, and we’d go have some
fun. She said yes, so I finished up my
drink, and headed out the door. About five
minutes later, Jenny came out and we went over to the pool hall to shoot a
couple of games. When we were done, and
she had thoroughly kicked my sorry ass, I suggested we go to a nearby
hotel. She agreed, and we headed for a
hotel up the street that rented rooms, instead of by the hour or by the night,
by the “long time” or “short time”. I
paid for a short time and took Jenny on up.
We walked into the small, humid room, turned down the sheets
(which I’m sure hadn’t been changed since the last visitor) and got down to
business. There would be no repeat of my last P.I. adventure, as I’d made damn
sure I had an amply supply of condoms in my pocket before I left the ship. An hour or so later, and drenched in sweat,
we finished up and she jumped out of bed, got dressed and left. Easy come, easy go, I thought as I slowly got
dressed and walked back down to Magsaysay.
I came out with that stupid post-coitus grin on my face and ambled down
the boulevard towards the main gate. I
flashed my I.D. card, grinned, and headed towards the pier, and my waiting
rack. I climbed the gangplank, stepped
onboard the Frez, then headed down to the berthing area and got in bed. I felt secure in my manhood and satisfied in
the fact that I had redeemed by family name.
With that sense of security and self-awareness fresh in my mind, I
closed my eyes and snored blissfully away in a happy, satisfied sleep.
Saturday, 17FEB90 – P.I. (Duty)
ñ Soccer game vs Clark AFB – lost 9-0
ñ Shore Patrol – tiring – no big action
ñ Got sunburned
Saturday. A duty day
for me, and the first day of my new job as coordinator of the Fresno’s Duty
Section III “Security Alert Team and Backup Alert Force”. The S.A.T. and B.A.F. teams were groups of
five guys from different divisions who were to stay on alert during our duty
days, and in case of a security breach or a hostile action, we were to be the
primary force to repel that action. In
reality, we were just ten guys who dressed up in flak jackets and steel helmets
and walked around the ship brandishing .45’s and shotguns and called it “S.A.T.
Training”. The only problem with being
the S.A.T. leader was that I was now responsible for assigning Fresno guys to go
out on Shore Patrol at night. Whenever
ships were in port, each ship was responsible for providing roving SP’s to go
from bar to bar on Magsaysay and help police the military guys. We didn’t have to provide SP’s every night,
but from time to time, when the Fresno’s turn came up, I had to provide four
guys to assist the MP’s on base. The MP's
would split us up into Shore Patrol teams and give us a designated area of
Olongapo city to patrol. As luck would
have it, this first night of my S.A.T. responsibility was also my first night
of Shore Patrol Duty. I was to report to
the MP Guard Shack by the main gate at 7:00 that night with three other
guys.
Before we could get to Shore Patrol, there was the little
matter of our third soccer game that afternoon.
We were 1 – 1 and were looking forward to pushing that mark to 2 – 1 by
that afternoon. When we got to the
field, the other team was there, practicing already. It had to be some kind of mistake – these
guys had professional-looking uniforms, and from 100 yards away, we could tell
that they were incredible! The worry set
in almost immediately. As we stepped
onto the pitch to meet our opponent, we saw that this was a team from Clark Air
Base in Manila. I was more than a little
pissed – this was supposed to be a tournament for ships in our battle group
only. There weren’t supposed to be any
shore-based teams playing against us! As
I went over to the referees to complain they quickly explained – there weren’t enough
teams from the ships in port to complete the brackets, so the guys from Clark
Air Base, who needed practice for THEIR upcoming tournament, had volunteered to
come down and play.
“Oh gee – thanks” I replied.
They assured me that the results of the game would not be
reflected on our tournament records, and that the game was more of a scrimmage
than anything. I begrudgingly agreed to
play, and we lined up and kicked it off.
It was not a pretty sight, as Clark absolutely destroyed us, 9-0. It could have, and should have, been a lot
worse, but they let up in the second half so as not to completely embarrass
us. It was bad enough at 9-0, I
guess. When the final whistle blew, and
the game ended, so did the tournament.
We shook hands with Clark, and headed back to the ship, wondering how we
had done in the tourney. We had won one
by forfeit, and then got whipped by the USS Peleliu, who, as far as we could
tell, was the only other team who actually showed up to play in the
tourney. Oh well, if my calculations
were correct, then we had won second place!
We applauded ourselves and promised to go have a couple of drinks in
honor of our triumphant placing! I
promised the guys that if I ran into them while I was out on shore patrol that
night, I’d buy ‘em a beer.
We walked back to the ship, and the guys who had liberty got
dressed and left, while those of us who had duty stayed and ate dinner. After eating, and relaxing for a bit, it was
time to get dressed and head over to the Guard Shack for shore patrol. I pressed my trop whites, shined my shoes and
mustered the other guys down at the armory, where I passed out night sticks,
guard belts and SP armbands. We grabbed
our gear and walked over to the Guard Shack for our assignments.
My crew was given the main drag of Magsaysay and told to pay
particular attention to the first few bars on the block – especially Cal Jams,
where several fights had broken out recently.
My mind immediately went back to my first night in port, when the
bargirl from Cal Jams had run off with my $20.
I couldn’t wait to get back there and lay the long arm of the law on her
and get my money back.
Shore Patrol turned out to be very tiring, and very
boring. We just walked up and down
Magsaysay and walked in and out of every bar we went past, watching guys get
drunk. We didn’t see any fights, and
nothing interesting happened. Nothing
interesting, that is, until we went to Cal Jams on our way back to the base for
the night. As we walked in for the last
time, I once again scanned the room, looking for the girl who owed me the
money. I hadn’t seen her all night and
didn’t figure I’d see her this time either.
But lo and behold – there she was!
Sitting there with some poor, drunken booter who was buying her girl
drink after girl drink. I walked up to
the table and smiled,
“Hi. Remember
me?”
The look on her face told me all I needed to know. She was scared, and she knew she was in
trouble. Luckily she didn’t seem to know
the difference between an “SP” armband and an “MP” arm band. She didn’t know that a shore patrol guy has
no power over anything other than breaking up fights and assisting the
MP’s. An MP has total power – they can
pull a bar girl’s license to work and basically ban her from the bars near the
base. The girls all feared having an MP
talk to them, and since she didn’t know the difference, she just figured that I
had as much power and she thought she was in deep trouble.
“So – you still got my $20?”
She looked at me and said, “Umm – uhhhh…”
“Good – I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m going to walk over there, by the door and
I’ll wait for five minutes. If, in that
five minutes, you come over and give me back my $20, I’ll turn and walk out the
door and you’ll never see me again. IF,
however, I don’t get my $20 back, then consider this your last night of work
ANYWHERE in Olongapo.”
I don’t know if she understood exactly what I had told her,
but she surely understood my tone. I had
no more than walked to the door where the other guys were standing and turned
around, than she was tugging at my sleeve with a $20 bill in her hand.
“Here Sam – I’m sorry.”
I had forgotten that I had told her my name was Sam, but it
didn’t matter, I had my $20 back, and I was happy. As I went to leave I looked back at the table
where she had been sitting and saw a lonely booter, sitting by himself, looking
around the room. Wondering, I’m sure,
where the hell his girlfriend had gone with his $20 bill! Oh well, not my concern, I got my
money back – let him learn his own damn lesson about getting drunk and trusting
bar girls.
As we headed back to the base, I filled the guys in on the whole
$20 bill story, and we all had a good laugh.
We checked back in at the Guard Shack, then walked back to the Frez and
turned in for the night. I was tired,
and my feet were killing me, but I had my money back. As far as I was concerned, it was a successful
night, and in reality, I thought that Shore Patrol was a lot of fun – it sure
beat the Hell out of having to stand a quarterdeck watch from midnight to four
a.m.!
Sunday, 18FEB90 – P.I.
ñ Deck Party – Jack's in Barrio
ñ Mail Call – nothing
ñ Someone stole all my money
ñ Ate pizza with Grace
Sunday, and another full day of liberty – Lord knows we
needed that! This particular Sunday of
liberty was to be very memorable indeed, due mostly to the fact that it was the
day of the first big Deck Department party of WestPac. The party was set to be held at a bar in
Barrio called Jack’s. The party started
when the bar opened and raged until we all finally passed out. I didn’t make it out to the party until
around 6:00 that night, but by the time I got there, I managed to get in on one
of the wildest parties I can remember, and I ended the evening running from an
encounter with the Filipino police.
I slept in until around 10 that morning, still tired from
the previous night’s Shore Patrol duties.
When I finally got around, took a shower and got dressed, I realized I
was hungry. I didn’t feel like eating on
the ship, so I headed over to the base club to get a little something from the
small restaurant they had there. On the
way, I ran into Jon Grace, and the two of us went over to the club and split a
pizza for lunch. After eating, the two
of us headed out to Magsaysay to see what kind of trouble we could get into,
and to prime before heading out to Barrio for the Deck party.
Jon was not exactly my first choice in drinking partners,
but he was okay when taken in small doses.
He and I talked a bit and tried to get to know one another a little
better. After a six-pack or so, I finally
told him how upset I had been about the time he “stole” the girl from me at the
bar in Belmont Shore. He just laughed
and said
“Yeah, that was pretty funny, wasn’t it.”
I just looked at him.
I asked if he remembered when I told him that I’d get even with him
someday and once again, he just laughed and told me there was no way I would
ever get him back. I let the subject drop
and turned my attention back to our beers.
About a six-pack after the first six-pack, I asked him if he was
screwing around on his wife while we were on deployment. He had told me before we left on deployment
that he wasn’t going to screw around, and that he’d be an idiot to do so,
because he was set for life with her.
Evidently, she was loaded. Her
Dad was a production exec with NBC, and her Mom was a Pulitzer Prize-winning
journalist with the San Diego newspaper.
On top of that, his wife was pregnant with their first child. He had sworn that there was no way he could
screw around on her. I knew that was
bull, because I’d seen him do it in Long Beach.
When I asked him again, he admitted to me that he had been seeing
a girl in Olongapo, but she was the only one he was going to be
with. I smiled – I knew that this was my
chance to get him back for what he’d done to me, I just had to figure out
exactly how to pull it off, and how bad to sock it to him. I just planned to bide my time and figure it
out – give him time to walk into the trap before I slammed it shut and got my
vengeance. Surprisingly, it would only
take two more days for the trap to be laid, but another five months before
TOTAL vengeance would be mine. It was
well worth the wait.
Grace and I sat and drank beer after beer, and I soon got
bored of listening to his S.E.A.L. stories, and how cool he thought he
was. I had decided to go out to the deck
party in Barrio, but I wanted to go by myself.
I kept looking for ways to ditch Jon, but he kept finding ways to stick
around. Finally, around 5:00, when he
left the table to go to the head, I took the opportunity to take my leave of
him. As soon as the door of the bathroom
closed behind him, I sprinted for the door, and jumped on the first jeepney I
found on Magsaysay. I threw the driver a
five peso bill, and we tore through traffic and onto the sidestreets of
Olongapo, on our way to Barrio Baretto.
I had managed to get rid of Grace and was on my way to the Deck party to
finish getting completely drunk and raise a little Hell with my buds from Deck.
BM1 Webb invites us in to the Deck Department Party at Jack's bar in Barrio Baretto, P.I. - 1990
By the time I got to Barrio, I was starting to come down a
bit from my buzz. I headed straight to
Jack’s, and grabbed a beer at the bar. I
said howdy to all my buds and settled in for what would become a drunk of
legendary proportions. The bar was full
of Fresno sailors, and we were all on the same mission – to get as drunk as
humanly possible. We were well on the
way when the fun began. The fun began
when an older Filipino man walked in the bar to earn a little money. His trick was to let guys stick darts in his
back in exchange for a peso or two. He
had a blow gun with small darts that he’d give to you to stick in him, and most
of us would just blow the dart into his back and laugh like hyenas. But you had to know that the Fresno sailors
would find a way to one-up this guy.
After about ten minutes of sticking him full of darts from the blowgun,
the whole human pincushion thing got a little old. With the help of more than a little San
Miguel and the Major League-caliber pitching arm of John Hickersham, we made
the Dartman wish he had never set foot in Jack’s that night.
The infamous "dart man" in Barrio Baretto - 18FEB90
What happened next is still a matter of extreme disagreement
amongst those who were in the bar, and to be perfectly honest, I didn’t
actually SEE the alleged incident. What
I did see (and hear) was –
“Here man, try this”
and a couple of
“Holy Shits!”
followed by one of the most blood-curdling screams I had
ever heard. When I spun around to see what
had happened, I saw the Dartman lying on the floor, writhing in pain and
bleeding. When I looked closer, I saw a
regulation dartboard dart buried up to the shank in his back. He jumped up, pulled the dart out, screamed
something foul at us in Tagalog, then ran out of the bar as everyone laughed
like it was the funniest thing we’d ever seen.
What I heard later was that some of the guys dared Hick to throw a real
dart at the Dartman. Evidently, Hick saw
the humor in it as well, and obliged them.
He supposedly grabbed a dart from the dartboard, wound up and let it
fly. His 90mph fastball pitching arm
buried the dart as far as it would go in the Dartman’s flesh. To a room full of drunken sailors, this was
high entertainment! Yet another reason
the Filipinos booted us out of their country!
After the dart game, we
returned to our drinking in earnest.
Around 10:00, I was drunk enough to think that I wasn’t having fun
anymore, and that I needed more action in my evening. I stumbled out of Jack’s and flagged down a
passing jeepney on it’s way to Subic City.
I hadn’t been to Subic since my infamous clap-catching trip in 1988. I was looking forward to getting up there and
trying to find my old honeyko, Honey, at the Sea Lord. I flagged a Jeepney and sat back for the
ten-minute ride through the jungle.
When the jeepney stopped in Subic, I stumbled into the first
bar I could find and parked myself at a table in front of a large plate-glass
window. I ordered a beer, a Rum and
Coke, and a pitcher of mojo – I was going to finish this night off in
style! I began to look around the room
at the bargirls still in the bar, trying to make my choice for the
evening. While I was trying to narrow it
down, a street vendor came into the bar and tried to sell me a T-Shirt.
“Hey sailor – buy T-Shirt?
T-Shirt, sailor?”
“No – leave me alone!
Get the Hell away from me!” I yelled.
He looked at me quizzically, then turned and left. The barmaid showed up with my drinks, and I
began to put them down with gusto. No
sooner had I tipped up my glass of Mojo, than the vendor came back.
“T-Shirt, sailor? You
buy T-Shirt?”
“Hell No! Get away
from me, you little bastard!” I screamed at him.
He looked at me blankly, then walked away again. I was beginning to get more than a little
angry, and the more I drank, the madder I got.
I had finished my beer and my Rum and Coke, and was almost through my
pitcher of mojo, when guess who showed up at my table one last time.
“Buy T-Shirt? Sailor – Sailor – you buy now?”
I had finally had enough.
“NO!”
I yelled and grabbed the guy and threw him as hard as I
could behind me. Unfortunately, I had
forgotten about what was behind me…a large plate-glass window.
I heard a large “CRASH!”
as he hit the window. I spun around
to see the window shattered, and a surprised street vendor laying on the ground
on the other side of what had been the front window of the bar. He and I sat and stared at each other for
what seemed like minutes, but was probably only a split second in real
time. His head was cut a little, and
starting to bleed, and I think I was as scared as he was. The bar was suddenly absolutely silent, until
one of the guys sitting at the bar yelled
“RUN! You better get
out of here and hope the Filipino cops don’t catch you first!”
In my altered state, I wasn’t sure what to
do next, and running sure made a lot of sense.
I leapt through the shattered window and started booking it down the
street. As I ran, the thought occurred
to me –
“Where the Hell am I running to? I’m running into a jungle, 10 miles away from
the base. Where the Hell am I
going?”
I didn’t have long to debate myself on this issue, as a
jeepney suddenly appeared beside me. Without
even questioning the cost or direction, I jumped on board and was whisked back
through downtown Subic, headed for Olongapo and the base. As we passed the bar I had just come from,
and the crowd that had gathered by the shattered window and bleeding T-shirt
vendor, I scrunched down in my seat, hoping to God that nobody would recognize
me. No one said a word, and we continued
on our merry way. By the time we had driven
through Barrio, I was pretty sure I was going to make it. The jeepney stopped on Magsaysay, I tossed
the driver twenty pesos, then sprinted back onto the base. I didn’t stop running until I was back at the
relative safety of the Fresno, and down in First Division Berthing. It was a
wild, crazy, unbelievable night – one never to be repeated, but never to be
forgotten!
Monday, 19FEB90 – P.I.
ñ Mail Call – card from Janet
ñ Day off – Holiday (President's Day)
ñ Slept all day
ñ Wrote letter to Janet
ñ Didn't get drunk
A quick glance at my watch told me that I had just barely
managed to make it back before liberty should have expired at 7:00am. I began to take off my civvies and put my
dungarees on for work, when I realized that no one else was up and moving around. I just figured that they must were all be up
on deck already. As I tied up my
boondockers, Grace stuck his head out of the curtains of his rack,
“What the Hell are you doin’?” he asked.
“Getting dressed for quarters – what are YOU doing?”
“Dude – it’s President’s Day! It’s a holiday – we don’t have to work – go
back to bed!”
He pulled his head in and closed his curtains, while I stood
and thought a second. A holiday? I guess that would explain why nobody was
getting dressed, and why so many racks were still empty. I had completely forgotten about it but was
unbelievably grateful for the chance to climb into bed and get some sleep. I had liberty that day, but for some odd
reason, I couldn’t seem to drag my sorry ass out of bed all day. The previous night’s activities had taken a
toll, and my body was now reclaiming it’s due.
I slept through lunch and until almost dinnertime.
Around dinnertime, I managed to drag myself up to the mess
decks and eat a little. I ran into PCSN
Scotty Bale, who told me that I had some mail.
I followed him over to the Post Office and got my letter – it was a card
from Janet! I was excited to hear from
her – it was the first time I had heard from her since our first mail call in
Okinawa. We were beginning to get closer
and find out a lot more about one another, and I was really looking forward to
her letters. I went back down to my rack,
and read her letter, then I wrote her one of my own. I had a feeling that Janet just might be “the
one”, so I was being careful not to tell her too much about what life was like
here in the Philippines. I put the
letter in an envelope, put a stamp on it and laid it in the small area above my
mattress so I would remember to mail it in the morning. This being done, I promptly fell asleep, and
slept hard until reveille went down the next morning.
Tuesday, 20FEB90 – P.I. (Duty)
ñ Mail Call – nothing
ñ Got Evals – 3.6
ñ Had SAT/BAF Training
ñ Got picture from frocking
ñ Got a haircut
February 20th was a duty day. I felt much better after sleeping all day the
day before, and I just played off all of the questions about where I went after
I left the Deck party as no big deal. I
told most of the guys that I just came back to Olongapo and got drunk and
everyone seemed satisfied with that explanation. I was in no mood to offer any more details,
so I just let it lie.
That morning, our Division Officer, LTjg Smits, came and
found me. Evidently, it was time for our
performance evaluations, and Mr. Smits wanted to talk about my evals. As we sat down, he showed me my marks and
started to explain what I was looking at.
The Navy evaluation system was set up like a school grading system, with
a 4.0 being the highest score you could receive. I had scored a 3.6 on mine. I had a hard time believing that I was only a
3.6 sailor, and when I asked why he had scored me low on categories like
“Communication” and “Personal Interaction” his reply was,
“Well, I HAD to score you low on something – I couldn’t just
give you 4.0 on everything.”
It was at this point that I realized the evaluation system
was a load of bullshit. When I expressed
this concern to Mr. Smits, he became very offended.
“What do you mean?
Don’t you care about your evaluation?”
“No, not really, sir.”
“But these scores will affect your entire Navy career – they
can mean the difference between a promotion or no promotion. How can you not care?”
“Sir – I get out of the Navy the day we get back from
Pac. I’m going to college as soon as I
get home. I could give a shit less if
you scored me a 0.0 and busted me down to E-1 –
you can’t take away my college money, and you can’t take away the fact that
I’ve got less than five months left in YOUR Navy. So you can take your 3.6 eval and feel real
happy about what you did – I just don’t care.”
Mr. Smits didn’t like this answer. Officers hate it when you point out the fact
that their job as a career counselor is
completely pointless and has no meaning.
From that point on, Mr. Smits and I were never on very friendly terms. Not that I cared a whole lot, and I truly
believed everything I had told him. This
was the point when my disillusionment with Navy life began to truly take
hold. I was beginning to get what they
called “Short Timer’s Disease”. I could
see the light at the end of my active duty tunnel, and I was running for it
full speed. “Lifer Dogs” like Mr. Smits,
who were looking to make a career out of the Navy, HATED Short Timers. And that was just fine with me.
I didn’t get sent out on Shore Patrol that night, but I did
hold a Security Alert training drill. We
broke out the .45’s and ran around the ship for a while, and called it training. It was pretty much just a joke, but it was a
fun way to waste an hour or so.
According to my log, I also got a haircut on this day, and someone gave
me a picture from the Frocking Ceremony we’d had right after we left. I went to bed early that night, in part to
finish the recuperation from the night before, and partly to store up for the
next two days – our last two in the Philippines until April. It was sure to be a wild time in town for the
last couple of nights, and I didn’t want to miss anything. With that in mind, I turned in at 9:00 and
was soon sleeping deeply.
Wednesday, 21FEB90 – P.I.
ñ Commodore's Inspection
ñ Derkins got accepted at Central Michigan
ñ Mail Call – nothing
ñ OS2 Speith's B-Day
ñ Grace has my Honeyko
Only two days left in the P.I.! We were getting excited to get back out to
sea and head to our next destination – Pusan, Korea. Most of the guys on the Frez had never been
to Korea, and we were looking forward to exploring a new country and raising a
little more Hell.
This particular day was one of massive field days and
cleaning up the ship, as we were scheduled to have a Commodore’s
Inspection. We were all to be in clean
uniforms and be on our best behavior during the inspection. Evidently, we passed with flying colors,
because I can’t remember anything coming of the Commodore’s visit. Which is surprising, given the shape the Frez
was in – she was old and run-down, and at the point where NO amount of deep
cleaning and painting could make her look very good. “Presentable” was about as good as we could
do, and evidently it was enough for the Commodore.
Mail Call that day was also an exciting one. I didn’t get anything, personally, but my
friend and fellow Sea College sailor, Mike Derkins, got his letter of
acceptance in the mail from Central Michigan University. Mike was on his way to be a CMU
“Chippie”! It was an exciting day for
all of us Sea College guys, as we realized that our Navy time was almost over,
and we were about to return to the real world and become college men. With every letter of acceptance one of us
got, we all felt a step closer to our future.
QM3 Derkins swabs the deck in the p-way - 1990
When “knock off ship’s work” and “Liberty Call” went down, I
hurried to change clothes and head out for the evening. I knew it was going to be a wild one, and I
didn’t want to miss a minute of it. It
turned out to be better than I ever imagined, as my plan to get even with GMG3
Jon Grace came to fruition.
I started off at the base club with a couple of San Miguels
and a Rum and Coke or two. I then headed
out to Magsaysay and started bar-hopping.
I had hit a half dozen bars or so, when I finally stumbled into
D’Office, and ran into the usual crew – Ford, Sorby, Sornfleck, Hick, Karn and
the rest of the Deck Drunks. We
proceeded to slam down a few and began to get more than a little tipsy. I was still trying to pick up on Kay and
Jenny, but neither of them wanted much to do with me, so I spent most of my
time talking to the bartender, Mercy.
She was a nice girl – short, but cute.
Bartenders were pretty much off limits when it came to barfines and sex,
so I just talked to her and tried to make her laugh. Besides, I thought, it would be good to be
friends with the bartender – maybe I’d get a few more free drinks that
way. It seemed to be working, as my Rum
and Coke mysteriously refilled itself all night.
Mercy - my favorite bartender at D'Office in Olongapo City - 1990
Sometime around 8:00 that night, Jon Grace came into the bar
and sat down. I said “Hi” and he came
over and sat at the bar next to me. We
had a few drinks, and then he asked if I’d like to come over to another bar and
meet his honeyko. I said, “Sure” I had to see what kind of girl Jon was
risking losing his gravy train over, so out the door we went. I was glad to finally get the chance to see
exactly who it was that Jon was screwing around with, so I could know who to
watch when I figured out how to get even with him. I had decided that I would get some pictures
of the two of them together, and mail them to his wife or something, but the
end result was something even more fiendishly clever, or so I thought.
We walked into one of the many dance clubs on Magsaysay, and
stood at the door, looking up the stairs at the crowded dance floor and the
bar. I was getting thirsty, and wanted a
drink, so I started to head up the stairs when Jon grabbed my arm and said
“Hey – there she is – look!”
I looked up the stairs and couldn’t believe my eyes! Coming down towards us with a big smile on
her face was Honey – my “Cherry Popper” from Subic in 1988! Jon’s new honeyko was the girl who had given
me the clap in ’88! I couldn’t believe
it! I nearly bust a gut laughing when I
saw her, and John asked me what was so funny.
“Dude – I know her!”
“How do you know her?”
“Oh – I met her when I was here in ‘88”.
Honey - my first in '88 and Jon's honeyko in '90
Honey made it to the bottom of the stairs and laid a big
kiss on Jon. Jon gave her a kiss back
and introduced me to her. I just smiled
and said
“Oh, I already know you – I met you a couple of years ago in
Subic City”.
She just looked at me blankly – I’m sure she didn’t have a
clue who I was. After you sleep with 200
different sailors, they probably all get to looking pretty much the same, I’d
imagine. It was no surprise that she
couldn’t remember me. I, on the other
hand, would NEVER forget her – and for good reason. I was still smiling when Jon looked back at me and said,
“What? What’s so damn
funny?”
“Oh…nothing – I’ll tell you later.”
I just smiled and walked toward the bar. I couldn’t believe how well this was working
out – Jon was not only screwing around on his wife, he was screwing
around with the same whore who had given me the clap. I was willing to bet good money on the fact
that she was going to give something to Jon as well, and just knowing that he
was going to get back to the States with VD, and have to explain that to his
wife and her family was justice enough for me.
I smiled and relaxed, knowing that vengeance was mine.
I figured I’d just let him enjoy his visits with her, and
I’d tell him a day or so before we got back Stateside – just in time to let the
worry sink in, but not soon enough to get it healed and cleared up before he
got home. Oh, this was going to be
sweet! I then proceeded to get good and
drunk – really drunk, and wound up back on the Frez, hammered and happy. While I didn’t get laid, I still considered
this night to be a great success. Any time
I could get one over on Jon I was happy, and this was the Granddaddy of all
payback plans! I was pretty content with
the turn of events up to this point.
Thursday, 22FEB90 – P.I.
ñ Mail Call – box from Dad
ñ Got name put on Reds jersey
ñ D'Office – Mercy
ñ Got Chewed
February 22nd – the 42nd day of West
Pac, and our last day in the Philippines until April. The work day was full of the usual boring
stuff, and not many of the ship’s crew were really paying much attention to
what they were doing. We were all too
busy planning for our last night of Philippine liberty, and all the Hell we
would be raising once Liberty Call went down.
I was hung over, but not terribly bad.
I managed to get through until lunch time and my customary hour-long nap
in the wind tunnel. After a little
sleep, I felt like a new man. I was more
than ready to hit the town that night and cap off this port visit with a night
to remember. Mail call came around 1:00,
and I got a box from my Dad. There was a
nice letter from home, and some cookies from my Mom. It was a great spirit-lifter and the cookies
were absolutely delicious! There is
nothing in the world that compares to the taste of one of your mother’s
homemade cookies when you haven’t been home for months, and you’re halfway
around the world. I had planned on
eating just a couple of them and then stashing the rest for our upcoming time
at sea, but before I could stop, I had eaten the entire bag! So much for the best laid plans, I guess.
The day seemed to drag on forever as we kept one eye on our
work, and the other on the clock. The
big story circulating on board that day regarded one of the new officers –
Ensign Hord, who had gone out and gotten wasted the night before. The rumor was that he was in Subic City, and
had been drinking like there was no tomorrow.
Evidently, after Mr. Hord was good and drunk, he decided that he was Pro
Wrestler “Hacksaw Jim Duggan”. He had
found an old 2x4 laying around on the ground, and had taken to running around,
smashing out bar windows in Subic. It
took quite a few sailors and MP’s to wrestle him down and get him back to
base. They said that the Captain had
busted him, and he was on restriction for the rest of WestPac. Basically, it meant that whenever we pulled
into port in the P.I., Mr. Hord had to stay on board. A rough consequence for a drunken act. I never did find out if the stories were all
true, but then again, I never did see Mr. Hord out on town during liberty in
the P.I.
Finally, it was time –
“Liberty Call, Liberty Call…”
The word was passed, and we hustled down to the berthing
area to get changed, then off the ship and out to the Main Gate. We hit Magsaysay with a mission – not quite
as intense or vociferous as we had been some ten days earlier, but excited nonetheless. The beers, the Rum and Cokes and the Mojo
flowed like water as we all got good and liquored up. Around the fourth or…tenth Rum and Coke, I
decided that I should get a memento of my trip.
I headed out of the bar I was in and started walking around the various
shops on Magsaysay. I walked into a
T-shirt and embroidery shop and started to look at the shirts they had for sale. I wanted to buy a WestPac jacket, but we still
had five months to go, and I didn’t think I had earned it yet. I had almost settled on a t-shirt that said –
“Gunner’s Mate…Guns Of Steel, Rounds Of Brass, We’re The Ones Who Protect Your
Ass”. It seemed pretty cool at the time
– but that much booze will do that to you.
Then, I looked down, and realized what I was wearing – I was wearing a
Cincinnati Reds baseball jersey that I had bought in Cincinnati when I went to
FBLA Nationals right before I went to boot camp. I thought it might be cool to get my name put
on the jersey, so I stripped off my shirt and told them what I wanted. They told me it would take a couple of hours,
so I paid them the $5, and walked out of the shop, shirtless, to go find a couple
of hours’ worth of beer somewhere.
It was at this point that I found out one of the weird rules
of the P.I. – you can buy booze when you’re tall enough to reach the bar, you
can buy sex for $10, you can eat a half-developed, rotten chicken embryo, and you
can get a blow job in public, but you CAN’T walk around without a shirt
on! Weird. I was almost immediately stopped by the MP’s,
and then again by the SP’s, who all told me that I had to find a shirt, or they
would arrest me and send me back to the base.
Well, I couldn’t let my last P.I. night end like that, so I bought a $2
t-shirt from the first street vendor I could get my hands on and put it
on. I then walked over to D’Office, and
went in to have a drink with the usual suspects.
EN3 Benton navigates traffic on his way to a nap in Olongapo City - 1990
The party got wilder and crazier, the later we stayed. Pretty soon, guys began to get full of booze,
and the trips to the head began to get quicker and a lot more urgent, as
regurgitation became the word for the day.
Sailors being what sailors are, it soon turned into a puking contest –
who could puke the most, the most often and the hardest. I tried my damndest to join in the festivities,
but for some reason, I just wasn’t in a puking mood that night. I spent most of the evening sitting with BM3
Jon Sorby and swapping stories with him.
Sorby was a funny, funny guy and that night, he added a new word to my
vocabulary that stuck for years to come.
We were both about three sheets to the wind, when Sorby looked at me
through crossed eyes and said,
“Jeezus Pete – I’m chewed!”
“Chewed?”
“Yeah – Chewed. You
know, drunker than shit!”
“Oh – Chewed. I got
you”.
SN Sorby getting chewed at D'Office in Olongapo City - 1990
From that point on, every time I got drunker than a skunk, I
simply referred to it as “getting chewed”.
The word “chewed” (well, that meaning of it, anyway) will forever live
on in my vocabulary as my life-long lasting memory of Jon Sorby – God rest his
soul. (Sorby died of a heart attack four
years later, in 1994).
The rest of the evening – after I was good and “chewed”, I
spent talking with Mercy, the bartender.
She and I had really hit it off, and the more free drinks she poured me,
the more I liked her. Somewhere around
midnight, I decided that I wanted to take Mercy home. I asked if I could pay her barfine, and she
told me that she wasn’t a working girl, so she didn’t have a barfine. I asked her how I was supposed to have sex
with her then, and she just looked at me and said,
“I’ll ask for the night off – wait here”.
GMG3 Peterson and Mercy at D'Office in Olongapo City - 1990
And she did. Mercy
took me to her little apartment, where we spent the night (or at least the next
ten minutes, anyway) taking care of business.
I finished my job, then rolled over and passed out. Mercy woke me up about 6:00 the next morning
– just in time to get me back to the ship before Liberty Call expired. I got out of bed, got dressed and headed for
the door. I promised her I’d come see
her when we got back to the P.I., and left.
As I walked down Magsaysay with the dozens of other severely hungover
sailors on their way back from liberty, I suddenly remembered my baseball
jersey! I had never picked it up from
the embroidery shop, and I was sure that the store wouldn’t be open at 6:30 in
the morning! Imagine my surprise as I
walked past it, to not only find the store open, but to find an employee
sitting by the front door passing out packages of completed work to sailors as
they walked by. Evidently, having
sailors forget their clothes was a standard thing for them and they had found a
way around it. I picked up my shirt and
continued my walk to the Fresno. I
walked on board about five minutes before they secured liberty, and that was
it. My first port call to the Philippine
Islands for WestPac 1990 was over. It
had been eleven days of completely drunken debauchery, and I had loved every
second of it. I wasn’t too sad, however,
because I knew we’d be back in about six weeks to do it all over again. With this fact in mind, I changed clothes and
headed up for quarters and on to the next big evolution of our deployment:
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: P.I. TO OKINAWA TO JAPAN
Friday, 23FEB90
ñ Left P.I.
ñ Mounted .50 cals
ñ Got soccer plaques
ñ Bad Day
ñ Mailed tape to home
ñ Flight Quarters
ñ English Class – 'B' on Mid Term
Leaving Subic Bay that morning was a mixture of emotions –
sad to be leaving our playground, but happy to be getting on with deployment
and elated at the knowledge that we would be getting three square meals a day
and eight hours’ sleep a night! As we
pulled out of the harbor and steamed out to sea, the old day-to-day routine
came right back to us. About an hour
out, it was like we’d never left, and we all breathed a sigh of relief as we
returned to where sailors belonged – steaming across the open ocean. We re-mounted the .50 caliber machine guns
and made everything secure for sea. It
was a good thing we did, as not too much farther out, we ran into a nasty
storm. The wind and rain were really
blowing and coming down, and the seas began to get pretty heavy. The poor flat-bottomed Fresno began to get
tossed around like a cork. Rough seas
were no fun on the Frez, as we tended to get bounced back and forth a lot
harder than any of the other ships. We
spent as much time walking on the bulkheads as we did the decks when we
navigated the p-ways.
I did get a big surprise that day – NC1 Burton, who was the ship’s
career counselor and the ship’s liaison with the rec department on base, came
up to me and handed me a box.
“Congratulations” he said.
“For what?”
“Just look inside…”
I opened up the box and was amazed – inside were a dozen
plaques commemorating the Fresno soccer team’s 2nd Place finish in
the Subic Bay Naval Station Soccer Tournament.
“What are these for?”
“Evidently, your one win by forfeit was enough to get you
second place!”
I had to think a minute, then I realized that our earlier
calculations HAD been correct – since there were only two teams in the
tournament, and since the Peleliu had beaten us 10-1, that meant we ended up in
second place – second out of two teams!
I had NEVER won any kind of sports trophy in my life, and I wasn’t about
to look a gift horse in the mouth. I had
a plaque that said I had won 2nd place! To me that was a huge accomplishment, and I
took a lot of pride in that thing.
That night, I began what was to become my standard WestPac
custom for the next five months. I had
gotten lazy about writing letters to my folks, so when we were in the
Philippines, I had purchased a small tape recorder, and I began to tape record
letters home. It was much easier to talk
into a machine than to actually write the words down, so that’s what I
did. I finished my first tape that
night, and I put it in an envelope and mailed it off. I was pretty slick – or so I thought.
Years later, I finally listened to one of the tapes I had
sent to my folks. When I heard it, I was
shocked! I was talking to them like I
was talking to one of the guys on the ship – my language was absolutely
horrible! I was using the F-word like
athletes use “You know”…F this, F that, F…F..F..F – it was bad! And worst of all, I had sent them to my
mother to listen to, thinking she’d be proud of me! Looking back on it, I should have just stuck
with the pen and paper and saved myself the embarrassment. My folks never said anything about it, but
after I finally heard what I sounded like, I was embarrassed enough for all of
us.
Saturday, 24FEB90
ñ GQ – Fuel Oil Spray in 2C
ñ DLQ – Landed 10+ Helos
ñ English Class
ñ Did weapons inventory
ñ Heavy Seas Again
We were supposed to be headed to a big exercise off the
coast of Korea with our entire battle group, but once again, heavy seas took
their toll on the dilapidated old Fresno.
We had been pretty excited about Korea, since none of us had ever been
there, and when we got the news that we had to detour to Okinawa for an
unscheduled stop, we began to wonder a bit.
The seas were heavy for the next couple of days, and our
daily routine was altered a bit due to the fact that we couldn’t spend much
time topside. We spent a lot of time
cleaning out our spaces and catching up on training and maintenance things we’d
left for a “rainy day”. On Saturday the
24th, we had another General Quarters alarm for the same thing that
had happened on our third day of Pac – a fuel oil spray in the engine
room. We contained it quickly and got
the problem taken care of and carried on like nothing had ever happened. It was pretty amazing what you could get used
to out there.
Heavy Seas aboard the Fresno on the way to Okinawa - 24FEB90
After we secured from GQ, they passed the word for landing
quarters. I couldn’t believe it – here
we were, rocking and rolling in heavy seas, and they decided to have landing
quarters and start doing helo landing exercises! I guess we had to learn how to land helos in
any weather, so we dutifully went to our positions and waited for the
helicopter. The helo came in, landed and
then took off. I was taking off my
helmet, when I heard the alarm for another incoming helo. I quickly put my helmet back on and re-manned
my fire plug for one more helicopter…then another…and another…and another. All in all, we landed almost 15 helos that
day, on that pitching, heaving, rolling deck.
It was pretty much scary as hell, because my position was completely
exposed on the starboard side of the flight deck, and every time a helo came in
to land on that side, the ship seemed to roll and put me eye-to-eye with the
pilot of the chopper as he bore down on us.
I can’t recall another day in my life when I had so many heart-felt
discussions with God! It was just plumb
scary
That night, after we had secured from everything, I
retreated to my only place of solitude – the armory. The armory was a secured space, and the only
way you could get in was with the one key that the Gunner’s Mates had. Since I had the key with me, I could be
totally alone in there, and not have to worry about distractions. Often times, I would tape a piece of paper
over the small porthole in the door, and just veg out, reading or listening to
music and pretending I was somewhere other than in the middle of the ocean
thousands of miles from home. It was
hard to find any privacy on board a ship that small, but I had found mine, and
jealously guarded it. That night found
me in my “haven”, just relaxing and listening to some music, when somebody
knocked frantically on the door. I
opened the hatch to find the messenger of the watch knocking on my door and
telling me to bring my magazine keys and come up to the bridge on the
double. It was almost 1:00 in the
morning, and I wondered what could be so urgent. Not one to disobey an order, I grabbed the
keys and headed topside. When I got up
to the bridge, the OOD told me he had heard something rolling around inside the
magazine where we kept all of our shells for the big guns. The magazine was directly behind the bridge,
the captain’s stateroom and CIC (Combat Information Center). I made my way back to the door in the dark,
unlocked it and flicked on the light.
What I found made my heart skip a beat.
Inside our magazine, where thousands of rounds of very explosive
3” 50 shells were stored in metal canisters stacked up in metal racks, there
was a loose HE (high explosive) round, bouncing around the deck. Evidently, the round had fallen out of one of
the canisters that had not been properly re-sealed after our last gun exercise
and the rough seas had spilled it onto the deck. The shell was rolling from one side of the
magazine to the other with each roll and bouncing off of the other canisters
and the metal stanchions that supported the stacks. The casing was scratched up from the
non-stick deck, and there were dents and nicks all over it – including on the
primer, where the igniter would fire to set off the round in the guns. My hands shaking, and my heart in my throat,
I picked up the rogue round and found an empty canister and put it back
in. I couldn’t believe how close we’d
just come to blowing the bridge off of our own ship! Had that round managed to strike one of the
stanchions just right, or hit a bare electrical cord, and set off that primer,
it would have caused a chain-reaction explosion that would have basically blown
the entire superstructure off of the ship!
All of the officers, all of our communications, and all of our CPO’s
would have been dead, and the ship would have been in serious danger of
sinking!
It was a scary moment – one of the scariest in my Navy
career. I knew I couldn’t tell the OOD
what I’d found, so after I had put the round away and MADE SURE it was secured,
I sat and waited for my heartbeat to return to normal. Once I could breathe normally, I calmly
walked to the bridge and informed the OOD that one of the empty canisters had
come loose, and that’s what he had been hearing – a completely harmless empty
canister. He bought my explanation, and
apologized for having me come up so quickly for a non-emergency. He said he was just worried that it might
have been a round that had broken loose, and he knew how dangerous that could
be! I forced a laugh, and once again
reassured him that nothing had happened, and I wandered back to the armory
where I sat until reveille, scared out of my mind, thinking that Third Division
had almost blown up our own ship!
Sunday, 25FEB90
ñ Found 3”.50 shell in RSR – 1:00am
ñ Holiday Routine
ñ Chili Dogs for lunch
ñ Heavy Seas
ñ Went on foc'sle – got soaked
Luckily for me, they called Holiday Routine for the next day,
and I could finally relax and get some rest.
I told GMG2 Muna and GMG1 Williansen what had happened, and they decided
to do the same thing that I had done – forget all about it. Out of sight, out of mind – or something like
that. We had very heavy seas once again
that day, and I had to venture on the foc’sle to check on our lockers. I got absolutely soaked in the thirty seconds
I was out there, and decided to spend the rest of the day in the berthing area,
warm, dry and in bed. And that’s just
what I did.
Monday, 26FEB90 - Okinawa
ñ Mail Call – letter from Janet and church bulletin
ñ Went to USS St. Louis – picked up parts
ñ Left the pier at 14:30
ñ Plane guard – evening
ñ Anchored out
The next morning, we neared Okinawa and got ready to pull
into port. The skies were much clearer
this time, and we could actually see countryside as we sailed past. Okinawa was kind of neat – very green and
covered in trees. What buildings you
could see from Buckner Bay were small and crammed close together, as were most countries
short on space out here. We pulled into
port around 9:00 and took on mail and some stores. Muna, Grace and I went over to the USS Saint
Louis, another ship in port at the same time, and borrowed some parts for our
much-troubled gun mounts. It was the
first – and only – time that I ever got to leave the ship in Okinawa. We pulled into Okinawa four times on WestPac,
and that was the only time I set foot on Okinawan soil. It was a mixture of bad timing and
disciplinary action, but that was it for my Okinawa Experience.
Okinawa - 26FEB90
We soon returned to the Fresno with our parts and began working
on our gun mounts to try to get them back to perfect order once again. Then, after lunch, they called Sea and
Anchor, and about 2:30 we pulled out of port.
We spent some time serving as Plane Guard for one of the other ships in
the area who was conducting flight ops.
As Plane Guard, our job was to tail the ship doing the ops and keep our
eyes open for guys who had fallen overboard, or pilots who crashed. In reality, it was unbelievably tedious and
excruciatingly boring work. But, since
we were the junior ship in the group, we got to be the “Plane Guard Bitch” time
after time after time. That night, we
just anchored out in Buckner Bay and went to sleep.
Tuesday, 27FEB90 - Okinawa
ñ Anchored Out
ñ Went to pier in the morning – back out
ñ Got orders to Yokosuka for drydock
ñ Went fishing off the stern gate – got skunked
ñ Marines left
February 27th dawned gray, but without rain. It was nice to see a day without rain – it
had been awhile. We pulled up anchor for
a brief trip into the pier that morning, then it was back out to the bay, where
we dropped anchor and sat. We were all
bored, so we lowered the stern gate and let everybody go fishing from the back
of the ship. I went down and hung out
with the fishermen for a while, but nobody was catching anything, so I quickly
got bored and left. Later, one of the
guys told me that, about an hour later, the Harbormaster came up to the Fresno
in a Zodiac boat and asked them what the Hell they were doing. When they told him they were fishing, the
Harbormaster just laughed and said
“I know – we’ve been laughing at you idiots for two hours
now. Don’t you guys know that this
harbor is dead? Nothing has lived in
this bay for years! It’s so damn
polluted, about the only thing you’ll catch is an old tire!”
Fresno crew fishing from the stern gate in Buckner Bay, Okinawa - 27FEB90
HT2 Malis tries his luck - 27FEB90
And that was the end of fishing from the stern gate! I wasn’t actually there to hear the
Harbormaster’s speech, but I can imagine the pure joy he got from informing a bunch
of complete idiots fishing in a dead harbor!
Leave it to the Fresno to pull something like that.
That day, we finally got the news we’d all been
dreading. According to our damage
assessments (the real reason we’d been in Okinawa), they were changing our
plans. They had canceled our trip to
Korea, and instead, they were sending us to drydock in Yokosuka (pronounced
Yuh-Koos-Kuh), Japan. Japan?! If there was one place in the world that I
didn’t really care to ever see, it was Japan.
I just had no interest in seeing it.
And we were headed there for at least two weeks! Oh well – I was sure that there had to be something
interesting about Japan. We tried our
best to hide our disappointment over missing Korea, and we tried to look
forward to our time in Japan. Such was
the life, I guess – when the sea decides you’re not going somewhere, you just
don’t go there! We buried our feelings
and started making preparations for Japan and drydock.
Wednesday, 28FEB90
ñ Left Okinawa, headed to Yokosuka
ñ Swept out magazines
ñ Hung out in MR Shop
ñ Rained all day
The next morning, as we pulled up anchor and began to steam
out of Buckner Bay and away from Okinawa, the rain began once again – a perfect
background for our current state of mind.
We had four days at sea to get to Japan, and it would rain and be heavy
seas all the way. By the time we got to
Yokosuka, we were actually pretty glad to get our feet on dry, unmoving, ground.
While we had been in port, however quickly, we had brought
onboard a bunch of mail. I got another
letter from Janet, and quickly read it all.
She told more about herself, and about what she was looking for…so far,
so good. I was really beginning to get
serious about her and was beginning to envision a future between us. I think this was my first serious flirtation
with the word “love” involved. I was
hooked and when the end came the way it did, I was absolutely crushed. More on that story later.
FEB90:
Deployment day 21-48 Underway
– 14 days In Port – 14 days
Thursday, 1MAR90
ñ Payday - $165.00
ñ Zone inspection
ñ English Class
ñ Corrected discrepancies
ñ Wrote letter to Paul
Friday, 2MAR90
ñ Smacked Grace upside his head – got kicked in the thigh
ñ Did PMS on fire stations
ñ English Class
ñ Rough Seas
Looking aft from the O2 level - 1990
The next couple days were uneventful. The seas were rough, and the rain continued
to fall. On Friday, March 2nd,
according to my log, I got into some sort of altercation with Jon Grace at
quarters. Evidently, I hauled off and
smacked him in the head, and he kicked me in the thigh. I don’t know what caused it, but from the
looks of the log entry, it had to have been something pretty juvenile and
asinine. It just served as yet another
illustration of the strained relationship between the two of us. It was always hard to figure out where we
stood – friends one day, enemies the next, that was us. I never worried too much about it, though,
because I always knew that I had devised the perfect revenge plan against him
and it was, as we spoke, in full swing.
Just the thought of that made me smile!
Saturday, 3MAR90
ñ Downloaded SRBOC's
ñ Stored all ammo for drydock
ñ Did PMS on sprinklers – bled PRP without tripping it and
charged system with petcock open
ñ English Class
ñ Rough Seas
The day before we hit Japan, we stayed busy getting ready to
pull into drydock. Since we would be in
port for so long, we had to secure all of our ammunition and pyrotechnics. We spent the day working on that. Later that day, I made my first big mistake
as a Gunner’s Mate.
We were doing maintenance on the magazine fire sprinkler
systems, and as a part of the maintenance, you had to do a test of the pressure
in the system. In order to do this, you
had to put a test casting into the system to block the flow of water from the
pipes in the actual magazine, then turn the system on and see if you had water
pressure making it to the test casting.
With the casting in place, the sprinklers wouldn’t go off in the magazine
and flood the space. Well, that day, I
wasn’t paying close enough attention to what I was doing, and when I put the
test casting in and tightened it down, I forgot to trip the overflow
petcock. I left it wide open as I slowly
bled the pressure from the lines in the magazine and then opened up the rest of
the system full blast. The water pressure
hit the test casting, and blew straight out of the open petcock absolutely
soaking us and the p-way we were standing in.
That in itself was bad enough, but to make matters worse, the p-way we
were standing in was directly in front of the Captain’s Cabin! I had flooded the passageway in front of the
C.O.’s stateroom. I quickly shut the petcock
and turned off the water but it was too late.
I had absolutely soaked the decks.
I spent the next couple of hours, swab in hand, cleaning up my
mess. Once it was all dry, I had to
completely strip and re-wax the deck, because the water we used in the fire
systems was pumped directly from the sea, and was all saltwater – which plays
HELL on nicely-waxed decks! I got it all
cleaned up and re-waxed and emerged from my little episode much wiser and more
attentive to my tasks at hand. I must’ve
learned something, because I never, EVER, made that mistake again!
That night, we were in heavy seas once again, and you had to
sleep holding on to the sides of your rack so you wouldn’t fall out. It wasn’t too hard, we’d slept like that for
the past week, so it was becoming old hat quickly. We had checked and double-checked our preparations
for drydock, and knew that we were ready.
We turned in that night, a bit disappointed, but excited nevertheless
for our port visit to Yokosuka, Japan.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: THREE WEEKS IN JAPAN
Sunday, 4MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Manned the rails in dress blues
ñ Cold & Windy
ñ English class – 1530-1700
ñ Ate at McDonald’s
ñ Got chewed
The morning of March 4th set the tone for our port visit to Japan, and pretty much the entire month of March. It was grey,
cold, windy and spitting rain – much the same as we would see for the remainder
of our stay. We were
scheduled to pull into port for a couple of days, then sail into the dry dock
in the Yokosuka shipyard for about ten days’ worth of repairs, then head on
back to the battle group and hopefully catch the end of the exercises in
Korea. This was the schedule – little
did we know we’d be spending almost a month in Japan.
Sailing into Yokosuka, Japan (Mt. Fuji in the distance) - 04MAR90
Since Japan was technically not a working port, we had to
man the rails in our dress blues as we pulled in. It was a plus for me, because when we all
manned our Sea and Anchor detail stations, mine was as a helmsman in the
starboard aftersteering room, so I got to stay below decks the entire
time. I missed out on getting soaking
wet and frozen to the bone in the wind and rain. Darn.
As a result of the weather, and being out in it for two hours, the
general mood of the crew by the time we got tied up was a foul one. Guys were just looking forward to getting the
Hell off the ship and getting drunk. I
must say that even though I was warm and dry, I was looking forward to a drink
or six myself. As we got the ship tied
to the pier and finished the day’s work, liberty call was a welcome sound. I had to go to English class from 1530-1700,
but as soon as class was over, it was into the civvies and out onto the base.
The base in Yokosuka was pretty cool, actually. They had done everything they could to make
it seem like you were stateside, but the right-hand drive cars all over tipped
us off to the fact that we were anywhere BUT in the United States. The base was built in a very hilly area and
covered in trees. It was a good thing
that the entire base was well marked with road signs, because it was very easy
to get lost. By the end of our stay in
Yokosuka, most of us were well versed in the location of the important things
on base – the Base Club, the Bowling Alley, the Liquor Store, the Main Gate and
most importantly, McDonald’s. Yes,
that’s right – Mickey D’s! It was the
first McDonald’s we had seen since we left the States, and you can bet that we
made a beeline for the Golden Arches as soon as we spotted them. That first night of liberty, I found my way to
McDonald’s and joined what looked like half of the Fresno crew for dinner. A Big Mac never tasted so good – so good, in
fact, that I ate three of them!
After we were done feasting, we all kind of wandered
aimlessly out onto the streets of the base, not exactly sure where we were
going. One of the guys spotted a sign
pointing us toward the base club, so away we went. The base club in Yokosuka was huge. There were three or four different bars in it
– a rock club, a country club and a lounge with slot machines. Our group split up into smaller groups
according to our tastes, and we hit the bars with a vengeance! We stayed until closing time and then
re-grouped in front of the club and did the old group navigation trick to find
our way back to the ship. Somehow, we
found it.
I was drunk – really, really drunk. In true Sorby-speak, I was “chewed”. Somewhere in an alley between the base club
and the ship, I lost my Big Macs and whatever else was in my stomach. I wasn’t alone – technicolor yawns were a
common sight that evening, and the ability to regurgitate massive amounts became
one of the most widely-used of our partying skills for the duration of our
Japanese port visit. It was merely the
first in a series of nights I’d just as soon forget. The rest of the month was much more of the
same.
Monday, 5MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Did small arms PMS
ñ Mail call – one letter from Kendrith, one from Dad
ñ English Final
ñ Got chewed
Reveille of March 5th was not a welcome
sound. For some reason, Japanese hangovers
were much more painful than Filipino hangovers.
I wasn’t alone, however – the entire berthing area was moving MUCH more
slowly than usual. We all managed to
make our way up towards quarters and decided that breakfast sounded like a very
counter-productive idea. We’d expend
more energy throwing it back up than we would gain from eating it, so we just
walked right past the mess decks. After
quarters, we headed to work. Work was
just the regular routine – taking magazine temperatures and checking space
security, then we headed down to the armory to keep out of the rain. We spent the day cleaning the small arms -
.45’s, M-14’s, M-60’s and our Grenade Launchers and shotguns. It was easy work – but a lot more difficult
than you’d imagine when you are so hungover you can feel the veins in your
eyeballs throb every time you blink. And
to make matters worse, I had my final for English class that night!
I forced myself to eat some bread at lunch and took a
nap. After that I felt a lot more human. I managed to study a bit before liberty call
went down, and when it did, I went down to the crew’s lounge to take my
test. By the time the test was done, I
was feeling a lot more clear-headed. I
felt like I had done a good job on the test and decided to reward myself with a
little visit to the base club. I
showered up, changed clothes, and headed out for another evening of
over-indulgence at the club. I wasn’t too
worried about the next day, because I knew I had duty anyway, so a full night’s
sleep was guaranteed. With this in mind,
I proceeded to outdo my previous night’s performance and got absolutely
hammered!
I was beyond “chewed” by the time closing time came. Some of the Marines attached to the Fresno
found me laying by the sidewalk outside the base club, and they basically
carried me back to the ship. I spent the
entire trip alternating between heaving my guts out and apologizing to the
Marines for being such a wuss. They just
laughed and drug me back to the ship. It
was that moment when I gained a whole new respect for the Marine Corps. They had accepted the Fresno’s Navy crew as a
part of their company, and they treated us as such. In small gestures like helping me back to the
ship, the Marines proved to me their loyalty and dedication to their
brothers. From that point on, I never
again made fun of them or talked bad about them behind their backs. I trusted them, and as a result, I ended up
making some great friends among our Marine crew. We were all in this together – it took a
puking, drunken night to prove this to me, but I was a believer nonetheless.
Tuesday, 6MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan (Duty)
ñ Went into drydock
ñ Stood 12-16 P.O.O.W.
ñ Mail call – Backpacker magazine, letters from Dad & Matt
and box from Janet
ñ Security Alert drill
Fresno in drydock - Yokosuka Naval Station, Japan - 06MAR90
Tuesday, March 6th was an important day for the
Fresno. It was the day we pulled into
drydock. We left the pier that morning,
and sailed to the other side of the harbor, and into the shipyards’
drydock. They slid the blocks into place
and pumped the water out of the drydock, and the Fresno became landlocked once
again. It was a depressing sight really
– this once-proud warship sitting up on blocks and out of the water. You were almost embarrassed for her when you
looked at her. Once we were settled and
secured, it didn’t take long for the shipyard workers to swarm onto the
Frez. I had drawn one of the few
quarterdeck watches I had during WestPac that day, and I spent from noon until
4:00 that afternoon checking shipyard workers’ I.D. badges against a master log
and letting them come aboard to go to work.
After an hour or so of watch, all of the Suzukis and
Kazahari’s and Yamakaza’s begin to look the same – you’d give your eye teeth
for just ONE “Jones” or “Smith”. On top
of the name confusion, every time you gave one of the workers permission to
come aboard, you had to bow and say “h-aye” (or something that sounded like
that). Ain’t foreign culture
something. I did learn how to say “thank
you” (arigato) and “Thank you very much” (arigato gazimus). That was about as much Japanese as I learned. Oh, I probably learned how to say “yes” and
“no”, but I have long since forgotten them.
After watch, I headed over to the ship’s Post Office and
picked up my mail from that day’s mail call.
I got a couple of letters from my folks and a care package from my
girlfriend, Janet. She had sent me cookies
and a nice letter. It was awesome to
hear from her, and we had taken to calling each other “boyfriend” and
“girlfriend” in our letters. I guess we
were officially dating now – funny how that can happen thousands of miles
apart, but it did, and I wasn’t about to argue with the logic. I was just happy to finally have a girlfriend. I planned to write her back a long letter
that night, but duty came first.
My first duty was to eat something. I was still suffering from a monstrous
two-day drunk hangover, and I needed to get something substantial into my
stomach…something that I wouldn’t be puking up a couple of hours later! I headed to the mess decks and ate a big dinner,
then I mustered the Security Alert Force and held a short training meeting and
drill. As soon as we were finished, I
headed to my rack, stripped down to my shorts and broke out a pen and
paper. I managed to get “Dear Janet”
written down before I fell asleep. Two
nights of partying had caught up to my, and by 7:00, I was sawing logs, with my
face buried in a pad of notebook paper and my drool smearing the two words I
had scratched out before I crashed. I
guess I needed the sleep worse than I thought I did.
Wednesday, 7MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Mail call – nothing
ñ Worked out
ñ Went bowling – 105
ñ Went out on town – Sherry (CPO's wife)
ñ Did not sleep
I awoke that morning feeling refreshed. Twelve hours’ sleep will do that for
you. I did have to go wash “Dear Janet”
in ballpoint ink off of my cheek, but it was a trade I was happy to make. We didn’t do much that day at work, just the
usual stuff. Since we were in drydock,
and the shipyard workers were busy making repairs, we just tried to stay out of
their way. We took an early liberty
after lunch, and Jon Grace and I went over to the base gym to work out. I had never really been a fan of working out,
but now that I had a girlfriend, I decided that I should try to look my best
when I got back to the states. I asked
Jon to help me develop a workout plan, and he agreed readily. He jumped at the chance to prove what a stud and how much better he was than me. I
didn’t really care, I just wanted someone to show me what the hell to do in the
gym.
That first workout went smoothly. Jon was actually very patient with me and
didn’t give me too much crap about being a weakling. He showed me how to do some different lifts,
and how to do some exercises and such that would help. We didn’t push it too hard that first day,
but that would soon change as Jon’s sadistic side came out. I actually left the gym feeling pretty good,
and headed back to the Frez for a shower and a clothes change before heading
out for the evening.
As I got ready to leave for the base club (of course), I ran
into a group of guys from deck department who were heading over to the base
bowling alley to roll a game or two.
They invited me to come along, and though I sucked at bowling, I went
with them. My natural skill and grace at
the game of bowling shone through, and I bowled an amazing 105! However, it wasn’t the score of the game we
were so concerned about, it was the score at the bar – who’s turn it was to buy
the next round! When we were finished
bowling, we were all feeling no pain, and we decided to head to the base
club to finish the job. By the time we got
to the club, we had talked enough to realize that none of us had left the base
yet.
The main gate of the base was right by the front door of the
base club, so we decided to head out onto the main drag of Yokosuka – “The
Haunch”. It was this night that I
discovered a drink that would become my arch-nemesis for the rest of my stay in
Japan – the “Suffering Bastard”. This
concoction is made of Ginger Ale, spritzer water and some sort of rice root
alcohol that makes you forget your own name.
They taste like sweet Ginger Ale, and you really don’t know why they
call it a Suffering Bastard until the next morning. The hangover you get from a Suffering Bastard
is one for the record books – your stomach ties itself in knots, your tongue
swells to elephantine proportions, your balance disappears, and your head hurts
so bad you’d swear you can feel your hair grow.
Even shaving with a Suffering Bastard hangover is an agonizingly loud, nerve-jangling, painful experience. But man, did they taste good! So damn the pain ahead – it was a Suffering
Bastard night!
The bars out on The Haunch were pretty similar. They were small, but very clean. There were no bar girls like in the
Philippines, and drinks were very expensive (by WestPac standards). Beers were $4 or $5 a piece, and mixed drinks
were anywhere from $3 to $10. A
Suffering Bastard was around $5 or $6, and they tasted so good, it didn't take
long for your money to be gone. The
music was typical American Top 40 dance music, and some bars played classic rock. There were a few Karaoke bars, and you could
choose either American songs or Japanese songs.
The Japanese locals thought that Americans singing Karaoke was hilarious,
and they would be rolling in the aisles laughing as drunken sailors tried their
best to sing Elvis songs. The crowds in
these bars were a mix of Sailors and Marines in port for a visit, military guys
stationed in Yokosuka, a few Japanese locals and a lot of wives of guys
stationed in Yokosuka, but out to sea.
It was this last group that we ended up partying with our first night
out on The Haunch.
I don’t recall which bar we met them at, but the group of
guys I was partying with – probably Haulin, Powell, Jerry Ford and a couple
other deck apes, soon met up with four or five gals who’s husbands were out to
sea. The gal I was talking to that night
soon told me that her friend thought I was really hot, so she was going to go
talk to one of my buds so her friend could have me. I thought it was pretty cool that I was being
fought over…until I SAW her friend. Her
name was Sherry. She was a Chief Petty
Officer’s wife, and she was ugly.
U-G-L-Y. She was probably about 5
foot tall, and weighed at least 250 lbs.
Her nose was turned up like a snout, and she snorted when she
laughed. She had to have been one of the
most hideous women I’d ever seen – she’d definitely have given Fat Moon Rising
a run for her money! BUT…I was drunk,
and she was lonely, AND she was buying, so I let her sit down and I started
talking with her. Needless to say, as
the night progressed, and the Suffering Bastards began to cloud all judgment,
the thought of making it with a Chief’s wife began to sound like quite a
conquest! Sometime around 2 or 3 that
morning, she suggested we go to her base housing apartment, and I drunkenly
agreed. As we walked out of the bar to a
chorus of catcalls and pig snorts, I flipped off the crowd over my shoulder and
climbed into a cab (which she paid for, of course) and we zoomed off to the
base and her apartment.
We sat in the back of the cab and cuddled and kissed like a
couple of newlyweds, while the Japanese driver kept shooting us looks of
derision over his shoulder. Base housing
was clear across the harbor from where the Frez sat in drydock, but at the
moment I wasn’t too concerned about that.
I was busy thinking about what was to come once we made it to her
place. When we did make it to her
building, we headed in and up to her apartment.
She led me to the bedroom where we climbed into bed and started kissing
and fooling around. Before anything
could get too far, I excused myself to use the restroom. As I walked from the bedroom to the bathroom,
I couldn’t help but notice the pictures of her husband on the walls. Suddenly, out of the blue, a bolt of guilt
sliced through me. Here I was, in bed
with some chief’s wife, while he was out in the middle of the ocean alone and
missing her. That thought, coupled with
the fact that I had sobered up enough to realize what a pig she was, made up my
mind. I finished taking a leak and
walked back to the bedroom to tell her good-bye. I had a long, rambling explanation worked out
for when she begged me to stay, but when I got there, she was already passed
out with her shirt undone and her pants off.
It looked like she had been getting ready for me to come back to bed
when she just passed right out. I
grabbed a blanket off the foot of the bed, covered her up and made my way out
of her apartment and down to the street.
It was here that I realized my predicament – I was at a part
of the base I had never been to before, there were no cabs, I had no
idea where the ship was AND it was a half hour before liberty was secured! I quickly scanned the area and saw what
looked like a ship’s mast sticking up from behind a hill, so I headed that direction,
double-time.
About a half-mile into my blind trek back to the Frez, I ran
into a welcome sight. Heading down
another street, trying to catch up with me came Bob Powell and Steve
Haulin. Evidently, they had hooked up
with two of the other gals in the group and had stories similar to mine. All of us were operating on no sleep with a
belly full of beer and Suffering Bastards and lost as Hell! Somehow, we managed to find our way back to
the pier and onto the drydock where we found the Fresno. The three of us stepped on board as liberty
was secured, thereby saving ourselves untold hardships and possible
restriction. We stumbled down the
ladderback and into the berthing area, where we managed to avoid the temptation
of our racks, and got dressed and headed up for quarters.
Thursday, 8MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Did M4R on SRBOC
ñ GMG1 bought pizza for lunch
ñ Skated all day
ñ Mail Call – letter from Dad, letter from Grandma P.
ñ Hit my rack at 1500
ñ Woke up at 0700
Quarters was painful.
Work was painful. As a matter of
fact, just breathing was painful on this day.
I walked around the ship, from space to space, just trying to avoid any
loud noises or anything closely resembling work until I could hit my rack and
get some sleep. I had planned to get a
good nooner in, but for some reason, GMG1 Williansen took it upon himself to
surprise us, and he bought us a pizza for lunch. It was a nice gesture – the first time he’d
ever done it, and it was all I could do to choke down a piece to show my
appreciation.
Somehow, I managed to make it through the day, and when
liberty call went down at 4:00, I just happened to be standing right next to my
rack. As soon as the word was passed, I
climbed in, covered up and closed the curtains.
My eyelids slammed shut, and the world disappeared until reveille went
down the next morning. It was a looong,
tired, hungover, painful day. You’d
think I’d have learned a lesson…HA!
Friday, 9MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan (Duty)
ñ Mail call – nothing
ñ Cleaned & Painted Mounts
ñ Swabbed slick decks
ñ Watch 00-04
ñ U.I with O'Nell – His first watch
I woke up feeling much better than I had the day before –
which really wasn’t much of a trick, because a dead guy probably feels better
than I had felt the day before. It was a
duty day, which was just fine with me, because the more sleep I could get, the
better. Unfortunately, when I checked
the P.O.D., I found I had the midnight to 4am quarterdeck watch, and worse, I
was supposed to train a new guy – so no slacking for me.
The day went fine, nothing too strenuous, and nothing too
exciting – just a day. After liberty
call went down, I grabbed a quick bite, then caught a nap before my midnight
watch. The Messenger of the Watch came
down and woke me up around 23:30, I got up, got dressed and found my way up to
the quarterdeck to watch the drunks come back from town. The next day was Saturday, and I had signed
up to take a tour of Mt. Fuji, so I spent most of the watch talking to the
other guys on the quarterdeck about what to expect on our tour. 0400 came quickly, and I headed back for
another quick nap before reveille. It
was yet another thrilling day of duty, but such is the life of a sailor. Moments of terror, moments of drunken
debauchery, and hours of boredom. Yay.
Saturday, 10MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Took tour to Mt. Fuji & 5 Lakes
ñ Got Chewed!
ñ Took mondo pictures
ñ Mail Call – nothing
My first real taste of Japan came on March 10th. I had signed up to take a tour to “Mt. Fuji
and the Five Lakes”. I wasn’t exactly
sure what we were going to see, but it sounded better than hanging out at the
base club all day and getting drunk again.
The tour bus pulled up to our pier at around 0800 that morning, and 20
of us loaded up to go see the sights.
The first thing I noticed on the bus was the fact that the driver had a
tiny TV screen in front of him. He had a
camera on the back of the bus so he could see where he was backing up. Rear-view cameras are commonplace now, but in
1990, it was the first one I had ever seen, and I thought it was the coolest
thing ever. Simple pleasures for simple
minds, I guess.
The tour bus left the base and headed for Mt. Fuji. We drove through the town of Yokosuka, which
was actually a pretty decent-sized city.
The driver was giving us running commentary for most of the trip, and he
told us to be on the lookout for any white Mercedes. He said that the Japanese Mafia were the only
ones who drove them, so if we saw a white Mercedes, we weren’t supposed to look
at it. Of course, sailors being what
they are, we immediately began looking for a white Mercedes to flip off. Probably a good thing that we never did see
any. Most of us just sat and watched the
scenery go by out the window and contemplated the differences in our
cultures. Japan was really crowded and
busy, but there were a lot of really beautiful spots. They had big trees, colorful flowers and lots
of green. Some of the countryside was
absolutely beautiful, and some of it was filthy industrial area – a definite
contrast in scenery. The driver
explained to us that the name of the tour was a bit misleading. He said we’d be going to Mt. Fuji, but that
we really weren’t going to five lakes.
He told us we’d go to a couple of small sacred ponds and then to a
Buddhist temple, a Shinto shrine and a big, scenic waterfall. It was all new to us, so nobody really
complained. We could see Mt. Fuji’s
outline from the windows, and the closer it got, the more excited we were to
see it.
Our first stop, however, had nothing to do with Mt. Fuji OR
sacred ponds. Our first stop was at an
Esso gas station where we took a restroom break and watched the locals float
around the lake in swan-shaped paddleboats.
Then, one of the guys discovered the fact that the gas station sold
beer! That was all we needed to hear, as
we stormed the store and bought up plenty of beer and Japanese snacks (things
like dried squid jerky and dehydrated seaweed).
For some weird reason, having a beer in hand made the trip a lot more enjoyable.
Japanese vending machines - 10MAR1990
We left the gas station and drove off to see Mt. Fuji. On the way, we stopped at an ancient Shinto
shrine. Japan was mainly divided into
two religions: Buddhism and
Shintoism. The Buddhists believed in Buddha
and his teachings, while the Shintoists were a more nature-based religion. The Shinto shrine was really neat – it
consisted of a couple of ancient buildings built at the base of some really
HUGE trees. The trees were centuries
old, and probably twenty feet around.
One of the trees was covered in small prayer boards. The boards were what the worshippers would
paint their prayers on, and then bring to the shrine, to nail onto the tree as
an offering and prayer. They would then
walk over to the shrine and pray. We
weren’t allowed to go into the shrine, but we could see in and watch the
faithful pray. It was a very peaceful
and awe-inspiring setting, and you could feel the reverence and spirituality of
the shrine sink in. I don’t think any of
us said a word until we were back on the bus and talking about how cool it was
amongst ourselves. As we pulled away
from the parking area and headed for Mt. Fuji, we were still a bit awe-struck
by the shrine. It was a really neat
experience.
The next stop was at the visitor’s center of Mt. Fuji. Mt. Fuji is probably one of the most photographed
mountains in the world and is really beautiful in person. It is a long-dormant volcano and is a
definite contrast to the mostly green sea-level country around it. The Japanese regard the mountain as sacred in
some sense, and it was also a very solemn and reverent place to visit. We took some pictures and read the historical
signs and displays that were printed in both Japanese and English, and then got
back on the bus for our next stop. The
coolest thing about Mt. Fuji was just the fact that when I got back to the
States, I could tell my friends in Wyoming,
“Yeah? Well, I’VE
been to Mt. Fuji!”
Shallow, I know, but you’ve got to get your digs in where
you can.
We then visited what we were told was a sacred pond that
was, in actuality, a muddy koi farm with a gift shop. The big pool and smaller holding pools were jam
packed with hundreds of colorful koi fish, and about five minutes of looking at
them (and smelling the putrid water) was enough for us. The bus stayed here for almost an hour for
some reason, and had it not been for the gift shop that sold beer, it would
have been nearly unbearable! We were all
glad to get back on the bus and head to the next place – a Buddhist temple.
The temple was actually a Peace Garden that had been built by
a rich industrialist in hopes that Buddha would grant him favor. It was really neat, though. You could see the large marble-domed temple
on top of the hill, but to get to it, you had to walk up a long path lined with
marble lantern-shaped statues. When you
got to the end of the path, there were two small structures, one holding a
cistern full of water with a dipper, and the other housed a large bell. For the faithful, these were two important
steps you had to do before you approached the temple. First you walked over and rang the bell to
make sure the Gods were awake to hear your prayer, then you had to say the
prayer and sip the holy water. After you
had finished that, you could proceed up another path to the marble temple. This path was lined with fierce looking
statues – statues of the Guardians of Buddha from every country that practiced
Buddhism.
Once you made it to the base of the temple, there was another
small structure that housed an incense burner where you would light a piece of
incense, say a prayer and leave your incense to burn while you approached the
Buddha shrine. You could also leave
prayers on small pieces of paper attached to a board there, and there were
hundreds of them tied to it. The temple
itself was a marble dome, with four openings, one on each side. Inside each of the openings sat a different
golden Buddha statue, each representing one of the Four Noble Truths of
Buddhism – Suffering, the Origin of Suffering, the Cessation of Suffering and
The Way Leading to the Cessation of Suffering (don’t worry, I didn’t really
understand it either!). There were steps
leading up to each statue but since I was not a Buddhist, I didn’t feel right about
walking up to the statues where the faithful were praying. I just stood back and looked. As I turned to leave, I was struck by one of
the most amazing vistas I had ever seen in my life. Mt. Fuji was visible directly in front of me,
and the Guardians of Buddha stood on either side of my line of sight, perfectly
framing the mountain – which was being illuminated by a bright afternoon
sun. It was absolutely breathtaking! I was almost halfway down the hill when I
remembered I had my camera with me and snapped a picture of the scene. This picture remains one of my favorite to
this day. I have seen very few
professional portraits of Mt. Fuji that are more striking than the one I took
with my little $20 fixed-focus camera.
Funny how that happens sometimes, isn’t it.
Mt. Fuji from the peace gardens outside Shiraito Falls - 10MAR90
Following our experience at the Peace Garden, we drove
through some beautiful Japanese countryside, and finally stopped at a place
called Shiraito (sheer-uh-ee-toe) Falls.
Shiraito falls, we were told, was like the Japanese equivalent to Niagra
Falls. The falls themselves were
breathtakingly beautiful, but the area surrounding it had been developed into a
commercial tourist trap. The most
striking thing I remember seeing there was the crazy, diverse collection of
vending machines. They had machines
there that sold everything from iced coffee (first time I’d ever seen that) to
hot soup to seaweed snacks. It was nuts
– the Japanese would buy (or sell) anything from a vending machine! We hung around the shops for a while, took
some great pictures of the waterfalls, then loaded back onto the bus and headed
back towards Yokosuka, and home.
Shiraito Falls - Japan 10MAR90
GMG3 Peterson at Shiraito Falls - 10MAR90
We made one more stop an a somewhat less-than-impressive
sacred pond, spent about 10 minutes looking at it, then jumped back on the bus
for the rest of the ride home. It was
beginning to get dark by the time we hit the outskirts of Yokosuka, and the
traffic was much heavier than it had been when we left that morning. Rush hour, I guess. When we made it back to the base, it was
dinner time. I went on board ship to
drop off my souvenirs at get a bite to eat on the mess decks, then I grabbed what
little money I had left and jetted off to the base club – my new home away from
home. I spent most of that night in the
rock club watching a Pink Floyd concert and finishing the drunk I’d started on
the tour bus. By the time closing came,
I found myself chewed again, and I stumbled back across the base to the Frez,
where I collapsed, drunk and exhausted, into my rack. Tomorrow was Sunday, and I could sleep as
late as I wanted – a luxury I took full advantage of.
Sunday, 11MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Slept in!
ñ Watched “Turner & Hooch” & “Casualties Of War”
ñ Went bowling – 81 & 122
ñ Partied with Sherry & Maryanne
ñ Went home in the rain
Somehow I managed to sleep through reveille that morning,
and slept clear through until lunchtime.
I was feeling a bit hungover, but nothing like my Suffering Bastard
experience a few nights earlier. For
some reason, they didn’t sell Suffering Bastards at the base club in Yokosuka –
a fact you’d think would warn us off of them.
Guess that fact never dawned on any of us. I still hadn’t made up my mind what to do with
my day, so I ended up just sitting around the ship, watching movies and writing
some letters home. Somewhere around 4 or
5, Hickersham found me and asked me if I wanted to go bowling with them. I agreed and forced myself out of my warm,
cozy rack, got dressed, and headed off for the bowling alley. It was a cool, overcast afternoon, and you
could feel the rain on the way. Hick and
I walked to the bowling alley and grabbed some shoes and a couple of balls, then
joined our shipmates for another night of bowling fun.
I didn’t do quite so bad this time – I bowled an 81 and a
122 – the 122 was a 17-pin improvement from last time! I was feeling quite proud of my skills, and I
helped myself to plenty of the free beer that came to our table. Well, it wasn’t exactly free, but I wasn’t buying
the pitchers, so it was free to me! I
was running out of money, and it was still four days until payday, so I jumped
at every chance to get free booze that I could!
After bowling a bit, and drinking a bit more, we decided to head out
onto The Haunch and see what kind of trouble we could stir up.
We hit a couple of bars and didn’t find much going on. Then, the third club we walked into, who
should we run into but Sherry, the Chief’s wife I’d met a few nights ago, and
her friends. I tried to avoid Sherry,
and spent my time hitting on Maryanne – the girl I’d been talking to in the
first place and let her buy me drinks all night. Somewhere around midnight, Sherry, Maryanne
and I were all drunk enough that the little green-eyed jealousy monster began
to rear his ugly head. Sherry accused
Maryanne of being a slut and Maryanne called Sherry a whore. Here I sat, between two married women, who
were arguing over who should get to sleep with this guy that neither of them
were married to. It was too much for me,
so I stood up and walked out of the bar.
It was raining cats and dogs outside, but I didn’t care. I just turned my collar up and headed for the
main gate of the base. It’s not that I
was above sleeping with a married woman, but when the two of them got into a
name-calling, mud-slinging arguing match over who could commit adultery better…well,
I had to draw a line somewhere. I walked
all the way back to the Frez in the rain, and by the time I got back I was
absolutely soaked to the bone, and chilled to the core (not to mention drunk). I took off my wet clothes,
climbed into bed and crashed. Tomorrow
was a duty day, so I knew I’d get plenty of sleep anyway.
Monday, 12MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan (Duty)
ñ Rained Hard!
ñ Shore Patrol Tonight
ñ Only 4 Months Left!
ñ Hurt my hand – In a cast.
Appt. for Ortho later.
ñ No Shore Patrol
ñ Mail call – letter from Gramps & Gram, 2 from AT&T
Monday again. It was
a real, true Monday too, as the rain pounded down. We tried to spend most of the day below decks. At lunch time, Grace and I decided to go over
to the base gym and get in a quick workout.
We really weren’t supposed to leave, but GMG1 gave us the okay, so away
we went.
We stretched out, and loosened up a bit, then hit the
weights. Jon had shown me how to do
curls, so I was trying to get some reps in while he went over to the weight machines
and started to do his own thing.
Suddenly, my left hand, which I had broken in a skiing accident three or
four years earlier, let go. It popped
with a loud, audible “SNAP!” that Joh heard from across the gym. I dropped the barbell and grabbed my hand in
pain. When I looked down at it, I saw it
had already swollen up to twice its regular size. I knew then that it was broken. Jon looked at it and said
“Oh shit man, I bet that hurts!”.
I just looked at him, and turned to walk back to the ship,
where I went straight to sick bay to see the doc. Doc took one look at my hand and then walked
me up to the quarterdeck where he grabbed the keys to the duty truck and drove
me over to the base hospital. There,
they X-rayed my hand, put a splint on it, and gave me some awesome painkillers.
When Doc and I got back to the ship, I was feeling no pain
and smiling like the Cheshire Cat. I was
supposed to have had shore patrol duty that night, but Doc put me on bed rest
for the night, so they scratched my watch.
I didn’t complain too hard about it, as I went down to the berthing area
and climbed into my rack. I had been
given an appointment with the orthopedic doctor for Friday, so until then I was
very limited in what I could do. I was
really pretty disappointed – I knew that if I’d broken it like I had the first
time, I’d be in a cast for a couple of months.
I definitely knew I didn’t want that, and I was trying to figure out
ways to prove that it didn’t hurt.
Unfortunately, every time I so much as wiggled a finger, the pain flared
and only got worse. I took another
painkiller and just hoped that the doctors would find something less than what
I thought they would.
As I lay in my rack waiting to fall asleep, I realized that
this was our two-month mark. There were
only four months left of WestPac and more importantly, only four months left of
my active duty Navy career! With this
ultra-pleasant thought on my mind, I smiled and fell into a fitful sleep.
Tuesday, 13MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Hand still in cast – no news yet
ñ Wrote letter to Kendrith
ñ Mail call – box from home
ñ Went to the base club & drank water
ñ English Class - 1302
The next morning, when I woke up, my hand hurt like
Hell! It was still swollen, and the
painkillers weren’t doing much to help.
I went over to see Doc in sickbay, and he gave me some stronger pills
and sent me over to the hospital to see the base doctors. I spent an hour or so in the E.R. waiting to
see someone, and by the time I was checked out, the painkillers were wearing
off again. The doctor re-examined my
hand and did another set of X-rays and found a small new fracture on top of the
old fracture scar. The re-set my hand
into a different style of splint, prescribed me some strong painkillers, and
sent me back to the ship, where I spent the day hanging around the armory and
the berthing area, doing nothing except writing letters home – good thing I had
broken my LEFT hand!
Got drumsticks in the mail the day I broke my hand - 13MAR90
I got a care package from my folks in the mail that day, and
what was inside made me laugh. I had
planned to major in Music Education when I got home and went to college, so I
had asked my folks to send me a pair of drumsticks and an instruction book so I
could learn how to drum before I got to college. Wouldn’t you know that the day AFTER I break
my hand, what should show up in the mail but a pair of drumsticks. Of course.
I had a good laugh over that one, then I ate the cookies Mom had sent
with them and spent the rest of the afternoon just waiting to knock off
work.
When liberty call went down, I headed down to the crew’s
lounge for English class, then I went over to the berthing area and changed
into my civvies more out of habit than anything. I didn’t have any money, and I was had been
put on pretty serious prescription painkillers, so there was no reason for me to
go out. But old habits die hard, and off
to the base club I went.
I spent the night sitting in the club and drinking water. It was boring as Hell, but at least I was out
and not just sitting on the ship feeling sorry for myself. I was angry that I had broken my hand, and
mad that I couldn’t drink anything. I
left the club long before closing and was back in bed aboard the Fresno before
midnight. Oh well, I thought, at least I
wouldn’t be hungover in the morning.
Wednesday, 14MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Missed .45 & Shotgun quals due to hand
ñ Cleaned .45's after shoot
ñ Mail call – 2 letters from Janet
ñ Went to the club – drank H2O again & came home early
March 14 was a day that still pisses me off. I had completely forgotten, until that
morning, that we were scheduled to go to the shooting range on base for our
qualification shoots for Shotguns and .45’s.
This was our attempt to become officially qualified to use these
weapons, and if we shot good enough, we could earn our marksman and
sharpshooter ribbons. I knew that I
could get my ribbon if they would let me shoot, but Senior Chief Bulletier told
me that I wasn’t allowed to go to the range because of my cast. I was positive that I could still shoot, but
they wouldn’t even give me the chance to try.
I was pissed – they cost me my chance to earn a ribbon and get
officially qualified on our small arms.
I spent the morning stomping around being pissed, while all of the other
GMG’s and all of my Security Alert Teams headed off to shoot. I stayed behind and pretended to be busy,
just waiting to find out how everyone had done.
The guys came back to the ship a couple of hours later and
brought all of the weapons back to the armory for me to clean. I wasn’t healthy enough to shoot, but I WAS
healthy enough to clean all of the shotguns and pistols. Thanks, Senior Chief. Evidently, no one had earned a ribbon at the
shoot, and GMG3 Willis had actually missed the target with both the .45 AND the
shotgun! I can kind of see how he could
miss with the pistol, but how in the HELL do you miss a target with a
shotgun?!? Leave it to Will – the only
Gunner’s Mate in the Navy who couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn with an
elephant gun!
The only good part of my day came at mail call – I got two
letters from my girlfriend, Janet. It
was a definite ray of light into an otherwise gloomy day. By the time liberty call went down, I was in
an ugly, ugly mood. All I wanted to do
was go to the base club and get absolutely hammered. Unfortunately, I was completely broke, and
payday wasn’t until tomorrow. I toyed
with the idea of borrowing from one of the slushers, but then I remembered the
drugs I was on and thought better of the idea.
I did, however, get dressed and go to the club, where I once again sat
and drank water until around nine or ten o’clock. I came home early that night, feeling a bit
better, but still in a foul mood from the day’s events. I figured a good night’s sleep would help, so
I crashed and got in a little more than eight hours’ good sleep.
Thursday, 15MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan (Duty)
ñ Payday - $233.00
ñ Bought Grace's Stereo
ñ Will missed sweepers
ñ Mail call – letter from John & Sandy
ñ English Class – 1302
ñ Will be here 10-14 more days
I knew this was going to be a good day – it was payday! I had been broke for a couple of days, and I
was in dire need of some cash. It was
also a duty day, but I didn’t really mind, because I knew that if I hadn’t had
duty, I’d have been out drinking while I was taking my drugs. Sometimes, duty days had unexpected
benefits! That morning, Will missed
reveille and showed up late to quarters.
He said he just slept in, but Grace kept telling him it was because he
was too embarrassed to face us after his ineptitude at the target range the day
before. Will wouldn’t answer him, but
I’ve got a feeling that Jon wasn’t too far off the mark. Will never said another word about his
ability to shoot a gun, and we made sure that we never put him in a position to
have to use one!
We got paid just before lunchtime – a whopping $233! That extra Hazardous Duty pay for being a part
of the helo crash and salvage crew had kicked in! My pay had gone up $80 – that would come in
handy at the ultra-expensive bars out on The Haunch! At lunchtime, I left the ship with Jon Grace,
and we went over to the base exchange, where Jon bought a home stereo
system. Stereo equipment was really
cheap in Japan – mostly because it was factory direct. Jon bought a nice Kenwood rack system for
about half of what he could get it for in the states. I went with him and helped him lug it all
back to the ship. We found a spot in the
armory to store it, and I decided that I would buy myself a stereo as soon as
the check I was expecting from home arrived.
At prices like those, you just couldn’t pass it up.
That afternoon, the C.O. held a Captain’s Call on the tank
deck. We all mustered down there for the
announcement. What he had to say was NOT
what any of us expected, and it made all of us mad. CDR Worrell informed us that the repairs were
turning out to be a lot bigger than we had expected, so we would be staying in
Japan another 10 to 14 days! As a
result, we would completely miss the exercises in Korea, and any chance of a
port call there.
So there we were – stuck in super-expensive, rainy, crowded
Japan for another two weeks. We were
pissed, but what could we do about it?
Get drunk, I guess…too bad I had duty.
Fortunately for me, the rest of the guys who had liberty more than made
up for my absence, as it was a really drunk night out at the club – from what I
heard, anyway.
Friday, 16MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Had cast put on hand for 4 weeks
ñ Mail call – nothing
ñ St. Patty's Day Party at base club – got chewed
ñ Did Laundry
I spent most of this Friday sitting in a doctor’s office. It
was the day for my orthopedic appointment – where I would find out how badly
I’d broken my hand and get my permanent cast put on. I was dreading the news I’d hear about how
long I’d have to wear the cast. I
was pleasantly surprised when the doc
told me the break wasn’t as bad as they had thought, and I would only have to
wear a cast for four weeks. It was a lot
better than the eight weeks I’d been expecting!
He also took me off the prescription painkillers and gave me a bottle of
Motrin. This was even BETTER news,
because it meant I could drink again! I
was pretty happy about all of it, because there was a HUGE St. Patty’s day
party at the base club that night, and I was free to drink all the green beer I
could hold.
I left the hospital and headed back to the ship for the rest
of the workday. Since they didn’t
expect me back until after liberty call, I just grabbed my dirty clothes and
headed over to the base Laundromat and did laundry all afternoon. It wasn’t exactly what I was supposed to do,
but I didn’t really care. I was
beginning to develop a short-timer’s attitude – the attitude of, “I’m almost
off of active duty, so what the Hell could they do to me?”. Not a terribly productive attitude, but one
that hit most guys about six months before they got out. I was a couple of months late with the attitude,
but I was trying to make up for it. I
finished up with my laundry around 3, then headed back to the ship, put away my
clothes, got dressed in my civvies and headed out for yet another night of drunken
debauchery at the Yokosuka base club!
By the time I got there, the club was hopping! Several of the Fresno guys were already
there, and the beer was flowing like…well, like beer. I sat and got really, really drunk with Jerry
Ford and Darryl Cravens. The thing I
remember most about that night was a guy I met in the head. I was standing at the urinal, taking a leak,
when this big, tall guy walked in and stood next to me. The guy was obviously a lifer – he was covered
with tattoos and was so die-hard Navy that he had port and starboard running
lights tattooed on his earlobes! He was
a Boatswain’s Mate right down to the Popeye anchors tattooed on his
forearms! But the thing that got my
attention was when he saw me eyeing his tats and said,
“If you think that’s something – look down”
I did, and what I saw made my jaw drop! The guy had a butterfly tattooed on the head of
his penis! I just gasped and stared…
”Did…did…did it hurt?”
“Hell yes it hurt – hurt like hell! Felt worse than getting’ the swab after
you’ve caught the clap!”
I knew how bad that hurt – so I could only imagine. I remembered what getting a tattoo on my leg
felt like, and I tried to imagine how it would feel on my unit. I came to the realization
that the Boatswain’s Mate I had met that night was quite possibly the toughest,
dumbest man on the face of the Earth!
The rest of the night was pretty much a green beer-filled
blur, but I do seem to recall throwing up in the head of the club, and again on
the way back to the ship. It was just
the standard deal – get drunk, puke, drink some more, puke some more, walk
home, puke and pass out. Same deal,
different day. Pretty sad, really.
Saturday, 17MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Went to Tokyo Disneyland
ñ Bought glass, t-shirt, poster, ears & postcards
ñ Spent $50
ñ Took 2 rolls of film
St. Patrick’s Day, 1990.
It was a Saturday, and I started it like most Saturdays – hung over as
Hell. I remember laying in my rack,
trying to decide if I was going to get up and puke or just keep sleeping, when
Jim Lusher came and kicked the side of my rack.
“Pete! Get the Hell
up – the bus is leaving in five minutes!”
“The bus?”
“Yeah, you idiot – the trip to Disneyland! Get up you fucking drunk!”
Now THIS was truly the pot calling the kettle black! I ignored the comment and rolled out of my
rack. I had completely forgotten that
I’d signed up for a trip to Tokyo Disneyland, and now I was about to miss the
bus. I threw on some clothes, grabbed my
wallet and headed off the ship and onto the waiting tour bus on the pier. I was the last man aboard, and I got plenty
of grief when I finally walked on the bus and sat down. The driver closed the doors, and pulled out,
headed for Tokyo.
The trip to Tokyo was cool – we kept our eyes out for white
Mercedes, but once again saw none. We
got to see a lot of the city as we drove through it, and were absolutely amazed
at how incredibly huge, crowded, and busy Tokyo was! On the way, the driver once again filled us
in on some of the sights we were passing.
We saw Mt. Fuji again, and lots of crowded apartment buildings. We drove past the bullet train and got to
watch one screaming by – it was a cool thing to see. By the time we got to Disneyland, we were
ready to get off the bus and have a little fun. They told us that Tokyo Disneyland was like
the one in Anaheim, just a little smaller.
They also told us that there was something like a five-year waiting list
for Japanese people just to get in!
We walked up to the gate and showed our passes, and they let
us right in. As we walked in, we happened
to catch a glimpse of some American girls…the University of Kansas cheerleaders! I have no idea what they were doing there,
but they were the first American women we’d seen in a couple of months, so we
spent most of the day chasing them around the park. For some odd reason, they never seemed to
want to stop to talk to us – imagine that!
GMG3 Peterson at Tokyo Disneyland - 17MAR90
Tokyo Disneyland was a neat place. It did compare to the one in California, with
the biggest differences being the absence of the Matterhorn ride, and the fact
that Main Street was covered by a huge glass roof. It snowed enough in Tokyo that they had to
cover the street so they could stay open year-round! Some of the best memories I have of that day
were of little things – like seeing a Japanese sax quintet playing in the Main
Street Plaza. Seeing them reminded me of why I was in the Navy in the first
place – to earn money for college to get my Music Ed degree. I sat and watched them for quite a while. We also found a sign that said “Long Beach”
by the Grand Prix car ride. I had to
have my picture taken by that one! One
of the other things that sticks out in my memory was the first time I went into
the bathroom to take a leak. They had
these weird things that looked like the bottom of a shower stall sunk into the
floor, with a stream of water that would shoot up out of it when you pushed the
button – kind of a weird bidet. I never
did figure out how to use them, I just took a leak in the “American” urinal on
the wall and called it good.
I ended up running around with a bunch of the Engineers –
Benton, Soseeach, and Wynn. One of the
funniest things that happened that day, occurred when Dave Benton and I stood
in line for the Pirates Of The Caribbean ride.
There were two Japanese girls in line in front of us, and they kept
smiling back at us as we tried to talk to them.
Their English was just a little bit better than our Japanese, which was non-existent. About halfway
through the line, Dave just reached down and grabbed one of the girls’ hands,
and started holding hands with her. The
Japanese aren’t a real big P.D.A. culture, so she was a little shocked. Dave just kept smiling and holding her
hand. By the time we got to the front of
the line, and our boat came up, the girls were giggling amongst themselves and
Dave kept telling me to get in the front of the boat with the other girl. I did, and Dave and his girl got into the
back seat. About halfway through the
ride, I turned around to see Dave making out like there was no tomorrow with the
girl. Evidently, she didn’t believe in
public displays of affection, but there was no rule about making out in the
dark! The two of them kept it up
frantically until we rounded the last bend and came out of the tunnel. Suddenly, her attitude changed, and as the
boat neared the spot where we were to unload, she grabbed her girlfriend’s
hand, and the two of them jumped out of the boat before it could stop. They ran out of the ride, and off into the
crowd, giggling all the way. It was one
of the funniest damn things I’d ever seen.
Dave and I got a huge laugh out of it, and then headed off to see what
other trouble we could get into.
As we walked away from the Pirates ride, we ran into some of
the Deck guys – Haulin, Powell and Lusher. Dave took off to go find his Engineering gang, and I joined up with my Deck buddies. We walked for a bit, and we were being obnoxious as usual. The Japanese people around us thought it was
funny, and they started taking pictures of us for some reason. Jim took this as his cue to “unleash the beast”,
and he started trying to talk to a couple of Japanese girls and talk them into
coming with us. They, in turn, were trying
to get him to use their camera to take a picture of them. Jim tried to engage them in conversation, but
soon got frustrated, and then really turned on the charm.
“So – you two come here often”
“Giggle, giggle”
“Oh really – yeah, I come here all the time myself.”
“Giggle, giggle”
“I see I make you smile – that’s great”
“Giggle, giggle, giggle”
“Well, have you two ridden my favorite ride yet?”
“Giggle, giggle”
“Yeah, you know, the BIIIIG Dildo? It’s my favorite – I’m sure YOU two have
ridden that one”
“Giggle, giggle”
“What the fuck are you two laughing at? I’m asking if you’ve ridden the dildo”
“Giggle”
“You two are a couple of whores, aren’t you?”
“giggle”
“Why don’t you come over here and suck my dick.”
All of sudden the girls weren’t giggling anymore. They got a really disgusted look on their
faces and turned and half walked, half ran the other direction. I think their command of the English language
was probably better than we thought! At
least Jim got a big laugh out of it.
After that debacle, I headed off by myself to find a pair of
Mickey Mouse ears. I had seen a kid
wearing a pair with his name embroidered on the back in Japanese
characters. It looked cool, so I went to
find a gift shop to buy myself a pair. I
found a pair and bought them, but the gift shop I bought them in didn’t do the
embroidery. I had to take them to
another store to get that done. When I
found the other store, I went in and tried to explain to the lady behind the
counter what I wanted. She couldn’t
understand me, and I couldn’t understand her, so I walked out with the ears to
go find another store. Unfortunately,
the lady behind the counter thought I was trying to shoplift the ears, and she
called for store security. I got stopped
right outside of the store and tried to explain to them that I had bought the
ears at ANOTHER gift shop, but they couldn’t understand me. I showed them a bag and a receipt, but it
didn’t matter. I ended up going to the
security office to find an English translator to get everything cleared
up. About a half hour later, everything
was cool, and I avoided going to “Disney Prison” for stealing mouse ears. It was just my luck. I did finally find a place to get my name on
the back of the ears, but in English instead of in Japanese. Oh well, better safe than cellmates with
Goofy, I guess.
Once my incident with the Disney cops was over, I ran into
Benton, Wynn and Soseeach again. They
were over by Adventure Land and were busy teasing the guys in the monkey
suits. The guys in the monkey suits were
supposed to be characters from “The Jungle Book” and their job was to run around
Adventure Land and act like….well, act like monkeys. But Benton had a better idea. He went over to the monkeys and started
pretending to pick bugs off them and eat the fake bugs. Then he started scratching his armpit and
running around making monkey sounds. The
Japanese people thought it was hilarious, and in no time a HUGE crowd had
gathered to watch Dave monkey around with the monkeys. They were taking his picture and laughing and
cheering for him.
We soon got tired of playing with the monkeys (or they got
tired of putting up with us) and we headed on to Frontier Land. The only difference was that there was now a
huge crowd of people following us, expecting us to do something funny. Well, leave it up to Dave. We walked into the gift shop in Frontier Land,
and Dave found the Indian headdresses.
He put one on and grabbed an Indian drum and tomahawk. He started beating the drum and dancing
around, singing like an Indian. People
crowded into the shop from the street to take pictures of him, and the more
people watched, the more Benton hammed it up.
Soseeach, who was a real-life Native American failed to see much humor
in “Chief Dave”.
The whole thing played itself out pretty quickly, and we
bade a fond farewell to our Japanese fans and left the store to applause and
cheers. As we rounded the corner, we saw Wynn carrying what looked like four beers. That couldn’t be though, because this was
Disneyland, and we were sure they didn’t sell beer in Disneyland. Guess we didn’t count on Disneyland Tokyo –
it WAS beer, and we were glad to find it.
Wynn’s discovery made Frontier Land our immediate favorite place in the
park, and we spent quite a bit of time (and money) at “The Ol’ Waterin’ Hole”. There’s nothing quite like Disneyland on a
heavy buzz, I’ll tell you!
Most of the rest of the day was much of the same – us
Americans horseassin’ around and making the locals laugh and take pictures of
us. We did happen to see one of the
parades come by, and we found out that the girl who played Cinderella was a
real-life blonde-haired, blue-eyed American girl! She spotted us and started blowing us kisses
as we chased her pumpkin coach all over the parade route. We were probably the only guys in the history
of the world who have tried to score with Cinderella in Disneyland – but leave
it to a bunch of half-drunk sailors to be the ones!
As the sun began to set, we were still trying to find the
Kansas cheerleaders, and not having much luck.
The whole Fresno crew had come together, and we were pretty much running
as one big pack now. We watched the
Parade of Nations show by the “It’s A Small World” attraction, and it was kind
of cool. Basically, it was a group of
dancers and Disney characters coming out on stage and dancing to songs from all
of the countries in the world in costumes that fit that country. When it was time for them to dance to the
music from the U.S.A., They played
“Yankee Doodle” and “It’s A Grand Old Flag” and a couple of other songs, while
the characters danced in red, white and blue outfits. The weird thing was the Japanese crowd. When the American songs started, the crowd –
who had been silent up until this point – began to sing along with all of the
songs. Hearing “Yankee Doodle Dandy”
being sung by two hundred Japanese with bad accents is really pretty hilarious! The show was alright, but the ending number
was the greatest – the University of Kansas Cheerleaders came out and did a
routine! All of us sailors pushed our way
up to the front of the crowd and began to hoot and holler for them. The girls tried hard to ignore us, but we
caught a couple of them smiling at us.
They ran off stage and disappeared – much to our dismay, and we didn’t
run into them again until we were leaving and headed home.
Not too long after that show ended, the big Electrical Light
Parade began. By this time, I was
feeling NO pain, and for some odd reason, I took a picture of every float in
the damn thing. I then tried to get
pictures of the fireworks as they went off over Cinderella’s castle. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but I
had slide film in my camera, and now, every time I show my slides from WestPac,
I have two complete rolls of slides from Tokyo Disneyland – including EVERY float
in the Electrical Light Parade, and a bunch of slides of dark skies, because I
was too drunk to catch the fireworks when they went off! Oops.
As the parade ended, we made our way out of the park, and
back towards the bus. As we neared the
main gate, we spotted the Kansas cheerleaders posing for pictures with the
locals. We hurried up to them and
finally got to talk to them. As I said
earlier, these were basically the first American women we’d seen in two months,
and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more attractive collection of women in one
spot at one time. I don’t know if they
were that gorgeous, or if we were just that lonely! They were pretty cool when they found out we
were Americans. They started talking to
us about all kinds of stuff, and we almost had them agreed to meeting us out on
town that night to party, when someone let it slip that we were military.
“Oh? You guys in the
Marines or something?”
“No, we’re in the Navy.
We’re all sailors”
“Sailors? Oh. Well, it was
nice meeting you”
And they left.
We all thought it was pretty funny that a bunch of girls from
Kansas would know that sailors are nothing but trouble! We had a good laugh and headed back to the
bus for the trip back to Yokosuka.
On the way back, we noticed several odd used car lots. What was so odd about them, was that they
were FULL of classic 50’s and 60’s American cars. Evidently, the Japanese LOVED the old cars –
the bigger the better. The cars were
REALLY expensive, so only the ultra-rich could afford them. The Japanese had a real love affair with
American culture, and it was cool to see that they would pay top dollar to
satisfy their fascination. It was just
another reminder for us that America was the greatest, and that everyone was
trying their damndest to imitate us.
Made us feel proud to be serving her half a world away from home.
The rest of the bus trip home was quiet – someone had
snuck a bottle on board, so we drank that on the trip back, and by the time
we made it to the base, we were feeling pretty damn good. It was late when we made it to the Frez, so
we just went aboard, hit our racks and slept off what had ended up being an
exhausting day. Disneyland in Japan –
what a trip!
Sunday, 18MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan (Duty)
ñ No Watch
ñ English Class
ñ Slept All Day
ñ Did basically nothing – Holiday Routine
Sunday was another duty day.
I was still tired from our Disneyland excursion, and the Duty Day Gods
had smiled upon me – I didn’t have any watches!
About the only thing I did was go to English class that afternoon. Other than that, it was a slow, quiet, sleepy
day on board the Fresno.
Monday, 19MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Bought my stereo
ñ Mail call – letter from home, 1 from Janet, 1 from Laura
ñ Spent all night at the hospital with Braun
Yet another in-port Monday morning. It was gray and rainy - as usual, and
everyone was a foul, hung over mood - as usual.
It seemed like yet another crappy day until mail call. Mail call came a little after lunch, and amongst
the letter from my sister, and the letter from Janet was the one letter I had
been waiting for. It was from my Dad and
included a check for $1000! I had
originally sent the money to him to buy a car for me – a ’61 Studebaker Silver
Hawk – but the deal fell through. I had
decided to make my one big purchase of deployment in Japan – I was going to buy
myself a kick-ass stereo system. In
addition to all the time I has spent at the base club since we'd been in
Yokosuka, I had also spent hours in the exchange on base scoping out their
incredible selection of stereo equipment.
They had all of the top name-brand stuff at unbelievable prices, since
it was all factory direct. When I got
the check, I knew exactly what I wanted, so I begged GMG1 to give me the afternoon
off, and Jon Grace and I grabbed a base taxi to the exchange.
After cashing my check at the bank, the two of us went to
the exchange and began our shopping. Jon
had bought a really nice Kenwood rack system the week before, and I liked it,
but I wanted something just a little better. (male pattern one-upsmanship rears
it’s ugly head). I finally decided on a
Kenwood system that was just one step below their top-of-the-line system. It was, however one step above the one Jon
had, so I was happy.
For some reason, neither Jon nor I bought speakers there – I
guess they just didn’t have the ones we were looking for. I was actually looking for a pair of Bose 901’s,
but they were a thousand bucks a pair, so I had to save a little more before I
could afford them. I bought the stereo,
and we loaded the boxes up in a cab and headed back to the Frez with my new
prize in tow. I just knew that when I
got back to Laramie, and went to college, I’d have the loudest apartment in
town! We lugged my stereo on board and
secured it in the armory next to Jon’s, then headed down to shower and change for
liberty. I was in a great mood – and had
an extra hundred bucks in my pocket to boot…it was going to be a fun night.
That night started out fun – we began by bar hopping on The
Haunch and getting a start on becoming good and chewed, but sometime around
10:00, things started getting ugly. We
were sitting in a bar called Popeye’s, when one of the deck guys, Don
“Downtown” Braun started raising Hell.
He was absolutely hammered and started yelling and screaming and acting
really weird. He lurched toward the
door, and we all laughed at him as he nearly fell out of it, and onto the
street. We didn’t think much of it –
just Downtown getting hammered again – until someone came running into the bar
about ten minutes later yelling for anybody from the Fresno to get
outside. It was a mad rush for the door
as we spilled out onto the street, and into the glare of flashing blue police
lights and the sight of Braun being loaded into the back of an ambulance.
When we got over to where the ambulance was, we saw a bunch
of MP’s talking to the Japanese police, who then got in their cars and
left. We asked the MP’s what happened,
and they motioned to the storefront next to us.
The storefronts on The Haunch all had metal security doors, like garage
doors, that they drew over their windows at night. The store in front of us had its door bashed
completely in – it looked like a car had driven into it. The MP’s told us that evidently, Braun had
gone nuts and started punching and kicking the door and running his head into
it over and over. When the Japanese
police came to stop him, he passed out cold, and they couldn’t wake him
up. That’s when they called the
ambulance and the MP’s. They told us
that Braun was being taken to the base hospital and somebody from the Fresno
should probably go down there to help with the paperwork and be there for
him. Three of us – Steve Haulin, Bob
Powell and myself, immediately took off and headed for the hospital.
None of us were any too sober, but we were straight enough
to know that one of our own was in trouble, and we had to do something to
help. We made our way to the hospital,
and then to the ER, where they told us to have a seat, and wait for a doctor to
come out and ask some questions. About
twenty minutes later, a doc came and started asking how much booze Braun had
put away that night, and why he would have freaked out like he did. We ruled out drugs, and just figured he had a
bad reaction to some form of Japanese liquor.
Evidently, Downtown’s B.A.C. was hovering somewhere around the
near-lethal level of .40!
When they finally let us in to see him, Braun was laying
there, semi-conscious, with tubes and I.V.s stuck in him. He was of Filipino descent, but looked whiter
than any of us Caucasians. We were
pretty worried about him and spent the majority of the night sitting in the
E.R., checking to make sure he was going to live. Finally, around 05:00, they told us he was
out of the woods, and was going to make it.
We all breathed a sigh of relief and went back to the ship to get a nap
before work.
Downtown stayed in the hospital for another day or so, then
came back to face the music for the havoc he wreaked in town. I don’t know what all happened to him, but it
probably involved some form of reduction in paygrade and a fine and/or
restriction – those were the usual punishments for something like that. It was a crazy night and ended up being a
Hell of an ordeal for all of us! Once
again, as I look back, this should have served as a warning to me about the
dangers of drinking like we did, but once again, I ignored it. I was a sailor – and worse than that I was a
Fresno sailor – drinking to incredible excess was practically a requirement! Or so I thought.
Tuesday, 20MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Found out we'll be here another week
ñ Mail call – nothing
ñ English Class
ñ Went bowling – 110 average
ñ Marissa & Kelly – partied out on the haunch
Quarters that morning was tough on all of us. For those of us not suffering from exhaustion
or a grade-A hangover (or a combination of both), were hit by the news from the
C.O. that we’d be in drydock another week.
We had hoped to be out in a couple of days, but the news that we had one
more week to go (at least) depressed us all.
We wanted to get on with Pac and see somewhere new. Japan was getting old – and we were getting
broke! The day was slow and uneventful. I took an extended nooner in the armory – and
woke up just in time to make it to English class at 3:00! After class, I was feeling a lot better and
decided to try my luck out on the town one more time. I showered and got dressed and met up with a
couple of other guys. We headed off the
ship and onto the pier for one more night of party time – Japanese style!
Somewhere on our walk between the ship and the main gate, we
came up with the idea to go bowling. Our
party detoured toward the bowling alley, where I was my usual glorious bowling
self – averaging a masterful 110 for three games. At least the beer was cheap! After getting my ass handed to me on a plate
by pretty much everyone at the bowling alley, I decided that this was going to
be my night to tie one on. I slugged
down my beer and ordered one for the road as we headed out for The Haunch. I did not disappoint myself that night, as my
goal – to get as drunk as humanly possibly – was achieved with flying
colors. I was hanging out with the deck
guys again – tonight it was Hickersham, Arrington and a couple of others, and
we met two American girls at the bar.
Their names were Marissa and Kelly, and they were wives of two Marines
who were stationed on base, but who were out to sea on deployment
themselves. The girls took an immediate
liking to Hick and Kenny, and they ended up gluing themselves to those
two.
I don’t remember much of what happened that night, but I do
seem to remember sitting in one of the gals’ apartments for a bit, drinking,
while she and Hick went into the bedroom to do their thing. I ended up leaving them and making my way
back to base just in time for a beer before closing at the base club. After they kicked us out of the club, some
other Frez guys and myself stumbled back to the ship and turned in/passed out
for the night. One more drunken night in
Japan – what were the odds?!?
Wednesday, 21MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan (Duty)
ñ No Watch
ñ No Mail Call – bomb scare at base post office
ñ Everyone got a half day off & went bowling
ñ Read “Hunt For Red October”
ñ Had Security Alert Drill
Thank God for duty days!
After two straight nights of no sleep and massive amounts of alcohol, I
was ready for a little sleep. The day
got even better when I looked at the P.O.D., and saw that I didn’t have a
watch, either! I was looking forward to
a nice, quiet day of skating at work and then sleeping all night. Unfortunately some Japanese kook had other
ideas. Around noon that day, we got word
that somebody had called in a bomb threat to the base post office. All mail service was canceled for the day,
and all of the base stopped working, as security teams searched for possible
bombs. Most of the Fresno guys took the
unexpected half day off as an excuse to go bowling, while those of us on duty
were left behind to search the ship for bombs and hold security alert force
training. There went my day of no
work!
I spent the afternoon and evening reading “Hunt For Red
October” as they finished their base-wide bomb search, which turned up nothing. I held a quick security alert training and
then turned in for some much-needed sleep at around 18:00. Not as much sleep as I needed, or wanted, but
it was enough to get me ready for the next night out!
Thursday, 22MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Half-day
ñ English Class
ñ Went to base club with Tex & The Jarheads, then out to
town
ñ Haley - Popeyes
Everyone had enjoyed their half-day so much the day before,
that they decided that this would be a half-day as well. I was all for it, as I had liberty, and that
was just that much more time to drink. I
did have to stick around for English class, but the instructor moved class up
to noon from 3:00 so I didn’t miss much liberty at all – ahh, yes – priorities.
That afternoon/evening/night, I spent hanging out with MR3
Kent Pulling and his Marine buddies.
Pulling and a bunch of the Jarheads had started hanging out during our
“Japanese Experience”, and they asked me if I wanted to go out with them. The group was made up of guys who all shared
a common background – we were all from Western rural backgrounds, guys from
Texas, Colorado, Wyoming and Montana, and cowboys all (with one Cajun from
Louisiana). This was a great group, and
this was only the first of many nights I’d hang out with Tex and the
Jarheads. We started out at the base
club, getting good and buzzed, then headed out on out onto town to finish the
job.
Sometime during our excursion, I ended up running into one
of the gals I had partied with the first night out on town in Yokosuka –
Haley. Haley was a friend of Sherry –
the Chief’s wife who had taken me home that first night and Maryanne, the gal I'd run into the last time I was out on The Haunch. She was out by herself. I ran into her at Popeye’s, and asked her why
she was alone. Evidently, she had had a
falling out with Sherry and the rest of her crew and was just trying to drink a
few to forget about it. I She invited me
to sit down, and I eagerly accepted – Haley was the one I wanted to hook up with
in the first place! I sat down and told her about the argument Sherry and Maryanne had gotten into the last time I'd seen them, and she laughed.
She and I sat and talked and drank and drank and talked
until the wee hours. We finally decided
to leave and caught a cab back to her base housing apartment. I was looking forward to what would happen
next, and as I walked her to her door (in the rain, as usual) I motioned for
the cab to go ahead and leave. I knew I
wouldn’t be needing HIM anymore that night!
But the joke was on me – as we reached her door, she gave me a quick
peck on the cheek, said , “Thanks for the night”, then walked in and closed the
door behind her.
Talk about a complete shock!
I just stood there for a second, staring at her door. I then took stock of the situation, and
realized that it was now 03:30 in the morning, it was raining, I was two miles
from the ship, and I had just sent the
last cab on base away!
Crap.
I hung my head, turned toward the Frez, and started the long
walk of shame back from whence I had come.
Knowing my luck with women, I should have seen this one coming a mile
away! I guess hope springs eternal in
the booze-addled brain of a horny nineteen-year old sailor. Or something like that.
Friday, 23MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Senior Chief re-enlisted
ñ Half-day
ñ Mail call – nothing
ñ Slept all day
ñ Wrote letter to Mitch
I made it back to the ship sometime around 05:00 and caught
a quick catnap before quarters. I felt
like crap and wanted no part of working that day. I was in luck, however, as this was the day
that Senior Chief Bulletier was going to re-enlist, and if we went to the ceremony,
he was going to give us a half day off!
We damn near tripped over ourselves to volunteer to go to the
ceremony! Just after lunchtime, we all
mustered up on the O3 level, by the gun mounts, and watched Senior Chief
re-enlist for another hitch. I could
have cared less about the ceremony – I was just looking forward to crawling
into my rack to get some sleep!
GMG2 Muna cat-naps in the armory - 1990
As soon as the ceremony was over, and we had been released
for the day, it was down to the berthing area, off with the dungarees, and
straight into the rack for me. I was
soon fast asleep and stayed that way until reveille the next morning. Those all-nighters in the rain with some
other guy’s wife have a way of wiping you out!
Saturday, 24MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan (Duty)
ñ No Watch
ñ Mail Call – nothing
ñ High Winds – can't leave drydock until Monday
ñ Security Alert Drill
ñ Liberty Call at 1300
USS Fresno STILL in drydock - Yokosuka, Japan - 24MAR90
We had been looking forward to Saturday, March 24th
for three weeks – this was the day we were supposed to get out of drydock! Even though it was an in-port Saturday, all
of the ship’s crew was aboard, as this day was treated as a working day so we
could get on our way. Unfortunately, as
was the story with the weather during most of our stay in Japan, it was windy
and rainy. It was so windy, in fact,
that they decided to delay our leaving drydock until Monday.
We were all disappointed – we were tired of sitting high and
dry, and ready to get back out onto the open ocean. Once the decision to stay was made, they
passed the word for liberty call around 13:00.
I had duty, so I stayed on board with the duty section while everyone
else headed out for another night of drunken Japanese debauchery. I had been scheduled for a morning watch, but
since we were making preparations to get underway, we didn’t post one on the
quarterdeck. I managed to skate out of
another watch! I did hold a short
Secuity Alert Force training that night, but that was about the extent of my
activity for the day. I went to bed
early, in order to rest up for my final couple of days’ liberty in Japan, which
I was sure would be sleepless and very hungover – and boy, was I right!
Sunday, 25MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ English Class
ñ Slept all afternoon
ñ Went to club w/ Ford
ñ Figured out “10 Ways To Kill With A Stick Dog”
ñ Amazon Amy
Sunday and holiday routine – no ship’s work, no duty, and
nothing to do but hang out. We had
English class around noon, and after that, I decided to take a quick nap. I woke up around 19:00 that night, pissed
that I’d ruined a whole day of liberty!
I decided to go out anyway, so I went up and showered, then got dressed
and ready to head off to the base club.
I ran into my friend, BM3 Jerry Ford, and the two of us headed to the
club together to get chewed. And get
chewed we did! We stayed at the club and
drank until around midnight, then decided to head out onto The Haunch to
continue our party.
Somewhere along the way we had met up with a gal named
Amy. Amy was stationed at the Naval
Station, but was in the Air Force or something like that – I don’t recall her
exact story, just that it didn’t seem to fit in with anything. The three of us began bar hopping and chasing
down our Sapporo beer with numerous Suffering Bastards. We were soon absolutely chewed. Amy was still hanging out with us, and though
she didn’t show much interest in either of us, she didn’t tell us to go to Hell
either, so we thought we still had a chance with her. As the night got longer, and the drinks got
more numerous, it became painfully obvious that Amy (or “Amazon Amy” as we had
taken to calling her, since she was well over 6’ tall) had somewhere else to
be, and that the novelty of hanging out with two squids named Jerry had worn
off. The three of us were walking down
the street, headed toward the base (and her apartment, we hoped), when she saw
a couple of other guys on the other side of the street that she suddenly
“knew”. She dropped us like a bad habit
and ran over to them and they disappeared into the nearest bar. I don’t know if she really did know them, or
if they were simply a good excuse to get the Hell away from Jerry and I, but
regardless, the two of us were dumbstruck at our apparent bad luck. We had been simultaneously dumped by Amazon
Amy and needed a drink or two to help heal our wounds, so back to the bar we
went.
A couple of drinks later, we were over our pain, and had
decided we were hungry. We headed out to
find a bite before we went back to the ship.
One of the cool things about The Haunch were the little all-night
restaurants up and down the strip. They
were lunch counters in the daytime, but at night, they all had walk-up
windows where you could order that Japanese late night delicacy – a Stick
Dog. A stick dog was actually just a big
old corn dog – I guess the term “corn dog” didn’t make much sense to them, or
it didn’t translate well into Japanese or something, so they called it a Stick
Dog. Whatever they called them, they were
good – damn good. A far cry from the
barbecued monkey meat in the P.I.! They
were expensive, but then again, everything in Japan was.
The walk-up window was the neat part about these cafes. They looked like the ticket booth
at a movie theater, with a little round hole to talk through and place your
order, and a larger hole at the bottom for you to exchange the money and stick
dog through. I had never seen anything
like it, and for some reason, it struck me as the coolest thing I’d seen! (I
think that was the Suffering Bastards talking).
Jerry and I ordered a couple of stick dogs from one restaurant, and dug
in. They tasted great! We had wolfed them down long before we came to
the next restaurant on the block, where we stopped and ordered two more. Those two became ancient history in a flash as
well as we neared the Main Gate of the base. The Main Gate was just across the street from
the last Stick Dog vendor on the block, so Jerry and I decided to get two more
for the road to tide us over on the long walk back to the Frez. What happened next was something I’ll never
forget – one of the most amazing feats of athletic prowess and marksmanship
I’ve ever witnessed!
We ordered two Stick Dogs with mustard – passed our money
through the hole and took our tissue-paper wrapped stick dogs with us as we
crossed the street toward the main gate.
As we stepped up onto the sidewalk on the other side of the street,
Jerry looked down at his stick dog.
“That little bastard!” he yelled.
“What?” I asked.
“My Stick Dog is covered in ketchup – I HATE ketchup!”
“Well, let’s just take it back and get one with
mustard.”
“No, fuck him – he can have his damn stick dog!!”
And with that, Jerry turned toward the restaurant and yelled
at the guy,
“Hey, asshole! Here’s
your fucking corn dog back!”,
He grabbed the stick dog by the stick, wound up, and let it
fly.
The guy in the restaurant was still standing in front of the
ordering window, watching Jerry have a conniption on the other side of the
street and was in NO way prepared for what happened next. I stood and watched in amazement, as the
ketchup-covered stick dog sailed across the street in a perfect arc – headed
straight for the restaurant’s front window.
I expected to see it explode against the glass, and about half expected
to see the glass shatter, but what did happen was something neither myself,
Jerry, OR the guy in the restaurant expected!
Jerry had propelled the stick dog on the absolute perfect
trajectory toward the walk-up window. The
Stick Dog went up through the night air, then came down right through the small
opening where you placed your order and hit the cook directly in the
throat!! He clutched his throat in
surprise, and pain, and crumbled to the floor.
Jerry and I turned and stared at each other, absolutely NOT believing
what we’d just seen! It was a million-to-one,
once-in-a-lifetime shot: across a city
street, and through an opening the size of a baseball with a ketchup-slathered
corn dog! Absolutely amazing!! We didn’t spend much longer staring in
amazement, because the cook wasn’t getting up.
He just laid there, hands to his throat in obvious pain. Jerry and I didn’t wait around to see what
happened next, as we quickly made our way onto the base, and high-tailed it
back toward the Frez.
On the way back, I split our one un-thrown Stick Dog with Jerry. It was at this point that we really analyzed
the stick. In the U.S., corn dogs are
built with a small, flat Popsicle-style stick that has no weight to it and
poses no danger to anyone. However, in
Japan, their stick dog skewers are a bit different. They are actually small doweling, about the
diameter of a pencil, with a sharpened point to make it easier to stick into
the hot dog. With the right amount of
force behind it, that stick could become a fairly dangerous weapon. We began to get a bit more nervous about the
cook we’d left writhing in pain out on The Haunch. We tried to forget about it by spending the
rest of the walk home devising “20 Ways To Kill With A Stick Dog”.
By the time we got back to the Frez, we were in a much
better mood, thanks to the fresh air, the Suffering Bastards and our complete
lack of a conscience. Wonderful thing to
be a nineteen-year old drunken sailor in a foreign country, ain’t it? We never did hear anything more about the
cook we assaulted with a flying stick dog, so we just told ourselves that he
lived to tell the tale, and was okay.
That’s what I still tell myself.
Monday, 26MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan
ñ Got out of drydock
ñ Lagged all day
ñ Beat Grace at Trivial Pursuit
ñ Mail call – 2 from Janet, 1 from Jenny, 1 from AT&T
ñ Grace & I drank fifth of Crown Royal – fat lip
Monday was a rough one, as I was once again reminded why
they were called a “Suffering Bastard”.
It was a happy pain, though, as we did get out of drydock. They flooded the dock and out we floated onto
the raging main once again – or at least into the harbor – but floating
nonetheless. The tugs pushed us over to
a nearby pier, where we tied up and began to make our preparations to get
underway. They had planned for us
to take a fast cruise the next day – a short sail just to make sure that all of
the repairs had taken and that the Frez was seaworthy once more.
The rest of the morning was spent cleaning and securing all
of the stuff left sitting around from the past month in port. Third Division didn’t have much to secure – we
were pretty much good to go already.
That was a good thing – because I was waaaay too hungover to be much
good anyway. Around lunchtime, the
“roach coach” showed up on the pier. The
roach coach was the mobile canteen that sold hamburgers and
the like to the shipyard workers and anyone else who wanted. We had become very familiar with roach
coaches when we were in the shipyards in San Pedro, so we walked down the
gangplank to get a good ol’ greasy hamburger.
I just knew that would cure my hangover!
This roach coach was a bit different, though – it was basically like a
walk-through convenience store on wheels!
You walked in the back, and found what you wanted, then paid and walked
out the front door. I was so hungover
that nothing looked very good. The guy
who ran the truck must’ve seen a thousand hungover sailors come through, and he
recognized the obvious signs. He waved
me off of the Coke I was about to buy, and instead handed me a jug of orange
juice, smiled and made the drinking motion toward me. I guess he wanted me to drink this instead of
a Coke. I figured he probably knew a
thing or two, so I bought the jug of orange juice and drank it while walking
back to the ship. Amazingly, the orange
juice seemed to do the trick! My hangover
miraculously faded – I had just found the cure to a Suffering Bastard
hangover! Orange juice – who’d have
thought. Thank you, random Japanese
roach coach driver! I only had one more
night of liberty, and one more morning in Japan to put my theory to the test,
however.
The afternoon was about as lazy as the morning had
been. We ended up playing Trivial
Pursuit in the armory for a couple of hours.
I won – as usual – and pissed Jon off (again, as usual). Mail call was good – I got two letters from
Janet. She was writing me a letter a day, or so it seemed. I was just damn glad to get them – this
girlfriend thing was cool, I decided. I
had planned to write her a letter back, but it was soon time for liberty call,
and as the word was passed, any thoughts of responsible activities were immediately
forgotten. I had agreed to go out that
night with Jon Grace and meet up with some of his old S.E.A.L. team buddies
that had pulled into port aboard another ship from our battle group a couple of
days ago. Jon had promised me a wild
night of partying with the S.E.A.L.S, and he delivered. The two of us headed off the ship and toward
the bowling alley, where we were going to meet his buddies.
We jumped on the base transport bus and hitched a ride to
the bowling alley, where the S.E.A.L.S were already bowling, drinking and
getting a little rowdy. They all
welcomed Jon, shook his hand and introduced themselves to me. I was still pretty much in awe of all of them
– I mean, these were real, true S.E.A.L.S – the best of the best, the biggest
bunch of bad asses on the planet, and I was hanging out with them!! It was cool.
Jon and I drank a few beers and bowled a couple of frames, and then the
S.E.A.L.S decided to leave. One of them
had heard that there was a driving range on base, and they wanted to go hit
some balls. Another wanted to go to
McDonald’s first, and yet another wanted to go over to the liquor store by the
base PX where he could get some cheap booze.
Being a true brotherhood, they decided to do everything. We left the bowling alley, walked to the
liquor store (where I found fifths of Crown Royal for $5.00!!), then we headed
to McDonalds, brown paper bags in tow.
There were five or six of us sitting in Mickey D’s, eating burgers and
drinking cokes spiked with whatever was in our bag of choice. John and I had bought two fifths of Crown
Royal, and we managed to polish of one of them with our dinner. After we ate, our next mission was to find
the base driving range and hit a few balls, so off we went.
It didn’t take us long to find it – it was a huge,
completely fenced-in structure in the middle of the base, with bright lights
towering above it so you could hit balls at night. The range was automated – you just had to put
your money into the machine, and it would automatically dispense a bucket of
balls for you to hit. You picked a club
from the rack and went to town. It sure
seemed like a lot of fun – and was, at first.
The more balls we hit, the more we drank, and the rowdier we got. The S.E.A.L.S were giving Jon a hard time about
being dismissed from the teams, and I was laughing right along with them. I didn’t know at the time about their code of
honor – their “once a S.E.A.L., always a S.E.A.L.” motto. Everything was okay as long as I didn’t say
anything, but when the Crown Royal I’d been sipping on (okay…chugging) started
talking for me, I started pissing guys off.
I started talking shit about Jon and what a jerk I thought he was, and
about how it was funny that he got kicked out of the Teams.
Nobody was laughing, though.
Somehow, I failed to notice this.
I then made some wisecrack about how ugly Jon’s wife was, and that was
the straw that broke the camel’s back.
One of the S.E.A.L.S said
“Time to shut him up!”
The rest of them started toward me. I turned to run, but stepped on a golf
ball. My foot went out from under me
and I fell – face first. I tried to
catch myself with my hand, but it was still in a cast and gave out immediately. My face slammed directly into one of the
automated ball dispensers, then bounced off and my head slammed into the
concrete. I saw stars, then went black
for a minute. When I came to, the S.E.A.L.S
and Jon were gathered around me asking if I was okay. I took a minute to clear my head then sat up
and reached up for my face.
My hand felt my mouth, and I could tell that my lip was
swelling up like a balloon, and it was split open and bleeding. I could taste the blood. I checked for loose teeth and couldn’t find
anything. I didn’t feel too bad – except
for the split open, fat lip – so I said,
“No, I’m fine!”
The group looked at me and said,
“Good. Now RUN!!”
They picked up golf balls and started to throw them at
me. I took a couple of direct hits in
the head and the back, and then I sprinted out onto the driving range and
seemingly out of their range. But being
the S.E.A.L.S they were, they simply adapted, improvised and overcame. Instead of throwing the balls at me, they
grabbed their golf clubs and began driving them at me! Those guys were amazingly accurate, and in my
inebriated state, I was no match for their shots. I quickly spotted the lawn tractor that they
used for collecting the used balls. It
was parked next to the fence, and there was just enough room between it and the
fence for me to hide behind. It was the
only protection around, so I went for it.
I sprinted across the driving range – absorbing several direct shots in
the process, and then dove behind the tractor.
I could hear golf balls pinging off the other side of the it, as they
tried to hit me with them. I relaxed a
bit, feeling a tiny sense of security in my hiding spot, figuring I’d just wait
it out until they grew bored with their little game. All of a sudden, I got pelted in the back
with a golf ball. I couldn’t figure out
where the hell it came from. I was
looking around to see if one of the guys had snuck up on me when I wasn’t
watching, when WHAM! I got hit in the
head with another ball! Then in dawned
on me – the driving range had a roof over it, and these guys were aiming their
balls to ricochet off the roof, and then down behind the tractor, hitting
me! In the years after the event, I have
become even more impressed by their skill and improvisational abilities, but at
the time, I thought they were the biggest bunch of jerks ever!
After taking about five more minutes of golf ball shelling,
I had had enough. I stood up and said,
“Alright – that’s enough!
I’ve had enough. I’m sorry for
what I said – just go ahead and kick my ass or do whatever you want, just quit
hitting me with those damn balls!”
And they laughed, and it was over. It was as if, by surrendering to them, it
ended their game and made them the winners.
Whatever – I was tired, sore and really, really wanted a drink, and
didn’t really care what happened next.
The group laughed with me (or maybe AT me, I’m not sure which), then we
had a drink, and left the driving range.
For no known rational reason, we decided to leave the base and head out
onto The Haunch. I was really, really,
sore, but wanted to see where this night would end up, so I tagged along.
We started making the rounds of bars up and down the street
and getting drunker and drunker. I don’t
remember buying a single drink, but I also don’t remember NOT having a drink in
my hand. I think they were kind of
feeling bad about what they’d done, so they were plying me with booze to help
me forget about it. It worked – a couple
of hours later, I was feeling NO pain, and laughing and joking with them about
how they’d beaten the crap out of me earlier that evening. We drank and laughed and told stories all
night, and long about closing time, when we decided to go back to the ship, I
happened to go to the bathroom and caught a good look at myself in a
mirror.
I was a mess! My lip
was HUGE, and dried blood ran down my chin.
I had a couple of small bruises on my forehead and all over my arms from
golf balls, and my shirt was torn from something I’d run into somewhere. I looked like I’d had my ass kicked in a
street fight. Then the fear kicked in. I was worried that I was going to get in
trouble when I got back to the ship.
They had always said, in an effort to make us behave ourselves, that if
we were ever beaten up in a fight so bad that we couldn’t work, we’d be written
up for “destruction of government property”.
I knew I was hurting and I was afraid of getting in trouble, so on the
walk back to the Frez, the group of us tried to come up with a good lie that we
could tell to get me out of trouble.
By the time we got to the gangplank, we had it down – we
would just tell the powers that be that Jon had been jumped by a Japanese street
gang, and that I had jumped in to help him – broken hand, cast and all. It sounded almost plausible – until we opened
our mouths. As we stepped on board the
Frez, the Officer Of The Deck took one look at me and said
“Oh my God! – what the Hell happened to you?”
I tried to tell him about the street gang and everything,
but the S.E.A.L.S, who had followed us back to the ship, began to go on about
how THEY had been getting THEIR asses kicked by a Japanese street gang, and how
Jon and I had jumped in and saved all of them!
It was the wildest, most ridiculous story I had ever heard – and I was
absolutely smashed! The O.O.D. just
shook his head and told me to go to bed.
He told me that they’d deal with me in the morning, and with that I said
good-bye to my new S.E.A.L. buds, and headed down to my rack to turn in.
Tuesday, 27MAR90 – Yokosuka, Japan (Duty)
ñ Janet's Birthday
ñ Mail call – letter from Janet
ñ Watch: 12-16
ñ Sat Drill
ñ Fast Cruise
ñ English Class
Reveille was the most painful experience of my life. Not only was I hungover like a bastard, but
my body was absolutely covered in black-and-blue spots! I had bruises on my bruises from my little
golf course adventure the night before.
My lip was still swollen, making it hard to breathe, and there was still
dried blood on my neck. I looked
horrible. As I made my way up to the
head to shower, everyone who saw me said the same thing
“Oh my God Pete! – what the Hell happened to you?”
I tried to mumble an answer, but my lip made it hurt to
talk so I just shrugged. I got cleaned
up and dressed, then headed up and tried to eat a little breakfast. My lip was still too sore and swollen to
allow me to eat, so I gave up that idea and headed out to quarters. Jon and I just kind of stood there, as our
Division Officer came down and told us what was up for the day. We were to pull out of port for a fast cruise, then pull back in and make preparations for getting underway
the next morning. We were all looking
forward to that. It was a duty day for
me, so I didn’t really care. My liberty
time in Japan was over, and I had the marks to prove it! As the First Lieutenant dismissed everyone,
he motioned to Jon and I to come over and talk to him.
“Look you two idiots – I don’t know what the Hell happened
to you last night, and judging from your face, Peterson, I don’t WANT to know,
but it must have been something amazing.”
“Why’s that, sir?”
“Because I had a visitor this morning. An officer with the S.E.A.L. teams came over
and told me some crazy story – it seems a couple of guys from the Fresno saved
his ENTIRE team from getting their asses kicked by a Japanese street gang. You two wouldn’t know anything about that,
would you?”
“Ummm – no sir.”
“Good answer. I don’t
know what the Hell went on, but that guy just saved you two monkeys a write up
– understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Now get out of my sight, we’ve got work to do.”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Hey – one last thing?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Promise me you’ll tell me what really happened some
day.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jon and I walked off, leaving behind one very confused First
Lieutenant. It was at this point that I
decided having friends in the S.E.A.L. teams might not be such a bad thing
after all. It took me a couple of weeks
to heal up from my beating, but just having that story to tell for the rest of
my life was well worth the pain!
We spent the rest of the morning getting ready to get
underway for our fast cruise. Soon, the
tugs came alongside, we threw our lines over to them, and we pulled out of port
and steamed for the open ocean. We went
out about an hour, then turned around and sailed back in. We were tied back up to the pier by noon –
just in time for me to stand quarterdeck watch until 4:00. As liberty call went down, the rest of the
guys streamed off of the ship, knowing this was our last night in port in
Japan. I wished them well, then went down
to English class. After class, I picked
up my mail for the day and found another letter from Janet – this was her
birthday, and it was nice to have heard from her. Things were beginning to heat up between us,
and we were starting to make plans for getting together when I got out of the
Navy and came back to Laramie, and college. We were both excited about our possible
future, and it was hard to focus on much of anything else that night. I just knew that I’d found my “soul mate” in
Janet. Looking back on it now, this was
completely laughable, but at the time I was in LOOOOVE!
That evening went pretty much the same as any other duty
evening – I held a Security Alert Training, and then watched a couple of movies
and wrote a couple of letters and went to bed. Pretty boring – but still steeped in
anticipation, as we were to get underway the next morning and get on with our
WestPac!
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: JAPAN TO OKINAWA TO THE PHILIPPINES
Wednesday, 28MAR90
ñ Left Yokosuka
ñ Loaded SRBOC's
ñ Did M-3 on sprinklers
ñ CHENG came to Sea & Anchor – twice!
ñ Wrote letter to Janet
What a glorious day March 28th was! We got to leave Japan and get on with the
rest of our deployment. It had been neat
to spend a month in Japan, but we also missed a port of call in Korea, and one
of the biggest training exercises of deployment, Team Spirit ’90. Oh well, if wishes were fishes….I guess.
We spent the morning re-loading all of the SRBOC
countermeasures in their tubes, checking all of the magazine sprinklers, and
re-staging all of the .50 cal machine guns and ammo. We ensured that all of our pyrotechnic
lockers were stocked, and then reported to our Sea and Anchor details. I went down to the starboard aftersteering
room and sat. Aftersteering was
intensely boring. It was hot, noisy and
nothing EVER happened. Consequently, it
was a very tempting time to just curl up and sleep – but Lord help you if you
get caught. The unspoken rule was that,
if anyone saw an officer coming down to aftersteering to check on us, the person
who spotted him was supposed to send a warning over the sound-powered phones to
let us know we had to wake up and look busy.
One of the engineers, Dave Crigger, came up with an idea to keep us out
of trouble. He put an empty soda can
in the wheel of the hatch, so that when someone spun the wheel to open it, the
can would fly off and hit the steel floor to wake us all up. We may have been skaters, but we were SMART
skaters!
Usually, the CHENG (Chief Engineer) would do no more than
poke his head in the hatch and say
“Everyone awake down here?” and leave.
His visits where very sporadic, and we didn’t worry too much
about them. This day was different. For some reason, he was bound and determined
to catch us asleep at our stations, and he checked each of us not once, but
twice! Needless to say, there was no
sleeping in aftersteering that day. Soon, we had cleared the harbor, and were out to sea. They secured Sea and Anchor, and we all
headed up to the mess decks for lunch.
After eating, I walked out and watched the last little bit of Japan
disappear over the horizon. I could just
barely make out Mt. Fuji, which was bathed in sunlight, and sat and watched as
it grew smaller and smaller and finally disappeared. Japan was behind us, and three and a half
more months of world travel lay ahead! I
headed down to the armory, finished up the day’s work, then laid in my rack and
wrote a letter to Janet, and drifted off to sleep. Sleep came quickly, as the comfortable old
feeling of the sea gently rolling the ship rocked me to sleep like a baby. I never had ANY trouble falling asleep when
we were out to sea – it was like sleeping on the world’s largest waterbed!.
We were scheduled to spend about a week at sea, sailing from
Japan to Subic Bay, where we were to meet up with the rest of our Battle
Group. We were also going to make a quick stop
in Okinawa to pick up our new Executive Officer (XO), and pick up the rest
of our Marine detachment we had left there when we went to Japan. The overall mood of the ship’s crew picked up
dramatically as we realized that we would be back in our old stomping grounds
of Olongapo City in a week or so! We
were already making plans for big parties and what girls we were going to go
see and the like. Japan was nice, but
just a little to “stuffy” for the guys onboard the USS Fresno! Give us the P.I. any day, and we’d feel right
at home!
Thursday, 29MAR90
ñ Nasty eggs for breakfast – almost got sick
ñ English Class
ñ Wrote letter home
ñ Rough Seas
ñ Slept through lunch
ñ Oil Spill on O2 Level
Friday, 30MAR90
ñ Payday - $152.00
ñ Did spotcheck with First LT – all SAT
ñ Reviewed my service record
ñ Took Temps
ñ Paid AT&T Bill
ñ Sent Film In
The sail from Yokosuka to Okinawa was only three or four
days and was still uneventful. The seas
got a lot rougher the day after we left Japan and stayed that way until we
pulled into Buckner Bay. About the only
excitement that came during this short sail was the fact that we had a payday
on the 30th. Due to the fact
that we had been in drydock for a month, I didn’t get that extra money for
being on the helo flight deck crew, so I went back down to my usual
$152.00. I was disappointed, but I knew
that we’d get ten landings in this month for sure, so my pay would go back up
by next payday. During this short steam,
I also had my first spot check on my P.M.S. (Preventative Maintenance System)
with the First Lieutenant – which I passed with flying colors. We also spent one morning in the armory going
over our service records, making sure everything in them was correct. This was the morning that I got to read Jon
Grace’s service jacket and found out the REAL reason he wasn’t a S.E.A.L.
anymore.
Our service records were all confidential – no one was
supposed to read them except us, but Jon volunteered to swap files, and I
readily agreed. I was still a bit
doubtful about his S.E.A.L. team past. I
shouldn’t have been – because right there, in black and white, was everything
about his Naval career. Jon had, indeed,
been a S.E.A.L. He had secret clearances
and was certified in all kinds of weapons and had diving training. It was pretty impressive, really. I then concentrated my search on finding out
why he had been kicked out of the Teams.
I looked and looked and thought that maybe they didn’t put that in his
record but then I found it.
Jon had always said that he got kicked out after “beating up
an officer” after a disagreement on an orienteering course. But, according to his service jacket, Jon had
been released due to “excessive unsatisfactory marks on inspections” Evidently, Jon was a dirtbag. He couldn’t keep his gear clean or organized,
and they finally got tired of it and kicked him out. I never asked him about what I found, but I
read in black-and-white, the official version of the story. Whether or not that was the actual story I’ll
never know, but it fit in a lot better with the Jon Grace I knew than some
story about punching out an officer.
Saturday, 31MAR90
ñ Met up with ARG
ñ PO in charge of Clean-Up
ñ Field Day
ñ Flipped Orifices
ñ English Class
ñ Plane Guard
Back with our group - 31MAR90
The day before we were to get to Okinawa, we met up with the
rest of our battle group. I had been
under the impression that we were going to meet them in Subic, but there they
were on the horizon – the other ships from our group. We took our place in formation and steamed
towards Okinawa. Having the junior C.O.
in the group, we took our place in the rear of the formation and stood plane guard
watch once again. It was good to be back
with our “family”…I guess.
MAR90:
Deployment day 49-79 Underway
– 7 days In Port – 24 days
Sunday, 1APR90 - Okinawa
ñ Mail Call – one from Dad, one from Gramps & Gram
ñ New XO came aboard
ñ Marines came back
ñ English Class
ñ Mounted .50 cals
We pulled into Okinawa on April Fool’s Day – April 1, 1990. We stayed in port long enough to take on
fuel, mail, stores and pick up the rest of our Marine company. We also picked up our new Executive Officer,
Lieutenant Commander Parry. Our old XO,
LCDR Molley had been promoted to Commander, and had been given a new assignment
fitting his rank. We would miss Cdr.
Molley – he was the last holdover from Captain Wilbur’s reign. He still knew how to have a good time and how
to get through to the Fresno’s men – it was a sad day as the last vestiges of
Captain Wilbur’s rule drew to a close.
The new XO – Lt. Cdr. Parry tried to fit in, but just never
quite seemed to gel with the crew. He
quickly acquired the crew nickname “Buffalo Butt” from his frequent jogs around the
main deck in a t-shirt and running shorts.
The XO was a somewhat heavy man – not fat, but not slim and trim by any
means. The Frez crew, being what they
were, quickly jumped on his physique, and the Legend Of Buffalo Butt was born.
We stayed in port in Okinawa just long enough to bring on
the new XO, then bring on the Marines, and finishing up the rest of our
onloads. We then pulled away from the
pier and anchored out in Buckner Bay for the night. No fishing this time, however. We’d learned our lesson.
Monday, 2APR90
ñ Took Temps
ñ English Class
ñ Condition III on Mounts – manned from 07:00 to Midnight
ñ Played Trivial Pursuit on mount watch
ñ Getting Hotter!
ñ Tracked P3 Orion
The next morning, we weighed anchor and headed out to the
open ocean to make our way back to Subic Bay.
The seas were a lot calmer, and we could feel the temperature begin to
get warmer the closer to the P.I. we got. We spent the first day on watch on the gun
mounts, as they called a Condition III drill.
We sat in the mounts from 07:00 until Midnight, playing Trivial Pursuit
and pretending to watch the skies and the horizon for “enemy” planes and
ships. The only real excitement on our
watch came when we spotted an American P-3 Orion on the horizon. We quickly jumped into action, firing up the
motors on the gun mount, and then trying to track the plane across the skies. Unfortunately, our gun mounts were so slow,
and the motors were so worn out, that the prop-driven P-3 was out-flying my mounts! I couldn’t turn the guns fast enough to keep
up with the thing! It was
embarrassing. Embarrassing and scary
really – those guns were supposed to protect us from incoming enemy threats,
and we couldn’t get them to move fast enough to track an old prop plane! This discovery lead to much worry,
consternation and loss of liberty for everyone involved with them.
Tuesday, 3APR90
ñ Crankcase explosion in #3 ER – no fire or casualties
ñ English Class
ñ Played Spades in the MR shop
ñ Started “Stranger Beside Me”
ñ PMS'd M79's & MK5's
April 3rd brought us a scare. We were having a normal day, doing our normal
at-sea routines, when all of a sudden, the General Quarters alarm went off,
calling us to our battle stations. I
flew up to the gun mounts with the rest of the gun crew, as we waited to hear
the reason for the GQ alarm. We could
tell by the way they had passed the word, that this was no drill. It turned out that we had experienced a
crankcase explosion in the number 3 engine room. Luckily, there was no fire, and there were no
fatalities, but it was a scary experience.
Out in the middle of the ocean, with an exploding engine was no place
any of us wanted to be. All we could do
was fix it and go on. I think that the
knowledge that we lived with this danger on a daily basis was one of the
biggest reasons that a ship’s crew drew together like family. I know that all of the little crises that the
Frez went through definitely added to our tightness as a crew, and our
closeness as friends and compadres.
Wednesday, 4APR90
ñ Anchored in Subic Bay
ñ Worked on Mounts
ñ GQ Drills – Controls on 32 went haywire
ñ Finished “Stranger Beside Me”
ñ Launched & Recovered AAV's
ñ Filled out Duty Section Swap Chits
Thursday, 5APR90
ñ English Class
ñ Took Temps
ñ Did Pre-Fire Checks in A.M.
ñ GUNEX in afternoon – both mounts broke
ñ Wached UNREPS between 2 US ships & 2 Australian ships
ñ Left anchorage in Subic Bay
The day after our GQ excitement, we steamed into Subic Bay,
but we didn’t go to the base. Instead,
we anchored out and waited to meet up with ships from the Australian Navy so we
could do some drills and joint training exercises for a couple of days. The first day of drills, we were holding gun
exercises when our gun mounts completely broke down. The controls on Mount 32 (port side) went
haywire and the gun spun uncontrollably until we could pull the power
cords. It was yet another step in the
complete erosion of our gun mounts. Try
as we might, we couldn’t get it fixed in time to complete the drill, so we got
a negative mark on the gun exercise part of the training. The next day – the last of the exercise – we
thought we had them fixed. When we tried
to complete the gun drills, BOTH of our mounts broke down. They had both worked perfectly during our
pre-fire checks, but when we got to the actual drill, they both went belly
up. Once again, we received negative
marks. The Fresno brass were NOT happy
with Third Division, and let it be known in no uncertain terms that we WOULD
have the mounts fixed and working perfectly by the time we left our P.I. port
visit. Unfortunately for us, no one in
Third Division knew much of anything about our antiquated gun mounts, so we
just looked at each other and scratched our heads. We figured we’d call some techs from the
States for help when we pulled into port, and then manually locked the mounts
into position, shut the doors and walked away.
Apathy ran rampant in Third Division.
We spent the rest of the day before we hit port watching 2
U.S. ships and 2 Australian ships do an underway replenishment, and then making
preparations to pull into Subic Bay Naval Station for twelve days of complete,
hedonistic thrills in the Philippine Islands.
We had survived a month in Japan, and we were more than ready for:
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: THE TWELVE DAYS OF STUPIDITY
Friday, 6APR90 – P.I. (Duty)
ñ Switched to Duty Section III
ñ Mail Call – 2 from Janet, 1 from John, Bill from BP, Tax
Check
ñ 0400-0800 watch
ñ Had SP Training
Our first day back in the P.I., and I had duty. It wasn’t my scheduled duty day, but during
our last steam, Jon Grace and I had swapped duty sections for some reason. It probably had to do with the soccer tournament
we were playing in during our port visit or something – I’m sure there was a
good reason for it at the time, I just can’t remember why. I just know that I had to sit and jealously
watch the rest of the guys head off the ship and out onto the town for a night
of P.I. thrills, while I had to stay and tend to the store. It wasn’t all bad that night, though, as we
had a security specialist come on board and hold a Shore Patrol training
session for us. They taught us the
basics of nightstick technique, and how to use one against an unruly
drunk. It was pretty cool – I couldn’t
wait to get out onto town and try out my new-found skills!
Mail call that day was great – not only was there a letter
from a friend back home, but there were TWO from Janet AND my income tax refund
check! I was flush with cash – a payday
and my tax money – this was going to be a GREAT port visit. After knock-off, I ate dinner and went down
to watch a movie and go to bed. My sleep
was soon interrupted by the Messenger of the Watch, as he gave me a kick around
03:45 the next morning. I had forgotten
to check the P.O.D. – I had the 4 to 8 watch!
I was so mad – I had been sleeping like a baby, too! Oh well – I got up, got dressed in my trops,
and watched the Fresno crew come stumbling back after a night of wild, crazy
shenanigans. Their faces told the
stories – red-eyed, hungover and badly in need of a shower and shave. I couldn’t WAIT for my turn!
Saturday, 7APR90 – P.I.
ñ Mail Call – letter from Dad, 1 from Gramps & Gram,
AT&T bill
ñ Beer & Cookie breakfast
ñ D'Office – Mercy
ñ Came Back at 0500
My first day of P.I. liberty this time around just happened
to be a Saturday – so I got a whole day off.
I got off watch at 8am, then went straight down to the berthing area,
showered and got dressed. I bolted off
the ship as soon as I could and walked out onto the pier. This visit, we were anchored at the same pier
the Fresno had been at when I met the ship in the Philippines in ’88. This pier was a lot closer to the base club,
the exchange and the ball fields – not to mention the Main Gate and town. The walk/stumble from Magsaysay to my rack
would be a LOT shorter this time around!
I walked off the pier and over towards the base exchange,
when I realized – it wasn’t even 09:00 in the morning yet. I wasn’t sure what was or wasn’t open, and
when I got to the exchange, I found it still closed. The sign on the door said it didn’t open
until 9, so I walked over to the little convenience store right beside it. That was open, and I went in and
bought the things I needed – toothpaste, soap and a couple of other
sundries. As I was getting ready to
check out, I realized I was hungry – I hadn’t eaten anything for
breakfast. I did a quick scan of the
store and didn’t find anything that looked breakfasty, so I just grabbed the
first two things I saw – a bag of Chips Ahoy! Cookies, and a 12-pack of
Budweiser. I paid for my things, then
went and sat on a bench by the parking lot and enjoyed my beer and cookie
breakfast. You know, you really haven’t
lived until you’ve sat in a store parking lot and had beer and cookies for
breakfast – it’s an experience I’d highly recommend. After my highly nutritious (not to mention
intoxicating) breakfast, I went back to the ship to stow the things I’d bought. Once they were secured in my locker, I
grabbed some money and headed out for a day on the town in Olongapo.
Out on Magsaysay, I began my old habit of hopping from bar
to bar, and hoping to run into some of my shipmates. I found a few, scattered in different
bars. I tried to have a drink with all
of them. By the time the sun set and
Olongapo was in full party mode, I was feeling NO pain! I had pretty much had at least one drink in
all of the major bars up and down Magsaysay, and now it was time to find the other
thing that drunken sailors look for when they’re overseas!
P.I. party crew at D'Office in Olongapo City - 1990
I ended up back in the old Deck Department haunt,
D’Office. When I walked in, there was
the usual horde of Fresno sailors getting drunk as hell and having a great
time. Somehow, they had taken over the
stereo system in the bar were playing one of our unofficial theme songs - Clint
Black’s “Better Man”. The song became
one of our favorites when Jim Sorby had heard it, he changed the line: “I’m
leaving here a better man” to “I’m leaving here a drunker man”. The new, improved version became an immediate
hit, and it seemed like a copy of that tape followed us wherever our party took
us. This particular night, as Clint
blasted from the speakers, I looked over to see John Hickersham trying to teach
the Mama-San how to two-step. It was
hilarious!
Hick teaches the D'Office mama-san how to two-step - 07APR90
The music and booze continued late into the night, and we
were all having a blast. My old
bartender/honeyko from our first visit – Mercy – was tending bar that night and
giving me all of my drinks for free. By
the time she got off work at around 2, I was almost too drunk to stand up. She helped me out of the bar, and then into a
trike, which took us to her small apartment, where we spent the night. My head had no more hit the pillow on her
small bed, than I was out like a light and snoring like a chainsaw. Mercy, bless her soul, was nice enough to let
me sleep, and then she woke me up in time to get back to the ship for work the
next morning. I got up, got dressed and
stumbled back to the ship – making it there around 05:00. I got down to berthing and had opened my
locker to get out my dungarees, when I realized it was Sunday. I had liberty all day and didn’t have to
work! I was still drunk, evidently, and
had forgotten what day it was. I slammed
my locker shut, then climbed into my rack and passed out for another hour or so
of much needed sleep.
Sunday, 8APR90 – P.I.
ñ Went to Grande Island with Bale, Sprain, Dallas and Siebert
ñ Ate at McDonald's
ñ Bought green shorts
ñ Partied all night with Royal Australian Navy Engineering
officer
I slept for another couple of hours – until around 09:00
that morning. When I finally woke
up/came to, I went up to the head to take a leak and jump in the shower. That was where I ran into some of the other
guys – my buddy PC Scotty Bale, FN Siebert, EN3 Sprain and SA Dallas.
The three of them were headed out to Grande Island and invited me to
come with them. Grande Island was a
recreation area on a small island in the middle of Subic Bay Naval Station’s
harbor. They did a lot of scuba diving
and snorkeling out there, and guys would go spend their weekends on the
island. I had never been there, so I jumped
at the chance. I hurried up and
showered, then got changed and met up with the guys as we headed out onto the
base, and to the boat to the island.
Grande Island - 08APR90
Grande Island was fun – if you were a swimmer or a
snorkeler. I was neither. However, Grande Island DID have a bar on
their beach, so I didn’t feel like my day was completely wasted! I sat at the bar and drank, two-fisted, for the
majority of the day. I avoided the
water, partly because I couldn’t swim, and partly because I still had a cast on
my left hand. Finally, about a dozen
beers into it, I remembered that I was supposed to have my cast removed in a
couple of days. “Screw it” I thought,
and followed the guys into the water. We
had a ball in the waves and dunking each other.
My plaster cast got COMPLETELY soaked.
It was already wrapped in tape, because climbing up and down the steel
ladders had pretty much beaten it into powder.
It was now just a big, soggy wad of stinky masking tape attached to my
arm. Pretty gross, really. We hung out on Grande until around 2 or 3 in
the afternoon, then caught the boat back to the base. It was then back to the ship for a shower and
a clothing change, and back out to Olongapo for yet another night of drunken
debauchery.
At this point, I was tempted to stay on board and sleep –
I’d only had about six hours’ sleep in the last four days or so, and I was
absolutely exhausted. But the old “I
have duty tomorrow, so I can sleep then” reasoning hit me, and out I went. It was much more of the same – ending up at
D’Office again. It was Mercy’s night
off, so I had to buy my own booze. I had
a few there, when somebody decided we should walk over to the bar next door, The
Firehouse, and have a couple of their house specialty fishbowls of rum and
coke. They were still using actual glass
goldfish bowls to serve the drinks in. I
hadn’t been here since ’88, and I had forgotten the correct fishbowl drinking
technique. As a result, I spilled rum
and coke all over myself, but a couple of fishbowls into it, and I really
didn’t care much. I wore my “Firehouse
Stripe” – the wet stain from the rum and coke running down my chest - with
pride. We slugged down a couple of
fishbowls, then stumbled down the stairs, and back into D’Office.
D'Office selfie - 1990
I parked it at the first empty (and solid-looking) seat I
could find. The guy sitting next to me
just laughed, and we struck up a conversation.
It turns out that he was actually the CHENG (Chief Engineer) from one of
the Australian ships that we had been doing exercises with a couple of days
earlier. We started drinking and telling
stories, and then we began to bar hop. I
don’t remember much of the rest of the night – just that the two of us ended up
very, very inebriated, and used each other as a crutch to hobble back to our
ships, which were tied up on the same pier.
He invited me to come over and tour his ship the next day – and offer I
never did take him up on, and we shook hands and parted ways. The two of us had gotten along swimmingly,
and I looked forward to getting drunk with him again. He was a lot of fun – not to mention the fact
that he insisted on buying all of the booze!
I stumbled up onto the Frez and down to my rack, where the lack of sleep
and copious amounts of booze took over and induced a coma-like state. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow,
and I didn’t move an inch until somebody finally kicked me in the ribs just in
time to make it to quarters the next morning.
Monday, 9APR90 – P.I. (Duty)
ñ Took Temps
ñ Watch 12-1600 POOW
ñ Mail call – pkg from Janet
ñ Fire drill – Security Alert
ñ English Class
ñ Slept in armory
A duty day…thank God!
After the night before, I needed a good night’s rest. It was a fairly slow day onboard the Frez –
just the normal in-port routine. I stood
the 1200-1600 quarterdeck watch, went to English class and held Security Alert
training. We also threw in a fire drill
for good measure. Mail call was good – I
got a package from Janet. I took my
package down to the armory to open it up and see what she had sent me, but I
didn’t get very far. I woke up about 05:00
the next morning, with my head resting on the workbench in the armory, and my
hand on a half-opened package from my girlfriend. Evidently, I had been so tired, I had just
collapsed in the middle of what I was doing.
I guess if you’re not smart enough to take care of yourself, eventually
your body just takes over and does it itself.
Good thing somebody was looking out for me!
Tuesday, 10APR90 – P.I.
ñ Mail Call – nothing
ñ Chief Palmer aboard to fix mounts
ñ Sick in afternoon
ñ English Class
ñ Partied with Grace at D'Office & T's
ñ D'Office – Mercy
A much more well-rested morning than usual in the P.I., I
must say. Good thing too, as it was an
important day for those of us in Third Division. A tech rep from the States was in port to
help us get our gun mounts up and running again. His name was Chief Palmer, and his job was to
know more than we did about our 3” 50 gun mounts – not that THAT was a terribly
difficult thing to do! We spent the
morning with Chief Palmer tearing apart the mounts, and then putting them back
together. By lunch time, we had them
both moving the right ways, and going up and down like they were supposed
to. We thought we had it licked. The only thing we couldn’t do was actually
fire the damn things, but we ran a couple of dummy rounds through it, and since
they worked, we figured everything was just hunky-dory. We shook the Chief’s hand and thanked him for
fixing the mounts, and he rode off into the sunset – a hero in the C.O.’s
eyes. Too bad Third Division was still
viewed as the redheaded stepchild of the Fresno – if only we could have traded
Senior Chief Bulletier for Chief Palmer!!
Alas – such a trade was not to be, and we would be left to face the
wrath of the C.O. on our own.
After lunch, I got really, really sick. For some reason (I think it was one of the
chemicals we used to clean up the gun mounts) I got violently ill after we ate,
and spent most of my afternoon puking my guts out in the head. I was so sick, that even the great cure-all
of “Liberty call, liberty call” had no effect.
I was still sick – too sick to go out.
But, as usual – someone twisted my rubber arm, and I soon found myself
sitting in T’s Tavern with Jon Grace, a cold San Miguel in my hand. I figured that Filipino beer couldn’t possibly
make me feel any worse than I already did, so I indulged myself in it’s
pleasure once again. I ended up spending
a few hours hanging out with Jon at T’s, and then we decided to go to
D’Office. I wanted to see if Mercy was
working.
Standard P.I. Tuesday night at D'Office in Olongapo City - 10APR90
D’Office was hopping, as usual. Mercy was behind the bar, and my
drinks were free once again! The night
continued, and the party raged, as the usual cast of Fresno Deck Department
sailors availed themselves to the hospitality of D'Office. Drinks were flowing, bar girls were flirting,
and the music was pounding, as we enjoyed what had become a usual weekday night
atmosphere. I was getting well into my
cups when I decided I was feeling pretty good, and the booze just wasn't doing
the trick. No, I wanted to take Mercy
home and take care of a little “business”.
She told me that she couldn’t leave in the middle of her shift unless I
paid a barfine. I was pissed – I had never
paid her barfine! She was my honeyko – I
shouldn’t have to pay for her! However –
my carnal urges soon overpowered my financial concerns, and I talked Jon into
forking over the dough to pay for the barfine (since it was three days before
payday and I was broke). Jon did it, and
Mercy and I took off and headed for her house.
When we got to her tiny little place, I didn’t pass out
right away this time, and I finished the job I had come for. When we were finished, I rolled over and fell
asleep, hoping that Mercy would wake me up in time to make it back to the ship
in time for quarters. She did, and I
made it back right on time – she was a good honeyko, and I actually found
myself enjoying spending time with her.
I’m sure she was beginning to hope for what most of the bar girls hoped
for – to get married to a sailor and get brought back to the States. Unfortunately for her, I had absolutely NO
desire to let it go that far! I figured
I’d just enjoy the benefits of our relationship, and then sail gently into the
sunset when it was time to go. My
daughter is NEVER dating a sailor!
Wednesday, 11APR90 – P.I.
ñ Mail Call – nothing
ñ Got cast removed
ñ Soccer game – lost 4-0
ñ Stayed on board
ñ Captain's call – found out we're leaving soon
ñ Slept in armory
I had been looking forward to this day for over a
month. This was the day I was supposed
to have my ortho appointment, and get my cast removed. Unfortunately, I found out that the ortho
clinic on base was closed down for some reason, so they said I’d have to delay
getting my cast off for another week or so.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have minded, but ever since my little Grande
Island Excursion, my cast had resembled nothing more than a wad of stinky
papier mache and masking tape. It was
gross and beginning to smell really bad.
I told our ship’s doc that if he wouldn’t take it off, I would just cut
it off myself! With that, he decided to
send me over to the USS Peleliu – a helo carrier sitting just across the pier
from us, that had an ortho clinic on board.
I agreed, and over to the Peleliu I went.
They removed my cast and gave me an ace bandage and some
skin cream in it’s place. I was just
glad to get rid of that smelly lump of goo.
Because of my indiscretion, and getting my cast wet, my skin was
nasty. It was peeling off, and all
withered and wrinkly. Pretty gross,
really. I just wrapped it up in the
bandage and went along my merry way – everything was okay, just as long as I
could finally hold a can of beer in my left hand again!
As soon as I got back to the ship, I was hustled down to the
tank deck along with the rest of the ship’s crew for an unplanned Captain’s
Call. The C.O. wanted to address the
ship’s company and tell us what was going on.
Usually, this meant bad news – and today was no exception. According to the C.O., there were problems
afoot in the Filipino countryside.
According to him, there was a rebel faction that was unhappy with the
Filipino government, and unhappy with the American military presence in their
country. These rebels were getting bolder
in their displays of unhappiness and had started harassing military members
while they were on liberty. While no one
had been hurt as of yet, it wasn’t far off.
The Captain told us that we would be leaving port soon. He said we’d been selected to sail back to
Okinawa to pick up another company of Marines to help bolster the base security
group, in case the rebels acted up any more.
There were a few gripes and groans, but for the most part, we took it well. After all – this WAS why we were there…to protect
American interests in that part of the world.
Most of us were actually kind of excited – this was about as close to
real action as most of us would see during our time on Active Duty. The C.O. said he didn’t know exactly when we
would be leaving, but it would probably be within the week. As he dismissed us, the disappointment of
leaving port early was quickly forgotten, as the excitement of getting into the
middle of something took its place. I know
that I was raring to go.
After Captain’s Call came the other reason I’d been looking
forward to this day - the soccer team had another game. It was the first game of a new tournament,
and we were sure we’d be better this time around! We headed over to the field full of
confidence – ready to prove ourselves.
Unfortunately, we forgot to tell our opponents to be afraid of us,
because they whipped us, 4 – 0. With the
taste of our latest crushing defeat fresh in our mouths, we came to the
realization that we really, REALLY sucked.
The team walked back to the ship, heads hung in shame, and got dressed
to go out and drown our sorrows in a beer….or twenty. For some odd reason, probably my atrophied,
peeling-skin arm, I decided not to go out that night. I spent the night sitting in the armory –
reading, writing letters, studying for English class, and just basically
spending some time by myself. I fell
asleep in the armory once again, and slept until reveille.
Thursday, 12APR90 – P.I. (Duty)
ñ WESTPAC IS HALF OVER
Took Temps
ñ English Class - Did mid-term
ñ Mail Call - nothing
ñ Worked on mounts
Qualified for Sea Service ribbon
Now THIS was an exciting day! April 12th, 1990 marked the halfway point of WestPac. We were three months out with three months to go! From this point on, it was all downhill. I was excited about getting home, but even more excited at the realization that I only had three months left on Active Duty! My Naval career was drawing to a close, and I couldn’t have been happier. I was ready to get on with my life – to get to school, to graduate, to face the new challenges that would bring. The Navy had been great, but I was ready to move on. However – before I could do that, I had three more months of a cruise to get through…and those last three months would make the first three look like Cub Scout Day Camp!
The other good thing about this day, was that it marked our 91st day at sea – one more than I needed to qualify for my first ribbon. I had earned the Sea Service ribbon – my first decoration. I promised myself that I would make a bee line to the base exchange the next day (I had duty on this day) and buy my new ribbon. I was tired of having no ribbons on my dress uniform, and I had finally earned a little color! I was pretty proud of it, actually.
The day was pretty slow – we just worked on the mounts some more, and did the general day-to-day stuff. We had a mid-term test in English class, and that was about it. I stood no watches, and held no Security Alert training. We just vegged and spent a lazy night on the ship, getting rested up for the weekend to come. Two nights in a row of sleep – what a concept! And to think that tomorrow was payday! I knew it was going to be a wild crazy weekend ahead.
We were now halfway through deployment. I was three months from my release, and looking
forward to what was left of my active duty Navy career. The remainder of WestPac ’90 is covered in: PART
NINE: WestPac 1990 (Pt. 2)
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